by Lizzy Ford
“No. Baba said that’s why I had two brothers.”
“Everyone should know something,” Captain Mathis replies. “I know you can slap. Punch?”
I almost smile but shake my head.
“This will be interesting,” he states and beckons me towards him. “I want to teach the kids some basics.”
“Train them to kill young?” I ask, glaring at him.
Captain Mathis watches the running kids. “Train them to take care of themselves. A sense of vulnerability often comes with the death of a loved one. It might help build confidence and …” He faces me and stops.
The awkward silence is heavy. I’m trying to keep my face expressionless, but not emoting is not my forte. It’s too early to hide the pain I feel at the reminder. Captain Mathis searches my face briefly with his brown eyes then takes a step towards me.
It’s hard for me not to want to scream every time we stumble on even the most innocent inference to Mikael’s death. I can’t forget that my brother isn’t coming home because of the man standing in front of me.
“It’ll be good for you to learn,” he says and rests his hands on my shoulders, shifting my body. He squares me to face him. “This is a good stance for you for our drills.”
“Because somehow this will help me forget Mikael’s death?” I challenge.
Every once in a while, something sparks in his eyes that makes me think I’ve hit some emotion. Just as quickly, it’s gone.
“No, Katya,” he says quietly. “Because everyone should know the basics.” He drops his hands.
I watch him move away.
“Fall in!” he belts to the kids.
They scramble to face him, lining up from tallest to shortest.
“My god! They look like the Von Trapp kids,” I say, shaking my head.
Captain Mathis ignores me. “Pair up and gather around,” he instructs the six sleepy members of our team. “We’re going to do some self-defense training.”
Returning to me, he addresses the kids.
“First lesson of self-defense. Escape if you can. Don’t fight someone bigger or stronger. Got it?”
The kids nod.
“Second, if you have to defend yourself, remember the parts of the body that work well as weapons: Meat of your palm. Fist. Elbow. Forehead. Hips. Knees. Heels.” He raises or points to each as he speaks slowly. “Got it?” He repeats them, and the kids mirror his movement. “Now, put one of those in the part of a body where it hurts to get hit. Throat, eyes, groin, solar plexus, toes, fingers.”
I assess him as I listen. The kids seem entranced.
He talks them through a few things, and I try to pay attention. But in truth, I’m feeling the lack of caffeine and having trouble concentrating. Jenna giving a shriek startles me, and I jerk out of my thoughts.
She’s in a fighting stance, pretending to kick an invisible opponent. The other kids laugh, and Captain Mathis is smiling. He kneels down in front of her.
“See how balanced she is?” he asks, pushing her shoulder gently. “Something to remember. Always keep your feet on the ground and maintain your balance.”
My goodness, she’s adorable with her fierce scowl.
“Let’s start with a few scenarios. Remember what I told you?” he asks, standing. “You’re at the mall and someone grabs you.”
He beckons to me, and I approach reluctantly, certain I’m about to become the crash test dummy. Captain Mathis circles me and wraps both arms around me. The move shocks me, as much from the sudden impact of our bodies, as the hardness and strength behind me. I was expecting a punch, not a full-body connection.
The strange sensations that overwhelm my thinking throw me into complete awareness without coffee. Touching him is like downing a shot of whiskey. My blood is on fire, my senses scattered. I’m no longer cold this early, not with his body heat finding its way through my clothing. It’s hard not to want to melt against him, to relax in his arms and know without a doubt he’s strong enough to support me.
Thank god he’s talking to the kids. It takes me a minute to switch my focus from how solid he is to his low voice.
“…take a step forward.”
I realize he’s talking to me. I do what he says and feel his body weight shift to me.
“Kick him in the crunchies!” one of the kids cries.
“Crunchies?” I echo. Realizing what he means, I start to laugh.
“Not the best position to try that,” Captain Mathis says, amused. “What else can she do?”
“Elbow!” someone says.
“Okay. Try to move your elbow.”
I wriggle and pull, but he’s got my arms pinned solidly against me.
“So that won’t work. What next?” he asks.
“Stomp on his foot!”
“Try it,” he tells me.
I do.
The kids clap.
Eventually, he gives the steps for how to get free. Not that I’ll remember them. I’m a little too … aware of him to recall anything. But for the next hour, his hands don’t leave my body. He’s more patient than I expect, walking the kids through scenarios over and over until they get it. As strong and detail oriented as he is, he’s also gentle with me, positioning my body and shifting me around with absolutely none of the awkwardness that I feel.
In fact, I’d say he doesn’t notice me any more than he would one of his men.
When the hour training is up, he moves away from me. My body is humming with uncomfortable warmth that makes me wish I had the guts to wear a t-shirt instead of a long sleeved shirt. I haven’t worn anything but long sleeves out in public since I was thirteen, after the kids at school made fun of my scars.
The kids are being sent on a run around the pit once more. Captain Mathis watches them, hands on hips.
“This isn’t boot camp,” I remind him. I want to fan myself but know better than to give him any sort of sign I’m attracted to him.
