Page 9 of Meet Me in the Valley (Oakwood Valley #2)

Chapter Five

TIA

Breathe. Calculate. Coil. Strike.

Rinse and repeat until I exert enough energy that I’m a heaping pile of sweat on the mat. Strands of flyaways stick to my forehead, and I use the back of my hand to wipe them away as I help up my opponent.

I readjust my gi, fastening the belt around my waist with a firm tug.

When I inhale, I’m instantly invigorated by the smells that would normally repulse people.

But not me. Sweat, worn leather, and bleach welcome me, a lingering funk of hard training that never leaves the air and circulates with the sounds of grunts and heavy breathing.

I crave the strain in my muscles, how they burn, twist and bend in ways that if you’re not quick enough to calibrate, you lose.

But more so, I crave the stretch on the brain more than anything. Calculating, then recalculating three moves ahead, your opponent’s move and the instinct to combat it. Jiu-jitsu is the mental chess game of life. One where I seek the challenge and work to center myself when things get wiry.

“You did good today, Tia. Although, you missed four openings to pass my guard. Your mind needs sharpening.”

“I got you to tap out, didn’t I?” I pant heavily, resting my hands on top of my head as I fight to put oxygen back into my lungs.

“I sense something is troubling you?”

“No, Professor.”

Visions from last night assault my brain as if the last hour of rolling didn’t do shit to give me a reprieve.

Isabel’s naked body and her gleeful laugh as she wrapped herself around Logan in the water have the oatmeal I ate this morning churning deep in my belly.

The painful sting of jealousy coils around the images in my head, almost like they’re forcing me to watch, even though I drank myself further into a stupor once the rest of the group showed up with cases of beer.

Isabel kissing Logan’s neck. Logan licking Isabel’s ear. Isabel sighing into Logan’s mouth.

Thankfully, Donovan and Audrey were sober enough to drive me home in my dad’s SUV, and vague flashes of Audrey tucking me into bed at my parent’s house flicker behind my aching eyes.

I tossed through the night, wrestling with sudden feelings I didn’t ask for. Feelings aimed at the guy who’s been my anchor for a decade. Maybe they weren’t sudden at all. Maybe they’d been glowing under the surface, a low flame that’s alive just enough to not set off any alarms.

After my humiliating reaction to Logan and Isabel last night, it’s safe to say the alarms are blaring now—way too loud to ignore.

Leave it to Professor Silva to see right through the wall I’ve built around myself. I’ve been training with him since I was six until I moved to Texas at sixteen. There was a good stretch of time that I didn’t see him until my parents moved back to Oakwood Valley a few years ago.

Now I make it a point to train with him when I’m in town. It brings happiness to my heart to see his gym thrive in this small town, the only Brazilian jiu-jitsu gym in the county. It’s a second home for me.

Professor Silva eyes me thoughtfully, swiping the sweat off his upper lip while his other hand rests patiently on his hip, seeking an honest answer.

He knows I’m full of shit. I don’t even know why I try to hide things from him.

Maybe it’s because sometimes it’s easier to ignore the truth and live happily in your delusion instead.

Although, a comforting warmth spreads through me when I note his salt and pepper hair and the deep lines around his mouth and eyes. He’s aging with grace. Time has been kind to him.

He’s been a steady mentor in my life, allowing me access to his gym whenever I please. It’s been a place of refuge in times I’ve needed it. Times like today. Another place like Torren’s lake where I can literally work out the kinks in my troubled mind.

He doesn’t even have to say a word for me to hear his gentle probing. It’s all in his gaze with an inquisitive lift of his eyebrow.

Damn him.

“Yes, Professor,” I admit. “Something is troubling me.”

“I have known you since you were as high as my knee caps. We do not lie to each other, yes?”

I nod. “Yes, Professor.”

We walk off the mat toward the bench against the wall with the Oakwood Valley Brazilian Jiu-jitsu mural.

The paint is still as bold as the day my dad signed me up for my first class all those years ago.

A few pictures of me still line the walls, holding up gold medals around my neck, brace-faced with frizzy french braids as I stand proudly on the podium.

