Page 39 of Hero Mine

Bear stepped closer, keeping his voice steady. “That’s because you didn’t know how. You were reacting on instinct, and that’s not your fault.” He waited until she finally looked up, meeting his eyes. “But instincts only help so much without training. That’s why we’re here now.”

Joy exhaled sharply, then nodded. “Fine. Where do we start?”

Bear gestured to the center of the mat. “With the basics. Stance first.”

She followed him onto the mat, but there was hesitation in her movements, like she was bracing for something to go wrong. He couldn’t blame her for that.

He stepped in, nudging her foot with his boot. “Too narrow. If someone shoves you, you’ll go down fast.” He adjusted her other foot, placing her hands where they needed to be, guarding her face. “There. You’re small. You have to use leverage. Let their size work against them.”

She let out a humorless laugh. “Right. Leverage. That worked out so well last time.”

Bear ignored the self-deprecation and reached for her wrist. “I’m going to grab you. Your job is to break free.”

The second his fingers wrapped around her wrist—lightly, barely any pressure—she went rigid. Her breath hitched, eyes going glassy. Bear saw it instantly. She wasn’t here anymore.

She was there. Back in her living room. Back in the worst night of her life. She wasn’t reacting to him—she was reacting to the Kozak brothers.

Bear let go immediately. “Bug.”

She blinked, her breath coming too fast, her free hand clenching into a fist. “Shit.”

He took a step back, keeping his voice even. “You’re safe. It’s just us.”

Joy exhaled sharply, shaking out her hands like she could physically shake off the moment. “I know, I just?—”

She swallowed hard, eyes darting to the exit like she was considering running. “I don’t think I can do this.”

Bear’s chest tightened, but he kept his expression neutral. “That’s exactlywhywe’re doing this.” His voice was steady, certain. “So next time, your body reacts differently.”

She didn’t answer.

Bear crouched slightly, keeping his tone light but firm. “I know you don’t feel like it, but you can do this.”

Joy still looked doubtful, but after a long moment, she nodded stiffly. The determination that had always defined her—even as a scrawny kid climbing trees taller than she should—flared in her eyes.

He grabbed a training pad and held it out in front of her. “Hit this.”

She hesitated, eyeing it like it might bite.

“Come on, Joy. No one’s judging your form. Just hit it.”

She swung—halfhearted, weak, almost apologetic.

Bear frowned. “Harder.”

She tried again, but there was no force behind it, no conviction.

“Joy.” His voice sharpened, deliberately pushing her. “You think whoever comes at you next time is going to go easy on you?”

Her lips parted slightly, something flickering in her expression—indignation, maybe. Or realization.

Then she really swung.

The first hit was decent. The second was harder. By the time she was done a few dozen hits later, she was panting, sweat dampening her hairline, but her eyes had cleared of that haunted look.

Bear nodded, satisfaction curling in his chest. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

She wiped her brow with the back of her hand, breathless, but she still looked uncertain. And that was fine. She didn’t need to feel like she could win yet. She just needed to believe she could fight back.