“You’ll thank me when they’re in bed at eight while the other teams are up past midnight,” he replies. “They’ll be easier to manage throughout the day this way.”
“Are we going to start every day this way?” I ask.
He glances at me then back. “If learning self-defense keeps you from biting my head off, we might.”
I glare at him.
“Though, I wonder if you were so quiet because you wanted to learn how to take me out?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Maybe.” There’s no way in hell I’d ever admit to him the real reason: that I was distracted by his body too much to say anything. “You are a half-decent instructor.” Hoping mind reading isn’t something he learned in the Marines, I follow the kids with my gaze, my face warm.
“If Harris ever gets too fresh, you know what to do.”
There’s an edge in his voice that’s reflected in his gaze. I’m not sure what he’s saying – or why he seems tense once more.
I spot movement through the trees and see Riley and Brianna walking with their kids through the camp, towards the dining hall.
Captain Mathis broke Petr’s body, but that woman broke the hearts of both my brothers. Not to mention she likes to embarrass me. What the hell does any man in his right mind see in her?
“Is it safe to assume you know more than self-defense?” I ask thoughtfully.
“I can snap a man’s neck in a few different ways. Is Harris that much of an issue?”
“What the hell?” I stare at him.
He’s not joking.
“Harris is my business,” I reply. “Why you and my brother are fixated on him …” I shake my head. “No. I just … no. How the hell did you get from knowing how to hit someone to snapping necks?”
He shrugs. “In my line of work, I never rule out the possibility.”
“This is reality, Captain Mathis. There’s no snapping necks here.” I can’t even imagine …
My eyes go to his large hands, the same hands that were on my body not ten minutes before. That he can be so gentle a
nd so lethal is really kind of freaky.
My brothers never told me what happened on their missions overseas, and I’m beginning to understand why. I can’t fathom an existence where you might have to kill someone with your bare hands!
“Sometimes things escalate more quickly than you expect,” he adds at my stunned silence.
Meeting his gaze again, I find myself wondering if he’s talking strictly about war or something else.
Don’t be an idiot.
As if feeling the weird tension between us, he clears his throat. “What do you want to know?” he asks, moving closer. “I thought you were a peace loving liberal.”
“I am, but every once in a while you meet someone who needs a good punch,” I reply and cross my arms.
“Someone like … me?”
I look him up and down, already suspecting it’d be more trouble than it’s worth to try. Though I might like it if he wrestled me down …
Stop it, Katya!
“Not this time,” I reply.
“You have someone in mind.”
“None of your business. I need to know how to punch someone a couple of times,” I answer.
He’s eyeing me warily. “Who and why?”
“You said everyone needs to know the basics.” I point out. “What do you care who I punch? And don’t tell me because we’re a team. I can wait until you’re gone to do it!”
“The basics of self-defense are important for getting yourself out of trouble, not into it,” he replies.
“So you won’t show me?”
“Not until you tell me why.”
I’ve never had to answer to anyone in my life, even my father. There’s no way I’m answering to him. “Never mind. One of the other guys will show me.”
Captain Mathis seems to debate silently, studying me. I’m not about to crack and tell him. As if sensing so, he relents. He steps close enough for me to feel his body heat and takes my wrist.
“I recommend not punching. You’re just as likely to hurt yourself as someone else,” he starts. “But if you insist, keep your wrist braced.” He straightens mine and places his hand around it. “Completely straight. Make a tight fist.”
I do.
“Thumb here. You want to hit with the first two knuckles.” He taps the two he means.
I watch carefully, trying to take in everything from how it looks to how it feels.
“So I have to have a straight shot basically,” I murmur. It seems more complicated than I thought. “You’ve hit real people?”
“Yeah.” He meets my gaze. “It’s not pretty, Katya. You can shatter your wrist or break a finger if you do it wrong.”
Ugh.
“You’re better off learning some solid self-defense skills.”
“What if something escalates?” I ask. “Friendly chat one minute then everything explodes.”
Holding my closed fist in both of his, he’s gazing at me.
Heat flutters through me once more, and I realize what I’ve said. Or maybe, how it could be taken, if he’s remotely affected by me the same way I am by him.
Which he can’t be, because he’d have to be human first to have emotions.
“There’s usually something to spark it,” he responds quietly. “Explosions don’t just happen.”
What the hell are we talking about?
I’m not sure, but my stomach is turning over and my pulse is racing beneath his direct gaze. Uncertain how to respond, I tug my hand free and move away.
“It’s getting close to breakfast, and we all need showers,” I say, turning away.
Captain Mathis clasps his hands behind his back and moves towards the center of the pit.
“Fall in!” he orders.
The kids scramble into a line in front of him, panting.
“Tanner, lead them back to the barracks,” he orders the tallest boy.
He walks beside the line of kids, while I trail, trying to get my head on straight once more. It doesn’t help that I keep looking at his nice thighs and trying to remember when the last time I went out on a date was.
Before Mikael died.
Almost instantly, I’m sad again.
Chapter Nine: Sawyer
Katya takes thirty minutes to get ready. We’re late to breakfast, and I’m silently wishing she was one of my Marines, so I could deal with her properly. But she’s not, and I’m at a loss as to how to help her pull her head out of her ass and pay attention to what’s going on around her.
