by Tasha Black
When he reached the top she was holding open the door, waiting for him.
They stepped out into the warm summer night together.
“You really think I can do this, don’t you?” Brooke asked.
“Of course,” he replied. “Don’t you?”
She didn’t answer.
They continued their walk, around the hedge, to the rear of the property. When they came into view of the kennels and the field, Brooke stopped and gazed out across the moonlit expanse of grass to the trees on the other side.
A thousand questions pressed at Conan’s lips, but he remained silent. Brooke was processing something. She needed time.
He wondered if it had anything to do with the dream she locked him out of. Was she looking at the trees right now but seeing a desert?
“I’m scared,” she whispered.
“Your shoulder,” he offered.
But she shook her head.
“I’m not afraid of getting hurt,” she said.
“Then what?”
She bit her lip and shook her head again.
He longed to brush aside the golden strands that had escaped her ponytail and nuzzle her cheek, kiss away the doubts and fears in her eyes.
But that wasn’t what Brooke wanted.
She was so brave. He tried to imagine what might frighten her if having her shoulder wrenched out wasn’t it.
“I’m afraid I won’t win,” she said at last.
“You’re an incredible fighter,” he told her. “And you have the most amazing team of people to help you. Did you see them in there?”
But instead of looking comforted, she only tensed her jaw again and he saw moisture shimmering in her eyes.
A new thought dawned on him.
“Is this what you want?” he asked. “If it isn’t, you don’t have to fight. It’s your choice.”
She turned to him, her blue eyes gone steely gray.
“It’s not a choice,” she said. “I’m out of options. I’ll fight. And wherever the chips fall I’ll deal with it.”
“We’ll think of something else,” he offered. “There is always a choice.”
“Not for me there isn’t,” she told him.
Pride bloomed in his chest at her courage.
“You’re going to win, Brooke,” Conan told her. “You have the spirit of the great warriors of your people.”
But she was already heading back to the door, ready to deliver on her promise.
16
Brooke
Brooke finished the training session feeling like a champion. She’d worked both arms until they were warm, then sparred with every student in the place.
By the end of the night they were all laughing their heads off. Keisha had decided to “announce” the fights once her turn was up. The kid’s commentary was spot on.
At last Brooke threw Hal and tapped him out and there was no one in line behind him.
Everyone broke out into cheers and she gave a mock bow.
“Speech, speech, speech,” Keisha yelled.
Conan winked at Brooke.
“Okay, okay,” she laughed. “Thank you all for coming back to help me. I know I had to close this place without a lot of notice and I really appreciate that you came back when I needed you. Your loyalty and your friendship mean everything to me. That’s why I’m doing this.”
There were some proud murmurs in the crowd.
“Yeah, yeah,” Brooke said. “I know I’m being cheesy, and I’m not exactly good at it.”
“You rock,” Keisha yelled.
“Anyway, thank you,” Brooke concluded. “Now go get some dinner. There’s a table covered in pizzas waiting for you down the street at Cheese So Fine - on me.”
The teenagers in the crowd scrambled for the locker room with crows of delight.
“Thanks, Sarge,” Hal called to her.
“My pleasure,” she told him.
Brooke took her time stretching and removing her gloves. Oddly, even after the tough workout, she felt ready to take on ten more opponents.
“Are you stalling?” Conan asked, joining her in the ring. His eyes were doing that twinkling thing that always sent her pulse into the stratosphere.
It hit her that they hadn’t been alone together since that night - the night when they’d laid down on the mats in this very space and he’d sent her to the moon with pleasure.
“What are you thinking about?” Conan asked.
“Nothing,” she said too quickly.
“Nothing?” He approached her slowly, like a lion to a deer.
“N-nothing,” she repeated stupidly, unable to use her brain as her body took over. The rhythm of her heartbeat moved in time to his footsteps.
“I know what I’m thinking about,” he said.
Her eyes were locked on his lips, the memory of them pressed to hers, to her breasts…
He stopped when only a few sizzling inches were left between them.
“I’m thinking about the last time we were alone here,” he echoed her thoughts.
She gaped up at him wordlessly.
He smiled gently and lifted his hand to slide a tendril of her hair behind her ear.
“Here’s what I’m thinking,” he said. “Let’s focus on the tournament for now.”
She nearly whined with frustration.
“But,” he said. “When it’s done, let’s pick back up where we left off that night. Does that sound good?”
“Good,” she echoed uselessly.
“Good,” he said, smiling down at her as if he were amused by her reaction to him.
Damned sexy alien.
“Are you hungry?” he asked her.
The words banged around in her head for a minute before they arranged themselves properly.
“Not really,” she said. “I guess I’m still too worked up from the sparring.”
“Awesome,” he said. “I was hoping you might teach me another throw.”
