Page 40 of Hero Mine

They worked inside for a couple hours, drilling basic movements—breaks from grabs, defensive stances, simple strikes. Joy’s natural athleticism helped her pick things up quickly, even if her confidence still lagged behind her ability.

After a water break, they headed outside to the training yard. Bear knew she wasn’t going to like what was coming next. Turned out, he wasn’t wrong.

She stood a few feet away, arms crossed tightly over her chest, eyes locked on the baseball bat he’d set on the grass between them.

And she wasn’t moving.

Bear had expected hesitation, but this was different. Joy wasn’t just wary of the bat. She was afraid of it. He could see it in the way her shoulders had drawn up toward her ears, in the shallow rhythm of her breathing, in the way she couldn’t seem to look directly at it.

She swallowed hard, her jaw clenching. “No.”

He didn’t react. Didn’t push. Just let the silence stretch between them, giving her the space to work through what she was feeling.

Her fingers twitched at her sides, and she took a shallow breath. “I don’t need this. We can do something else.”

Bear kept his voice steady. “You said you wanted to be ready next time.”

She stiffened, a flash of something like anger crossing her face. “Yeah. With my hands. Not that.” Her gaze flicked to the bat like it might lunge at her. “I already tried this, and it didn’t work.”

Bear exhaled slowly. “Again, it didn’t work because you didn’t know how to use it. Not as a weapon.” He crouched, gripping the handle of the bat, holding it out toward her. “Now, you will.”

Her throat bobbed. “I can’t.”

“You can.”

“I can’t,” she snapped, eyes flashing up to his. “You weren’t there, Bear. You don’t know what it felt like. How—” She broke off, exhaling sharply, her voice cracking. “How stupid I was to think I could fight back. To think I was of any use to help save Sloane. I failed.”

Bear’s fingers tightened around the bat’s handle. She thought that was her fault.

Slowly, carefully, he set the bat back on the ground between them. “Come here.”

She hesitated but took a step closer, the tension vibrating her body like a plucked string.

He reached for her wrist—slowly—giving her the chance to pull away. When she didn’t, he guided her fingers to the bat, wrapping them around the handle over his own grip.

Her breath hitched, but she didn’t jerk away.

“It’s just wood, Bug,” he said softly. “That’s all it is. You decide what it means.”

She swallowed, her grip still loose, her shoulders still tense.

Bear didn’t let go. Not until he felt her fingers tighten, her grip shifting just slightly—not in fear, but in control.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Hold it higher on the handle. You’re not here to hit a home run. You’re here to take someone down.”

She nodded stiffly, her throat working as she swallowed. “Okay. Show me.”

Bear stepped back, giving her space, and gestured to the target—a heavy, sand-filled bag hanging from a stand a few feet away. “Aim for the vulnerable spots. Knees. Ribs. Head.”

“Head? Won’t that really hurt somebody?”

“Yes. Later, we can get into how, outside of a sparring ring, there’s no such thing as a fair fight. But for now, just know that it’s in your best interest to take them out as hard and fast as you can.”

“Okay.”

He met her gaze. “Swing through, not at. You want to put the weight of your whole body behind it. You can’t hesitate, can’t hold back. If you’re doing this, you’re doing it to put someone down and keep them down.”

It was a hard defense lesson to teach. Bear had helped out with self-defense lessons at Linear Tactical over the years and knew that a killer mind-set was something that students—particularly women—sometimes struggled with.

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