As soon as we sit down at the table with blue flags, we’re served by a staff of two smiling women in cooks’ whites. I’m excited to see what kind of breakfast a kitchen this nice can make compared to the usual military fare and am secretly hoping for some sort of gourmet French toast, my favorite.
My tray is set before me, and I stare at it. There’s no hot food here. No bacon, eggs, and pancakes like I’m used to eating every morning in the mess hall. I’m not sure what the fuck this is, but it’s definitely not French toast.
A glance at the other tables shows that they are eating hot food that smells and looks insanely fresh and homemade, and I start to think we got the leftovers for being late.
“What is this?” the ten-year-old boy, Jacob, asks, peering into a bowl of what appears to be cream cheese. His older sister, Morgan, is seated beside him, equally confused.
“Greek yogurt and organic granola, honey and flax seeds. If you mix it all together, it’s one of the healthiest breakfasts you can have,” Katya says cheerfully. “It’ll keep you full for hours.”
I say nothing, wanting to be a better sport about her mentoring than she is about mine. One week of this shit. I stab the thick yogurt with a spoon then begin emptying the other fixings into it, doubting anything is going to make this taste like the bacon I crave.
“Dig in!” she says.
Jenna alone seems interested in our breakfast and starts throwing everything into the yogurt. The other kids glance at their food and then at me.
“You’ve got ten minutes to eat,” I say.
The kids take their cue and begin eating quickly.
Katya slides onto the bench beside me. “I planned all our meals.”
“For the whole week?” I ask.
“Yeah. I hope you like hippy food.” She smiles sweetly. There’s a gleam in her eye that makes me think she’s still pissed about me yelling at her to get out of the shower.
“Is there any real food this week?”
“This is real food. No preservatives or chemicals, refined sugar or flour or anything else artificial that’ll kill you. Petr has been eating like this for the past four months, and look how healthy he is.”
“Is there any fake food this week?” I grumble.
“Nope.”
She’s trying to break me. If there’s one thing people don’t fuck with, it’s a Marine’s food, especially when he’s home for a few days from Iraq. Does she know that, or is eating hippy food really the way she is?
“Physical activity isn’t the only way to manage hyperactivity,” she says. “I took a few psychology classes, nutrition and a bunch of other stuff. Chemicals in food are linked to behavioral issues. So, you rein in the kids your way, and I’ll do it mine.” Katya pours me coffee out of the slender metal carafe on our table.
I can’t argue with her logic, even though I suspect she’s more interested in torturing me than helping me tame the kids.
I dig in anyway. I’m surprised to find it doesn’t taste as bad as I’m expecting. Sweet and tangy, the smooth yogurt is actually pretty good. It will never replace bacon in my life, but it’s not bad.
Ten minutes later, we’re leaving the mess hall and gathering around a rose garden nearby to hear morning announcements. Katya is texting on her phone and starts to wander off. Anticipating losing her several times today, I snag her belt, drawing her back to me.
“Stay with your team,” I remind her.
She glares up at me. “You aren’t my babysitter.”
“I can be
if you need one.”
With a noisy snort, she tucks her phone away but doesn’t try to leave again, staying where I put her in front of me, a little too close for my comfort. Not that I’m intimidated by her, but like this morning doing drills, I kind of like the idea of being close enough to touch her. Maybe it’s because she smells like a woman – a mix of her own musk, fruity hair product, vanilla perfume and some sort of baby powder smell I think comes from helping Jenna get ready – or maybe it’s because she is so completely feminine. Dressed in a fitted, long-sleeved camp polo and leggings that cling to her shape, she’s sexy and fiery.
Whatever it is, standing this close almost makes up for her being a bitch most of the time. When she’s quiet, I like being near her. When she’s not, I know being too close might tempt me to strangle her. I’m feeling no animosity towards her now, despite the breakfast, instead interested in her scent and warmth.
We may get through this after all. I concentrate on Brianna, who is giving the line-up for the morning. I’m overly aware of how close Katya is and how perfectly her body fit against mine this morning during the drills. For the first time since we’ve met, she was semi-cooperative and quiet for all of an hour. If she was like that more often, I might be in real danger of starting to like her.
“Try not to kill anyone on our team this week, Captain Mathis,” she whispers to me.
Thank god she’s a bitch.
We listen to the announcements and go to our assigned activity. The first day of camp is an easy one filled with activities meant to familiarize the kids with everything and help build a sense of teamwork.
I’m optimistic about the physical activity and building a team. It’s what I do in Iraq. We aren’t in war, but the environment is familiar. Confident and eager, I’m starting to think even being stuck with Katya can’t fuck today up.
***
Hours later, I know how wrong I was to underestimate her. The kids are better disciplined and easier to work with.
By the end of the first full day, I’m ready to drag Katya back to her brother and demand a trade. Never mind that she couldn’t follow instructions to save her life or the fact she didn’t wear the right shoes for the trail hike and outright refused to paddleboat or the way she rolls her eyes at me whenever I’m working with the kids.
