Phoenix (Flames & Ashes Book 1)

by Carolyn Anthony

  “You thought I’d be upset about Mom dating?” I asked my sulking daughter.

  Her eyes popped wide and her mouth fell open . . . reminding me of Valentina.

  Where the fuck did that come from?

  “Well, yeah, Dad.” Jessa cut into my inappropriate thoughts. “I—I kind of thought you’d be upset too.”

  Brayden sat back hard against the booth cushion. “You think Dad doesn’t date?”

  “Hey, both of you.” Was this conversation seriously happening right now? Fuck. “Listen to me. What your mom and I do in our personal lives is our business, as long as it doesn’t hurt or affect either of you. It’s not something for you to get upset or worry about. I don’t expect your mom to stop living her life because we’re not together anymore. I hope you don’t, either. If you’re upset about something, you tell me, because I won’t have either of you biting people’s heads off when they’ve done nothing wrong. Jess . . . ”

  “Alright.” She rolled her eyes at me. “I’m sorry. I just . . . I don’t want another Daddy!”

  “Jess, you’re gonna be eleven,” Brayden interjected. “You can stop calling him ‘Daddy’ like a little girl.”

  I reached over and grabbed my son’s wrist gently, but with enough pressure that he looked at me. “You’re my son.” I nodded at Jessa. “She’s my daughter. As far as I’m concerned, she can call me ‘Daddy’ until I’m six feet deep. You’re a guy, so ‘Dad’ works for me, but she’s a girl. It’s different. Got it?”

  “Yeah, Dad. Got it.” Bray sighed as I let him go. “Sorry.”

  “It’s all right, but the both of you need to talk. So, you were afraid I’d be mad, Jessa?”

  Tears welled in the corners of Jessa’s eyes.

  A ripping pain tore across the expanse of my chest and I thought my heart might have cracked or a valve might have blown.

  “Not mad, but sad, maybe? Aren’t you a little sad?” A lone tear slid down her cherubic face to disappear into her shirt.

  How to handle this?

  “Honey, all I care about is that you guys and your mom are healthy and happy. You’re my first priority, as you are Mom’s. So no, I’m not sad, but I’m concerned if you’re upset. Nobody . . . ” I reached across the table, taking my daughter’s hands in mine. “ . . . and I mean nobody will ever take mine or your mother’s place. You have one mom and one dad, and we’re it. No upgrades.”

  A small, but tight grin spread across her mouth. “I love you, Dad.”

  “I love you both. So how about you, Bray? Where do you land on this?”

  Brayden gave a sharp shrug and met my eyes with a blazing heat. “I don’t care.”

  Bullshit.

  “Copout. Spit it, son.”

  “What if he’s a dick, Dad? What if he’s mean to her?”

  Jessa’s biting off people’s heads and Bray’s cussing. What the fuck’s next?

  I got it. Typical girl versus boy reactions. Jessa I already knew wanted us back together. Bray . . . I wasn’t sure what shit was going through his head, but I was about to find out.

  “First, I’ll talk to your mom when I drop you both off tonight, Bray, you’re cut off PS4, dude. No gaming until Wednesday. You don’t cuss because you get upset.” When he opened his mouth, I turned my body to him so he got the full force of the reprimand. I wouldn’t have my son cussing—“do as I say, not as I do” kind of shit, but I tried like hell not to cuss in front of my kids. “End of story. Second, divorced or not, anyone hurts your mother, you have my word I’ll set that straight. Although knowing your mom as well as I do, she’d handle it on her own.”

  “Daddy, if he hurts her, will you beat him up?” Jessa chimed in.

  At the last second, I caught the chuckle rumbling up my throat. Probably not a good time to laugh at this surreal situation where my kids wanted me to protect my ex-wife, one woman I knew did not need protecting. My ex was one tough lady, and I had loved that about her. Nobody messed with Leah. She was strength personified.

  That said, bottom line was anyone touched her physically in a way she didn’t consent to, yeah, I’d end the motherfucker, divorced or not. I’d never tolerate assholes treating any woman poorly, especially the mother of my kids. That was my trigger. Couldn’t condone violence to my ten-year-old, though.

