Quentin left the linen closet open for her at least. Grace could feel the cool air from the passageway below. She stepped inside, one foot at a time, and the steel door slid closed and locked with a click behind her. This time the hallway was already lit, the angel torches having activated when Quentin came through the moment before.
Following the natural grooves in the stone wall, Grace ran a finger along the crevices as she slowly made her way to the gym. Unlike the linen closet, the gym door was closed. Images of how Quentin looked the last time she found him in there flashed inconveniently before her eyes. Grace forced herself to think of the kiss with Darius. That worked for … oh … less than a minute. She so didn’t want to go in there.
With a groan she banged the door open much harder than necessary, slamming it shut behind her. This time she made sure Quentin knew she wasn’t trying to sneak up on him. Off to the left of the boxing ring, Quentin stood on top of one of a series of mats strung across the gym floor, wrapping his hands in tape. Was he expecting her to box or something? Standing beside him, she watched as he finished taping his hands. “What do you need that for?”
He focused on the wrapping, smoothing the tape’s edges. “Training.”
“I thought you said I’d be learning kra something? You didn’t say anything about boxing.”
Finally he looked up, but when he did, his eyes still held the same indifference from earlier. “It’s krav maga, and we’re not boxing.”
Grace continued to eye the tape. “Then why the tape?”
“Training.”
“Yeah, you said that already.” Annoyed, she glanced around the room. Even though he said they weren’t boxing, the ring looming over her made her twitch.
Hearing Quentin sigh brought Grace’s attention back around to him—to him watching her. “It’s for pull-ups and hitting the bags.”
Shifting her eyes from him to the punching bags made her palms sweat. “Oh.”
And there it was, a smile to clue her in that the old Quentin was still somewhere in there. “It’ll be okay.”
Grace returned his smile with an uneasy, half-cocked grin. “If you say so.”
“I say so. I’ve already warmed up, so pick either the treadmill or the elliptical for ten minutes or so.”
Grace jumped on the elliptical, set the speed and resistance, and watched the muted news on the flat screen above her. After ten minutes, she was already sweaty. She grabbed a drink from the water container and took a few minutes to catch her breath. Quentin was still standing in the center of the mats, and waved her over to join him. Here we go, she thought unenthusiastically.
Grace stood a couple of feet away, and waited with a hand on her hip for instruction. Quentin closed the gap between them, intending to be intimidating, but Grace refused to cow. “The first thing you need to know about krav maga is that it is an aggressive, hand-to-hand combat sport.” She swallowed, but stayed firm where she was. “Its focus is to neutralize any kind of attack. To disable or kill your enemies.”
Her eye ticked at the mention of killing anyone. She hoped it never ever came to that. She thought back on the night of the accident, and remembered how easily it could have been her or one of her friends that died, which restored her resolve. “Okay.” With a nod, she stood firmly rooted to the floor.
An hour later and Grace was overwhelmed with the hand-to-hand stuff. She figured he’d be the one touching, not the other way around. So, when it was her turn to replicate the moves he was teaching her, the rush of his emotions was a little much. She did note, however, he was no longer struggling when it came to her. He seemed perfectly unaffected by the close contact. The only emotions she was sensing from him were irritation and fortitude. He better not be irritated at me, she thought.
Bent at the waist and breathing heavily, Grace was glad they were done for the night. She’d never worked out so hard in her life. Forget boot camp, krav maga was definitely the harder workout. A neat stack of snowy white towels sat on a shelf next to the water cooler. Grace grabbed one and wiped the sweat from her head and neck.
As she stood there waiting for Quentin to tell her she could leave, a voiceless whisper beckoned her