Page 23 of The Runaway Bride of Blossom Branch

She swung again. And again. By the fourth punch she was sweating. “Teach me another one,” she panted.

Harry nodded. His gaze was hooded, his face wiped clean of all expression. “This next one is a hook. You want to get right up against the bag. In fact, you can rest your cheek against the side you’re not punching.” He wasn’t wearing gloves, but he demonstrated.Bam. Bam. Bam-bam.“Remember, don’t bend your wrist. But you’re coming from the side this time.”

Cate felt winded, even though the physical effort she had expended thus far was minimal. It was scary to let all her emotions rise to the surface.

Maybe Harry understood a little of what she was feeling. He brushed the back of his hand across her cheek, his smile encouraging. “Don’t be afraid. A little anger never hurt anyone, not in this setting.”

She nodded, suddenly at the mercy of those damn tears. The fact that she couldn’t control them brought the anger back. Resting her forehead against the bag, she swung her right fist in for a hard punch.

But it felt so weak. She didn’t want to be weak. So what if a thousand-plus friends and family and strangers witnessed her abject humiliation? She was strong enough to get past it.

Umph. She slugged as hard as she could. A right hook, then a left, then a right again. Her moves felt like slow motion. That made her angry, too.

Rage welled up inside her, burning away the sick feelings of hurt and failure. This had happened to her. No changing that. But it wasn’t the end. Her eyes burned, and her throat hurt. She swung and punched. Again. And again. The anger was terrifying and liberating.

Umph. Umph. Umph.

Her hands hurt. Her whole body hurt. There was a loud roaring in her ears. She felt like she was in a tunnel with no way out.

At last, she realized something was happening. Harry’s hands were on her shoulders, pulling her backward. She fought him momentarily. “I’m not done,” she said, the words barely audible.

He turned her around and pulled her close to his chest. “Yes, Catie-girl, you are.”

She broke down then. If she thought she had cried before, it was nothing compared to this. The sobs were raw and wild, and they hurt like a thousand hammers.

Harry stroked her back, her hair. His big frame was all that stood between her and the abyss.

Seven

In the midst of the storm, a tiny rational part of her psyche hovered above the scene and wondered if she was hysterical or merely grief-stricken. Was there a difference?

It was impossible to gauge how long the hurricane of emotions lasted. In the end, she simply ran out of steam. Limp and exhausted, she leaned into him, her cheek against his collarbone.

He smelled nice, and he felt solid. Comforting. Unchangeable.

She barely noticed when he scooped her up and carried her over to a weight bench. He sat down with her in his arms. Her head rested against his shoulder. Harry struggled briefly, tugged his T-shirt to his armpits, and used it to dry her face. “Maybe I went too far,” he said quietly. “The punching bag has great power. Not to be used lightly.”

“You’re teasing me now.”

“Yep.”

She managed a smile. “Did I look like a maniac?”

“Not at all,” he said solemnly. “You’re one of the few women I know who can get all sweaty and gross and still be beautiful.”

“That’s a backhanded compliment if I ever heard one.”

He moved a damp strand of her hair from her temple and tucked it behind her ear. “I’m pretty sure you’ve been getting compliments about your looks since you were a toddler. But there’s something you need to understand.”

Cate tensed involuntarily, braced for criticism about being the clichéd blonde, rudderless beauty queen. “Oh?”

A big sigh lifted his chest and let it fall. “You are so much more than your beauty, Cate. You’re smart and funny and kind. From what I’ve seen and things Jason has told me over the years, your most impressive gift is your ability to bring people together and make them feel special.”

She literally didn’t know how to respond to that.

Harry ignored her stunned silence and went on. “Case in point, your two friends Gabby and Leah. Leah was terribly shy, and Gabby barely skated by on cobbled-together scholarships. Without the way you took them under your wing, their college experiences at UGA would have been very different. You had every reason to be the stereotypical mean girl, but you weren’t.”

“Um...”

---