She smiled in spite of herself. He liked sparring. That was really cool.
“Sure,” she said. “I’ll show you the one Keisha is working on. That way you can help her tomorrow.”
She launched into teacher mode, going over each component of the throw for him, then watching him until she was confident his body knew the shapes it needed to make.
“Now go ahead and come at me,” she said. “I’m going to throw you, so you can get a feel for the rhythm of it.”
They did it once. Then again.
“Are you ready to try it on me?” she asked.
“Yes,” he smiled.
She came at him and he threw her. Somehow he managed to land her gently too. He was doing the throw properly, for the most part, but his sheer strength helped him compensate for his lack of technique.
“That’s great, Conan,” she said as he pulled her back to her feet.
He beamed.
“The only trouble is, I can tell you’re using your strength as much as you’re using the physics,” she added.
He nodded, smile gone.
She wished she could take the power away from him temporarily so he could see how effective the moves were.
“You know, there is a variation on this technique that would make it harder for you to muscle through,” she mused. “Do you want to learn it?”
“Yes, please,” he said.
They began again and she showed him each part of the throw. It was now time to demonstrate.
Brooke paused.
This variation was a throw she was avoiding in her own training because it required both shoulders to be part of the action.
On the other hand, she was showing it to him because it required technique rather than sheer strength.
She rolled her shoulders. They felt good, warm. There was no pain.
“Okay, come at me,” she told him, deciding to go for it.
It wasn’t until she had him in the air, nearly over her head that she felt the strain on her shoulder. Pain licked at the edges of the joint.
/> Panicking, she abandoned the move mid-technique.
Time seemed to slow down as Conan fell.
Brooke had forgotten something.
Conan wasn’t as experienced as the students who would normally be taught this technique. He didn’t know how to correct for the abortion of the throw. He didn’t know how to adjust for a different landing.
As Brooke watched in horror, his big body came down with a thump, like a tree falling. Too hard.
“Conan,” his name ripped out of her throat. She threw herself to the ground beside him.
He didn’t respond.
“Conan,” she shouted.
He came to life with a start and a gasp.
“Oh my god, oh thank god,” she said. “Are you okay? Don’t try to move.”
He sat up.
“I’m fine,” he said. “I just couldn’t breathe for a second. That was weird.”
“I knocked the wind out of you,” she said. “You could have been seriously injured. I’m so sorry.”
“It is a very effective technique,” Conan said decisively.
“That’s not the technique,” Brooke said. “I dropped you in the middle of it because my shoulder started to hurt.”
“That was smart to stop,” he told her. “Is your shoulder okay?”
Jesus. He’d had the breath knocked out of him, he could have been seriously injured and he only wanted to know if her shoulder was okay.
“It’s fine,” she said. “False alarm. We should go.”
“What’s wrong?” he asked her quietly.
“Nothing,” she lied.
“You’re hungry,” he said with a grin.
She nodded, though she wasn’t sure if she could ever eat again.
“Excellent, come on,” he said, leaping up and pulling her to her feet.
She followed him up the stairs but in the lobby, she paused.
“I think I’ll just eat here,” she told him.
“Why?” he asked.
“I’m training,” she told him. “I can’t keep eating pizza all the time.”
“I’ll stay with you then,” he said with a smile. “I will cook for you.”
She happened to know for a fact that the only thing he knew how to cook was toast. The thought of him making her toast for dinner made her smile in spite of everything else.
“No,” she told him. “You’ve got to go and pay for the pizza for me, okay?”
She pulled money out of her pocket and put it in his hand.
He looked troubled.
“Please tell them all I’m eating healthy and hitting the sack early so all their work won’t be for nothing,” she said, managing a smile.
He smiled back.
It wasn’t until the front door closed behind him and she had dashed upstairs to her room and sank onto her bed that she allowed herself to cry.
He trusted me to keep him safe. He could have been seriously injured.
I let him down.
I let down everyone who trusts me.
17
Brooke
That night, Brooke had the dream again.
As usual, she knew she was asleep from the beginning, and as usual, that knowledge didn’t change a thing.
The air churned with brown dust. It slithered into her clothing and impaired her view.
Brooke prayed to stay right there, in the rocky terrain outside the courtyard. If only the dust would never clear. If only they could pause here forever, her crew intact behind her.
Turn around, she begged herself inwardly. Turn around and at least see them one last time.
But the cloud of dust swirled like a curtain opening into hell revealing the adobe wall to the courtyard before them.
As Brooke clawed at the sheets, her dream-self strode through the opening, scanned twice and signaled the all-clear.
And they marched past her, every one of them. And she let them.
Time slowed as they passed her.
The crunch of boots.
The rush of the dusty air.
The thunder of the explosion.
The prolonged scream.
The force of someone throwing her to the ground.