  “Jess, Mom can take care of herself and she’s a good judge of character. You gotta trust her. I mean, come on.” I leaned back and pointed at myself. “She was married to me, so you know she has good taste.”

  Jessa shook her head and smirked at me. “You’re not funny, Dad.”

  “He’s totally funny.” Bray chuckled as dinner arrived.

  The waitress appeared with the pizza, salad, and another Shirley Temple for Jessa. She moved the drink in front of Jess and winked at her. “On the house, honey.”

  My daughter’s cheeks turned a bright pink and she smiled up at the waitress. “Thank you and I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

  “Nothing I haven’t heard from my own daughter, sweetie. I appreciate the apology.”

  Before she left, I ordered the standard desserts for the kids and thanked her for the drinks. Serving the pizza, I handed a slice to each of my kids and glanced at Bray. “Go, Bray.”

  Bray shrugged out of his jacket before biting through half the slice. “Look, Dad—”

  “Ewww. Finish chewing first, Brayden. You’re so gross,” Jessa interrupted, gingerly laying her napkin across her lap.

  Ignoring his sister, Bray set both arms on the table. “You know my friend, Dave?”

  “Of course. It was Dave’s paintball party you were at a few weekends back.”

  “That’s him. His parents have been married longer than you and Mom were. They’re still married. I’m there a lot, and I never see them talk. I don’t even think they like each other. Makes it hard on Dave. Hunter’s parents are divorced—you remember Hunter?”

  The fuck? Did my kids genuinely think I’d forgotten their friends? “Come on, Bray, yeah I know Hunter, and his dad.” This shit fucked with me. I’d only moved around two months ago and my kids thought I’d forget their friends? Fuck me. Hunter’s dad was a fucking tool, in my estimation—got caught cheating when the crazy bitch he’d been banging called his wife. Man-up and leave first, I say, but hey, not my deal.

  Bray took another bite of pizza and kept talking, mouth full, as Jessa put her finger in her mouth and made a gag noise. Now these were the kids I was used to, not the look-alike mini-adults hitting me with questions and observations way beyond their years.

  “Okay, so you know Hunt’s parents are divorced and they make Dave’s parents look nice. They hate each other. I mean hate. His mom’s always keeping him from seeing his dad, and his dad’s always bringing different girls around when he’s with Hunter—he hates it. Sometimes I think he might even hate his parents. At least you and Mom aren’t like that. So I guess, as long as you and Mom don’t hate each other, and whoever Mom ends up with is good to her, it’s whatever.”

  Spoken like a true boy.

  “I have one favor to ask.” Bray pulled the crust off his pizza and looked up at me.

  “Name it, son.” I mixed the salad in front of me, a little astounded at how much my children picked up on in their daily lives—their friends’ lives. I shouldn’t have been. I was the same way at a young age, but still . . . I didn’t want life infecting them this young.

  “I know it might not be my place, and I’ll talk to Mom too, but I don’t want to meet anyone you or Mom date unless they’re gonna be around for a while. I don’t want Jess to meet them, either.”

  My son was as protective when it came to Leah as Jess was with me. Bray’s friends’ parents had given him a context Jessa hadn’t experienced yet, and I was thankful. Sometimes when I got caught up in my own self-pity bullshit, I tended to forget how fucked up things could get in failed marriages where kids were involved.

  This was life—hard as fuck and not for the weak.

  “It’s a fair request, Bra
y. I’d never bring someone into your lives who wasn’t important to me, or who I thought wouldn’t love you both. We clear?”

  Bray shook his head. “Okay. But I’m still gonna talk to Mom.”

  “Gotta do what you feel is right. Always speak your mind.”

  For the rest of dinner, after the mini-episode of The Twilight Zone ended, I got caught up on what was going on in their world. I listened to softball stories, who Jessa’s best friend this week was, though she still missed Sarah and nobody compared to her. How Brayden hated his math teacher, and how he was probably going to make the varsity baseball team as a sophomore. He’d always been a gifted baseball player, and I was thankful he had something he was passionate about in his life—something to keep him focused. Jessa would find her niche. She played softball because Bray played baseball, but it wasn’t her thing. She was good at it, but she didn’t love it like Bray.

