Page 62 of Broken Breath
I’d assumed they formed some random dark pattern, abstract, maybe geometric, something edgy for the sake of it, but it’s not.
It’s flowers.
Flowers I recognize from too many childhood hours in overgrown gardens. Cosmos. Cornflowers near the elbow. Something like forget-me-nots winding down his forearm. The ink is dark and bold, like he tried to turn flowers into armor.
My throat tightens unexpectedly, and I have to shake my head once to clear it.
Weird kid. Weird vibe. Weird choice.
I square my stance and wave him closer. “Fists up.”
He mimics me, but one hand is too high, the other is sagging, and his elbows are flared like chicken wings.
God,he really is like a baby deer. All startled stares and shaky legs.
I huff a laugh. “You’re not in a Disney montage. Let’s fix your stance.”
Stepping closer, I lift his arm by the elbow, and he tenses immediately, breath catching in a tiny hitch. I glance at him, but he’s looking dead ahead, eyes wide and locked on some invisible threat across the gym.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” he blurts, voice way too high again. Then clears his throat. “Yeah. Fine.”
“Right.” I guide his fists into place. “Even if you don’t want to get into a fight, sometimes you just need to know how to hit something without hurting yourself.” I instruct him to shift his weight to the balls of his feet, then nudge his back leg slightly with mine.
He gasps again.
“Whatiswith you?” I ask, half-amused. “You allergic to contact?”
“No,” he says quickly. “I just… wasn’t expecting that.”
“Expect it. A punch is physical. You think a guy’s going to ask permission before throwing hands?”
He nods, then blows out a breath. “Right.”
“Okay. Watch me.” I step back, take my stance again, and show him a proper jab. Then I do it again, slower. “Now you.”
He mimics it, and it’s not terrible, but it’s not great either.
“You punch like a T-Rex,” I mutter.
“I donot.”
“Short arms with poor rotation and no follow-through.”
He tries again, this time stepping into it a little more. There’s some force behind it, and okay, maybe he’s stronger than he looks, but the form is still off.
I move in behind him and put my hands on his shoulders, adjusting them. “You need to pivot through the hips.” Ilower my voice as I guide the movement. “Like that. Tight core, drive from the back leg.”
He stiffens as if I just whispered a death sentence in his ear.
I sigh. “What now?”
“N-nothing.” His face is a little red, though. Ears pink.
What in the world?
I step back and let him go at it again. He punches the air with a little more aggression this time, like he’s angry.
