Page 16 of Saved By the Mountain Man

“You’re still the same annoying piece of work as always,” he said.

I gasped, shocked. “Excuse me?”

“You’ve always made life hard for me, you know that? Always a fight, always an argument. You always had to prove you were right, you were better.”

“Iambetter!” I cried out, getting right up in Tanner’s face. “Do you want me to list all the reasons why? I can, you know. Or do you want to fight it out instead? I can still beat you.”

Tanner rolled his eyes. “I’m not doing this with you.”

I was furious, and I wanted to get rid of it. The fury, the pain, the fear—I wanted an outlet.

“Come on,” I said and balled my fists. I mock-jabbed with my right hand but shot out my left fist instead.

Tanner caught my hand.

“I’m not doing this with you,” he said again. “I know you. You can’t beat me.”

I bounced on the balls of my feet. A small voice screamed at me that I was being ridiculous, but I ignored it. I just needed a fucking release, and there was a time when we used to spar together.

I hit Tanner again, but he avoided it easily before he tripped me. His movement was fast and fluid, but before I hit the ground, he caught me. His arm wrapped around my waist, and he pulled me up again, planting me on my feet.

“Rae, stop it.”

I tried again, but Tanner was quicker than I was. Whatever he’d been doing out here, he hadn’t let up on his training. That was for damn sure. He was more lithe on his feet with faster reactions than ever.

He groaned and sank into a battle stance, humoring me. We faced off, fighting hand-to-hand.

Tanner moved first, his stance solid and balanced. He came at me with a series of quick jabs, testing my reflexes. I blocked each one, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline as I matched his movements.

“Not bad,” he said with a slight smile, circling around me. “You’ve still got it.”

“Don’t patronize me,” I shot back, focusing on his next move.

He feinted to the left, then swung his leg around in a low kick. I jumped back, narrowly avoiding the strike. He was fast, but I was faster. I countered with a roundhouse kick, aiming for his midsection. He blocked it with his forearm, the impact sending a shockwave through my leg.

We continued to spar, our movements a dance of attack and defense. Tanner was strong, his strikes powerful and precise, but I wasn’t going to let him intimidate me. I moved with agility, ducking and weaving, landing blows when I could.

Tanner’s eyes never left mine, the intensity of his gaze almost distracting. I could see the conflict in him—the struggle between wanting to protect me and needing to confront me. His movements were controlled, almost too controlled.

It felt like he was holding back.

“Stop going easy on me,” I said through gritted teeth, throwing a punch that he barely dodged.

“You’re doing fine,” he replied, but there was something in his tone that made me push harder.

I launched into a flurry of attacks, jabs and kicks, each one aimed to test his defenses. Tanner blocked and countered, but I could see the slight hesitation in his moves. He was letting me get closer, letting me think I had the upper hand.

Frustration bubbled up inside me.

I didn’t want his pity.

I wanted a real fight. I feinted a punch to his face, then dropped low, sweeping his legs out from under him. He hit the ground with a grunt but rolled away quickly, back on his feet in an instant.

“Nice move,” he said, his breathing heavy. “I always underestimate you.”

“Shut up and fight,” I snapped, anger and adrenaline fueling my movements.

He came at me again, faster this time, his strikes harder. I blocked and countered, the rhythm of the fight becoming almost hypnotic. We moved in sync, each blow and block a testament to our years of training and the unspoken connection between us.

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