  Dessert arrived, and my kids dug in like it was the only food left on the planet. Vanilla ice cream was smeared over the side of Bray’s mouth, but he just kept on talking. Jess broke it in pieces so each portion fit perfectly into her mouth. This was what I missed—the little idiosyncrasies that made my kids . . . my kids. The move, the distance, kept me out of their everyday lives. Made me miss small things, details some people took for granted, and that ate away at my fucking heart.

  11

  Valentina

  I needed a man.

  Like having to attend the black tie Christmas party for my company wasn’t enough—now I had to bring a date? A male date. Why? I’d never needed a date before. Leigh thought it best since the owners of the publishing house were flying in and she wanted me to pitch the new project to our publisher, Mr. Carlyle. Annie attended all house events with me in-state and out, but now Leigh claimed it’d be better if it were a man? She didn’t want me feeling “out of place,” since everyone else at the table was bringing their spouse. Like I cared? Sexist and uncalled for. Annie was my go-to. But I’d have to argue more with Leigh later. I couldn’t think about that now.

  Shouts and instructions echoed throughout the Krav Maga studio I trained at. The sounds of fists against flesh and bodies hitting the mat thundered through the small space. Energy hummed through the air, the tension palpable. The five people in house tonight were getting ready to test for their black belts tomorrow with Instructor Kovov. I was supposed to be a part of that group. I’d made the smart call and opted out of testing, not wanting to risk my knee.

  But Instructor Kovov had still asked me to come early today and now had me waiting until after classes. I dragged a hand down my face and readjusted my chair, trying not to appear frustrated. Flurries of arms and legs flew and landed in different patterns, non-stop reevaluations of threatening situations determined in split-seconds—that was the beauty of Krav Maga. The core principles constantly changed and were cutting edge, forcing you to stay sharp.

  As training ended and the last student left the studio, Instructor Kovov waved me over to his office.

  Finally. I calmed with every indentation of my feet on the padded black mats lining the studio floor. Even empty, the intense energy lingered as if permeating the air.

  “Close the door, Toni.” Instructor Kovov nodded to the door and wiped his face with a towel. “You see the men and women who just left?”

  Was this a trick question?

  “You had me wait until they finished, sir. Of course.”

  “They were at full strength. No injuries and they’re mentally prepared to test tomorrow.” He sat down behind his desk. There was no escaping Instructor Kovov’s wrath tonight.

  My chest sunk as I let out a long breath. “I know I can’t test, which is why I opted out the other night. I know my knee isn’t at one hundred percent.”

  “You’ve been training with me now for what? Five years?”

  I stretched my fingers out wide, before gripping the arms of the chair. “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ve been doing this over twenty years. I’m good at what I do.” It wasn’t a boastful claim; he was simply stating a fact. Instructor Kovov was the best around. It was why I'd sought him out. To be the best, you train with the best. “The reason I know when students are mentally ready for the next belt, specifically black, is because I read well. I read opponents and my students.” He offered me a bottle of water he’d pulled from the little refrigerator by his desk.

  I waved him off. “No, thank you.” Trying my best not to squirm under his scrutiny, I slowed my breathing down. I was getting a paternal vibe from Instructor Kovov, so I hoped there was a point coming soon. I was pissed I couldn’t test, already had overprotective parents and I still had a boss to argue with.

  “If I hadn’t pushed you a few days ago,” he said. “If I hadn’t forced you through holds and releases until your knee gave, you’d have tested tomorrow. Am I wrong?”

  He knew me well without knowing anything about my past. Straightening in my chair, I met his steady gaze a little embarrassed, because I’d known better. “Yes, sir. I’d have tested.”

  He nodded and sat back in his chair. “And you’d have failed,” he said softly.

  “With all respect, sir, you don’t know that.” I’d drilled well the other day, before he kept me an hour and a half longer than anyone else, “just to be sure.” When the knee gave out, I knew I couldn’t make it through a full eight-hour black belt test, and while I despised having to do it, I’d made the safe call. He should have been proud of me, not frowning.

