Page 32 of Sweet Lies

Many of the men stare at us as we pass, and I feel my nerves return. I stare at the floor, watching the heels of his feet as we walk. I can’t tell if they’re gawking at Andre or me. It could be both. He’s intimidating even in a room of meatheads. Not just in build and height, but in vibe.

We move into a more secluded part of the gym and then into a ring with mats on the floor. He waves me forward. I step onto the blue mat, surprised by how little give it has. It wouldn’t be a soft landing. I’m tense at the feeling of eyes still on us.

“Ignore them,” Andre orders, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. I could be confident with him, but in the real world outside the hotel room, I feel all my old insecurities rising.

Glancing around, I feel my eyes widening and panic setting in that something is going to happen. It’s been a while since I’ve had this feeling. I’ve been in fight-or-flight mode for so long that I haven’t had the time to be lost in my own headspace. I guess the one good thing about being in that state was no longer caring what anyone else thought.

“Bec, it’s only you and me. Let everything else go.”

“Is it that easy for you?” I ask, swallowing hard.

“Yes. Let it go. Stop caring so much. That was always your issue. Caring. If you’d said something wrong, done something crazy, no one would have batted an eye. You had the freedom of power and never used it.”

“You don’t think they would have held it against me?” I say, laughing. “Me? The one no one ever paid attention to? No matter what I did, I would never live up to E or Claire.”

“That’s your other problem. You’ve compared yourself to them for too long. Ignore everything else in this room but you and I. Focus on getting me to the mat. Once you can focus solely on one thing, you can bring other things in.”

Closing my eyes, I attempt to drop everything else from the room—the eyes, the smell of sweat, the noise. Reopening them, I only see him: his stance, his eyes as they glance from one spot to another.

He makes a move, and I step to the side. He nods, approving. I move; he moves, and we start the dance of trying to outwit and match the other. He’ll win, but I’ll learn. And that’s good enough for the time being.

He becomes statue-like, hands at the ready, legs spread apart, ready to move in any direction. He waits for me to take a step, eyeing me, trying to read my mind as I calculate the best move: rushing forward, hands raised.

He easily slides to the side, and I almost tumble forward. My legs seem to get tangled with themselves. As I right myself, his hands wrap around my waist and neck.

“Dead,” he whispers against my ear.

I stomp on his foot as hard as I can and try to angle my elbow into his six-pack, but the angle is off. I’m trapped.

“What was the foot move?” he asks, laughing softly in my ear, his hands still on my body, causing the temperature in the room to increase. I can feel my face reddening as more eyes turn to us.

“It was the attempt that counts,” I mutter.

“Not really when it’s life or death. You live in the balance. Are you going to take this seriously?” he asks harshly, and I feel like a child for a moment, guilty for disappointing him.

“I’m trying.”

“Try harder. You want to go after these men. You want them to feel your anger. Right now, you can’t do anything.”

Something in me snaps at the wordanything. Memories of the past few years come flashing back at this loss of control, and for a second, I hate him as much as the others. It burns deep and makes little sense on a conscious level.

“Let’s go again,” I snap.

“That’s a girl. Let that anger move you. Don’t let it cause you to lose control. Let it be a weapon, not a handicap. It’s a hard line to walk.”

He releases me, and I quickly snap into action. He wasn’t expecting my movement, and I land a blow to his chest. To him, I’m sure it was like a bee stinging a rhino, but I feel better.

His hands rise, and I step back, waiting for a countermove. He moves; I move. Everyone else disappeared from the room in the dance, leaving only us.

“Good.” He nods approvingly as I block him, and I’m proud of myself when I land a minor hit. I know he’s going easy on me, but despite that, it’s progress.

We stay at the gym for an hour practicing. I know he’ll want to do more tonight when we get back to the hotel. It’s in the set of his jaw. He’s determined to get in as much training as he can in the short amount of time we have together. I try not to think about what it’ll be like when he leaves. I shove the thought to the back of my mind and hope it doesn’t return.

ChapterEleven

ANDRE

Weeks fly by in the same routine. We go to the gun range and then the gym every day, then go out to eat. At first, we said very little at dinner, both of us lost in our thoughts. Then, somehow, we began talking about our childhood. I said something, and she corrected me, which led to a debate that ended in laughter. After that, there was more ease between us. I try not to think about this ending, but I know it’s coming soon. I’ve grown used to havingheraround.

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