Page 102 of Theirs to Hunt
The words echoed in my chest as I padded through the hallway barefoot, hoodie zipped up to my throat. I hadn’t said it back. Not because I didn’t feel something, but because it still felt too big to name. Too new. Too true. I wasn’t used to tenderness without strings or warnings.
The in-home gym was clean, cool, dimly lit. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors. State-of-the-art everything. Of course it was. Nothing about this house was halfway. Except me.
I hit the treadmill, let the rhythm take over. Shoes on rubber. Breath syncing to the hum of the machine. My brain drifted back to last night. Brooks holding me like I was something precious. Telling me I wasn’t broken. Whispering those words like a promise.
And then the food. A single paper bag sitting on the patio table. A quiet confession.
Grayson saw.
Of course he did.
I didn’t know what that meant. What it changed. But it wasn’t nothing. My chest tightened, a quiet ache I didn’t know what to do with. So I ran harder. Like I could outrun it.
I didn’t hear the door. Didn’t notice them come in. Not until Brooks’ hands found my waist from behind, steadying me as I slowed to a stop.
“You didn’t hear us come in,” he said, grin in his voice.
“Was trying to outrun my feelings.”
He laughed, tugging me gently off the treadmill.
“Come here. I want to show you something.”
“I’m sweaty and emotionally compromised. This better be good.”
He led me to the center mat, where Grayson was already moving impossible weight, pretending not to watch. Devon hung from the pull-up bar, headphones in, lost to his own world.
Brooks faced me. “I was thinking about what you said in the car. About doing everything yourself. About no one coming for you.”
“You remembered that?”
“Of course I did. And if the worst ever happens again, I want you to feel like you don’t have to depend on anyone but yourself. Not out of fear. Out of confidence.”
He adjusted my stance. Hands gentle but firm.
“Self-defense. Every morning. Just you and me.”
My heart thudded for a whole new reason.
“Okay,” I whispered.
His hands guided me through the motion, reverent even as he showed me where to hold tension, how to shift weight, howto break a hold. The move was simple. The intent wasn’t.
And just behind us, I felt Grayson watching. The weight of his gaze like gravity.
But for now, it was just me and Brooks.
Chapter eighty-two
Reagan, Tuesday 07:15 a.m.
The house still buzzed with movement, but I found him anyway.
After the session with Brooks, after I threw him off-balance mid-move just to prove I was paying attention, I toweled off but stayed in my gym clothes. Hair tied back. Skin still flushed.
Not collapsing. Just that silent tether we’d built told me Grayson needed me now.
I knocked once on the study door. Didn’t wait.