  He ran his long, tapered fingers along his jaw. “It’s not the knee I’m worried about. Your knee has healed well. You proved that the other day—I pushed you on purpose, because you’re stubborn. It’s smart not to test, I agree with your decision, but had you tried and the knee by some chance held up, you’d have still failed the attack from behind. Again.”

  I rubbed the back of my dampening neck before folding my arms in front of me. “Instructor Kovov, you can’t be sure I wouldn’t pass.” The air in the tiny office became dense. My chest tightened like I’d just gotten done with chest day at the gym.

  “I am,” he said, with so much confidence my heart sank. “Let me ask you something—why do you hesitate in testing, but not in practice? I’ve seen you get out of that hold, change the momentum to your advantage, put men twice your size on the ground more times than I can count, yet you hesitate in a test environment. It’s not the physical skill. You have that. You’re fast, think quickly, react on instinct, and you never quit. What about that attack stops you?” His fierce, dark brown eyes studied my every movement.

  I was sure classified, government black-site interrogations went something like this. We were just missing the huge spotlight, some water boarding, and a few more men with masks. “I’m not sure what this is about Instructor Kov—”

  “It’s about you defending yourself in real time, when it counts. Your hesitation, twice now in a test situation, speaks to something deeper than physical ability.”

  Great. Now Instructor Kovov was turning into Dr. Rhodes? I glanced behind me. How close was that door? Because right then, all I wanted to do was run outside so I could breathe correctly. Stop everything that kept me balanced from tipping. I rearranged my legs in the chair. When a metallic taste flooded my mouth, I let go of my bottom lip.

  “As your instructor, it’s my privilege to teach you, make you stronger, keep you safe.”

  I sat up straighter. I respected my Instructor more than most people. Beyond his skill, he was a good man and cared about his students. I couldn’t disappoint him. “I’ll do better. I’m—”

  Lifting the hand resting on his desk, he cut me off. “In my experience, when this happens with students, it’s something they’re not consciously aware of. To pass, you need to isolate the problem and work through it. It’s not physical with you. It’s commitment.”

  I nearly flew out of my chair. I righted myself quickly, not wanting to be disrespectful, but I wouldn’t have my commitment questioned, not even by a master li
ke Kovov. “Are you saying you don’t believe I’m committed to Krav Maga?” I trained harder than anyone—I had to.

  His chest rose on a deep inhale as if I was trying his patience. “As far as instruction, work ethic, and physical ability, you’re my top student. The physical movements have become muscle memory for you. You physically adapt to fluid and changing situations exceptionally well, because you understand no two situations are the same. You must be mentally committed and you’re not. Figure it out before you test again.”

  “I can’t test next round? Again? Instructor Kovov, I—need to be here. I need to train.”

  He stood and came around the desk in front of me, leaning his ass against the desktop. He studied me closely, his scrutiny so intense I squirmed in my seat. “I said I don’t want you to test. I didn’t say I don’t want you to train. You used the word ‘need.’ Why do you need this?”

  All I could do was stare up at him, before I found my voice. “I—I just do.”

  “Not good enough. Until you know the catalyst, you’re not testing.” He sighed and leaned down so we were eye-level. “Need speaks to something deeper.

  I had nothing. He was right. But I couldn’t tell him why. After the flashback with Dr. Rhodes, I knew the catalyst, which meant I needed conquer this more than anything. I could do this without having to disclose my past to him. I just needed to work harder. Focus more.

  My temples throbbed as I watched him walk back behind the desk and sit down. The question bothered me. Why did I need it? I was already highly trained. I had a third-degree black belt in Jiu Jitsu. I held all belts except black in Krav Maga. So why was black my Holy Grail?

  A belt doesn’t guarantee I’ll never be attacked, but it guarantees I’ll never be weak again. I’ll be trained at the highest level to fight right there, with everything I have, or die trying. I’d have a full arsenal. In which case, yes. I need it.

  Instructor Kovov leaned forward, elbows on his desk. “Identify your fear and move beyond it. Whatever it is, study it, learn it, and analyze it from all angles. I can’t teach you that—it comes from within. Trust in your skill and fight in the present moment. Now go home and I’ll see you next week. Thank you for staying.”