Page 17 of From the Ashes
Carter's jaw clenches as he processes my request, but he doesn’t shy away from it. His eyes search mine, as if trying to gauge how deep the pain runs, but he doesn’t push for details. Deep, that’s how far it runs. So deep into my bones, I’m sometimes afraid I’ll never get strong enough to carry on with so many memories stuck into me.
“Alright,” he says, his voice steady, though his expression darkens slightly. “If someone kicks you when you're down, your goal is to protect your vital areas. First, curl inwards,” he explains, “tuck your arms over your stomach, and use your legs to guard as much as possible.”
I nod, following his instructions as he demonstrates the move slowly on the floor, and I get down too, studying exactlyhow to replicate it in case…In case it ever happens again.Once he’s done, he sits and watches me closely, checking my reaction.
“You okay, sweetness?” he asks, and his nickname catches me off guard.
I nod, but I don’t reply, wanting to try his move but unable to do it, as if it would send me back there all over again. He kneels down beside me on the mat.
“If you’re on the floor, your instinct might be to panic, but you have to keep your focus. Shield yourself and get ready to strike back.”
His voice is low and deep, grounding me to the present. I take a deep breath and mimic what he showed me, rolling slightly to my side, using my arms and knees to block an imaginary blow. His eyes remain on mine, observing me for any signs of hesitation.
"Good," he murmurs, his tone soft and almost warm. "If they get closer, you use your legs and kick them away. You don’t have to be strong, just quick. Aim for their knees, their shins, anywhere that will make them back off," he says, hands on his tights.
I take a deep breath, and the tension in my chest loosens just a bit. He’s taking his time with me, not rushing, not pushing me further than I’m ready to go. And I like that, I really like how careful he is, how intentional he keeps on acting, never taking his eyes off me.
“You’re doing fine,” he adds, standing up and offering me his hand. “Let’s go through the basics now.”
I take his hand, the heat of it reminding me of the ride to the club and how his spicy wood scent made my head dizzy with fire and sparks. His hand grabs mine strongly, as if I could rely all my weight on him and he’d still be there, holding me, preventing me from falling back in my past. As I stand up, I realize how close we are; my chest is heaving and I notice he’s clenching hisjaw. He does that a lot; it’s like his body is speaking for him. Now that I think about it, I can’t remember ever seeing him smile.
“I’ve never seen you smile,” I murmur, the intimacy of the moment taking away my shyness.
“I don’t,” he replies, like it’s inconsequential.
“Why?” His hand is still holding mine, only this time, his thumb is brushing the back of my hand slowly.
“‘Cause that’s the way I am, Lana. There’s nothing to hide here, everything you see is everything you’ll get,” he says, his voice hoarse and low with a mix of sadness tainting it.
I don’t buy it, people don’t become closed off when they lead a happy life. Children don’t lose their smiles if nothing happens. There must be more to it. I’d need to be blind not to see that Carter doesn’t have the full palette of emotions displayed on his face like other people do. And from the way he stares at me, I wonder if he can actually interpret all my emotions as well. But I kind of like that about him, it’s strange, I know, but there’s something about a massive, tattooed, muscular man being direct and not hiding himself from me that I find very attractive. I thought good looks, charm, and chit-chat were hot back then. But I guess dark, caring, and honest are much more attractive to me now. My chest tightens at a realization. If he struggles with reading emotions, can he see the effect he has on me?
“What if… I like what I see?” I whisper, knowing that by now my face is totally flushed, and it has nothing to do with our self-defense session. His breathing gets louder as I watch his Adam's apple bob. Carter’s gaze locks onto mine, and I can almost feel the weight of his thoughts. Time suspends around us, and the gym fades into the background. My heart races, a wild mix of fear and exhilaration coursing through me.
“Lana…” he starts, his voice low and gravelly. The vulnerability in his eyes sends a thrill down my spine. “You’re not just saying that, are you?” His doubt cuts through me. Ishake my head, staring at his icy blue eyes and drowning in them for a moment.
“Is it…hard for you to read me?” I ask tentatively, hoping it won’t rub him the wrong way.
He nods. “I think I get fifty percent of what you mean but the rest of the time I need to read your body language to be sure.”
My body language.
He watches my body to know what I’m saying.
“Oh.” I can’t imagine how hard it must be to feel like people are speaking a different language and struggling to get the subtext each time.Was he always like this?I wish I could ask but we’ve gone deep enough for a second date so I step back, thinking more clearly once he’s not so close in my space. “So you said we’d go back to basics.”
“Alright,” he rasps, his face unreadable, meeting my shift in energy with a nod. “Keep your feet shoulder-width apart. You need to be grounded,” he instructs, demonstrating a stable stance.
I mirror him, the tension from our previous exchange linger but I push it aside, focusing instead on the way his muscles flex with each movement. His forearms are covered with ink and thick veins. I’ve never had a thing for veins but I don’t know if it’s the nurse in me or the giggling teenager, probably both, but I wish I could run my finger on them.
Like now.
No.
Focus.
“This will help you stay balanced if someone tries to knock you off your feet,” he continues, stepping closer to adjust my stance again, his fingers brushing my skin with intention, always checking my gaze if I’m not triggered and turning me in a puddle for this caring man that I’m only seeing for the fourth time in my life.
“Now, when you’re ready, throw a punch. Focus on your form, and remember, you need to be quick,” he encourages me, stepping back.