But this time, the pain in her shoulder was muted enough that she heard the other screams and moans of wordless agony.
Brooke’s heart was shredding tonight instead of her shoulder. And, not for the first time, she longed for the shrapnel to finish her off too.
Why should she be spared when the others were being wrenched from their bodies because of her?
The sounds of misery went on and on, merging together and devolving into a single subhuman howl of unspeakable anguish.
When Trinity tried to wake her from the dream, Brooke resisted.
“Please,” someone whispered.
She opened her eyes, realizing the person who had come to rescue her from her nightmare wasn’t Trinity.
Conan leaned over her in the near darkness.
“Brooke,” he whispered. “Brooke, why don’t you let me in?”
She clung to his chest instead of answering. There were no words. She had no place to let him into. Her heart had been obliterated.
After a moment he wrapped his arms around her and held her close.
His warmth seeped into her slowly. His heart beat loud and reassuringly in his chest, with such vigor it reverberated into hers.
When she felt her own heart throb weakly in answer she relaxed slightly.
He buried his head in her hair and breathed her in.
“Oh, Brooke,” he sighed. “I wish I could help you.”
For a golden second, Brooke hung in the balance between everything she had ever wanted, and the emptiness she knew she deserved.
On one side was Conan, comfort, relief and the ability to move on and do good things with her life.
But Brooke had been living in the darkness for too long to step into the light.
She pulled herself out of his embrace, knowing that if she stayed another instant she might succumb.
“I can’t fight in the tournament,” she told him.
“You don’t have to fight, Brooke,” he said. “You never did.”
“And I… I don’t want to see you anymore,” she continued.
She felt him stiffen in the darkness beside her. His pain seemed to shimmer in the air between them.
“I just… It’s better if you stay away from me,” she said. “You’ll only get hurt.”
“Is this why you were screaming?” Conan asked earnestly.
“Yes,” she lied.
“I understand,” he said. “I will not ask you to be my mate again. May I continue as your assistant?”
Her loneliness threatened to consume her already and he was still right here in her bed.
“I think it’s best if we just take a few days off from each other,” she told him. “Maybe you can help Trinity or Veronica for a little bit.”
“As you wish,” he told her.
“Maybe you could keep opening up the gym for the students who are getting ready for the amateur division?” she suggested, suddenly feeling cowed by the idea of facing everyone.
“Of course,” he said. “I will take care of it.”
The bed creaked as he stood.
Brooke bit back the instinct to call him back.
When the door closed behind him she hugged her pillow to her chest, too empty to cry, and stared at the window until the velvet black outside faded to gray and then to pink.
18
Brooke
Brooke must have drifted off at dawn. She awoke what felt like five minutes later to the sounds of a terrible thunderstorm.
She leapt up and swiped her phone off the bedside table.
There were two alerts. One was an email from Captain Henderson letting the staff know that the power was out at the academy and all classes were canceled.
The other was a flash flood warning.
She stretched, and tried to acclimate her mind to the thought of having a
day off. She’d been hoping to throw herself into work in order to forget last night’s decisions.
When she closed her eyes she could still hear Conan’s voice.
As you wish.
Well it wasn’t as she wished, nothing would ever be as she wished unless he had a time machine to loan her.
She headed to the common bath to take a shower. Veronica would be at the kennel feeding the dogs, they didn’t take days off. And of course Trinity seldom showed her face before eight.
The sound of the water drowned out the thunder outside and Brooke lost herself in the gentle heat.
She dressed in comfy clothes and headed down to the kitchen to figure out breakfast. The storm had cooled the temperature to the point that the wood floors felt cold under her bare feet. She dashed back up to grab a sweatshirt and came down feeling even cozier.
But her chest still felt hollow.
One thing at a time, she coached herself. Relax.
She was just getting out the ingredients for pancakes when she heard the front door.
“Veronica,” she called. “Do you want pancakes?”
There were footsteps in the hallway, then Veronica appeared in the threshold.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Veronica said. “You have the day off and you didn’t sleep in.”
“Someone’s got to feed you,” Brooke teased. “You look like you were just swimming.”
“It’s crazy out there,” Veronica said, peeling off her rain poncho and shaking herself not unlike one of the dogs under her care.
“Easy there, Lassie,” Brooke remarked.
“The dogs were fine though,” Veronica said, striding over to the coffee maker and opening the basket. “Even Masha.”
“That’s the one that doesn’t like thunder, right?” Brooke asked. She felt for the dog. She didn’t like thunder herself these days.
“Yeah,” Veronica said. “I put her in Anka’s kennel last night. They were all snuggled up and sleeping hard this morning. It’s amazing how they do fine together, even though they’re scared on their own.”
Brooke nodded noncommittally, trying not to apply the situation to herself and Conan, and wondering if Veronica had brought it up for just that reason.
