Page 75 of Deliverance

“No.”

“Before you make up your mind, let me send you a list of galleries and some proposals we drafted. I want you to look at those. Carefully.”

“You know I can’t,” I try to argue, but it’s no use.

“You can,” Tina snaps. “You just don’t want to. And this fear you have in you, this fear of the man who’s no longer a part of your life is running you ragged, Drew.” Her voice jumps an octave. “I know you’re comfortable with where you’re at financially and career-wise but I’m not talking local anymore. You have an opportunity to go from just an up-and-coming West Coast artist to an internationally-recognized figure. Your pieces could be hanging in the Getty in three years and in the Metropolitan and the Louvre in ten. First and foremost, art is a legacy. We’re not here just to live our lives and be happy with what we have. We’re here to leave something for future generations. To leave something meaningful. Something that will crawl into a person’s heart and make it bleed. Many strive to do that, but you’re one of the few who can”—Tina gestures at the walls—“after all this is gone.”

Once she’s done speaking, her arms drop to her sides and she waits.

I’m speechless. I didn’t think her idea of a pep talk would amount to yelling free verse poetry.

My lips part, but getting the words out is a struggle. “I’ll think about it,” I say finally, my knees buckling.

Press, cameras, people!

“Great.” Tina’s lips curl up. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

“You should have told me so from the beginning.”

“Oh, dear. Sometimes all you need is a good push.”

“But not off a cliff.”

She flashes me a wide smile. “If that’s going to make you understand how talented you really are.”

I’m pissed.

While I appreciate the unshakable faith Tina puts into my art, I don’t appreciate her getting high-handed with me a little over an hour ago.

Anxiety is still rushing through my veins, hot and rebellious, when the Uber pulls into the small parking lot near University Park. Slinging my gym bag over my shoulder, I thank the driver and step into the midday heat, not sure if coming here was such a good idea.

But the thing about good ideas… They’re like gold dust. They require some chasing, which doesn’t really agree with my schedule. Or life philosophy.

Therefore, I have to work with whatever my mind throws at me. So far, this method hasn’t gotten me into any more trouble than it did in the past. And all my bones are intact, so that’s a definite plus.

Although it’s hard to say for how long, because Roque has never treated me like a snowflake, but since I haven’t seen him in over a year, he might be tempted to make my training sessions a living hell.

Hesitant, I linger at the door for a few moments, fumbling with the worn-out strap of my gym bag.

Inside, the sounds of grunts and punches pile on each other. I gingerly scan the crowd, my gaze skirting over to the boxing ring on the opposite side of the room where two muscled bodies are trading blows.

I halt near the empty bench press and watch the fight for a few minutes, ignoring the scrutinizing stares of others, mostly men. People who reside in this part of town don’t like strangers. Especially ones who look like me. Luckily, it’s not something I care about. It’s what Roque told me when I showed up here two years ago with a Groupon printout, wearing ridiculous purple tights and a pair of brand new Skechers.

“Are you out of your mind, woman?” Roque asked back then, fixing me with a particularly stern look. “Whatchu doin’ out here?”

His impressive six foot three height loomed over me like the Leaning Tower of Pisa. He continued to stare as I handed him the paper. “It says you offer half off on self-defense classes if booked before December first.” My voice trembled.

Roque snatched the coupon and studied it for a long moment, then flicked his gaze back to my face. “You know this ain’t the safest neighborhood for a girl like you?” He shook his head once. “Especially in those pants.”

“I have pepper spray.”

“Pepper spray ain’t gonna help you against a gun.”

“I’d like to train with you,” I said insistently. Intuition was whispering into my ear that this place was the one. The sanctuary, the battlefield, and the house of Zen.

Besides, if I were to choose between dying from a bullet or living with Rhys, I’d go with the former. But I didn’t tell Roque that.

I didn’t want to relive countless nights of beatings. I came to his gym to learn how to defend myself, not to dwell on the past.

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