I gulp down heavy amounts of water, replacing the alcohol that’s seeping out of me from yesterday’s events. Hangover or not, I wouldn’t dare miss a rolling session with Professor Silva, come hell or high water.

He comes to stand in front of me, tipping my chin up with his pointer finger. “Whatever is troubling you, remember the lessons I have taught you over the years. You can force your opponent’s submission, but tru?—”

“True peace only comes when you submit to yourself,” I finish the mantra for him as it flows easily from my tongue. A mantra that takes permanent residence in my brain.

I chose this sport because it pushes me to relinquish control. An outlet to give me a release from the things I can’t get a good grip on. When I feel myself slipping, I leave it on the mat.

Today’s session was a poor attempt on my part to force the fragments of my growing infatuation with Logan into submission. It’s looking like my plan to release backfired, and I’m left with more questions than answers.

Why now? Why not the night we met at Torren’s dock? Why not all the years we’ve lived in the same city?

I suppose I need to keep Professor Silva’s mantra in my daily practice. Without the reminder to submit to myself, I’m going to be wandering in an endless loop—left behind without the peace I seek.

Professor Silva beams at me with pride, the kind that makes his eyes crinkle. Another student vies for his attention, and I rise from the bench to give him a parting hug.

“I will see you next time I’m in town, Professor.”

He gently cups my cheek like a father’s affection. “Looking forward to it. Say hello to your mama and papa for me. And stay out of trouble.”

“I will. And maybe,” I tease, causing him to tsk and shake his head.

“Remember what I’ve taught you, filha .” Daughter.

I chuckle at the thickness of his Brazilian accent, waving him goodbye as he steps back onto the mat to return to his teachings.

If only he knew the trouble I was in.

Freshly showered, I hear a commotion in the kitchen. Pots banging, cabinets opening and closing. Quickly slipping on athletic running shorts and one of Logan’s long sleeve University of Texas shirts I stole from his dresser, I quickly finger the strands of my damp hair and head toward the noise.

I round the corner to see my mother moving like a swarm of angry wasps through the kitchen, frantically searching for something. Her thick black hair is up in a topknot, and she’s wearing the pale yellow, frilly apron I made her in home economics class freshman year.

“Mama? Do you need some help?”

She jumps at the sound of my voice, throwing her hand over her chest. “Oh, my God. You scared me, sayang. Yes, actually. I do need your help.”

She swipes a piece of notebook paper from the kitchen island. Thrusting it into my hand, she continues to rummage through her kitchen as I look over the contents of the paper. A list.

“Mama, why do you have ingredients for apple pie? Did someone request it or something? Also, what are you looking for?”

She stops with the scrounging and gives me an incredulous look. “ Sayang , it’s for Daddy’s birthday. You know it’s his favorite. Now stop asking questions and please go to the store and pick up what I need. You know how much time I need for the crust, and I want to surprise your father by dinner.”

Dad’s birthday?

“What? But?—”

“Tia, please go now. I still have to prepare and peel the apples, and I don’t have enough. If the Honeycrisps are on sale, get those instead of Granny Smiths. I swear the price of apples these days is ridiculous,” she rambles, pushing me toward the front door.

I stumble back, eyes wide in shock at her frantic state. “But Mom?—”

“Daniel!” My mom calls out to my dad. “Where are my pie weights?”

“What the fuck?” I mumble quietly under my breath, slipping on my tennis shoes and grabbing the keys to my dad’s SUV off the hook by the door.

I hear my dad in his office, his faint voice filtering down the hall. My mom is acting like a complete lunatic, turning her kitchen inside out like she’s having some sort of nervous breakdown. Concerned, I walk to my dad’s office—the store can wait.

“Daddy?” I knock lightly on the double doors that are slightly ajar. I see him swivel in his office chair, talking to someone on the phone.

Putting his hand over the receiver, he beckons me. “Come in, sweetheart.”

I push open the door and take a seat on his leather chaise lounge that he’s had since I was a little girl. So many stories told on his lap, naps taken, and pictures colored on this chair.

They are such sweet memories, but my chest falls to some painful ones, too.

Hide and seek behind the chair. Late night secrets on the chair. My tears spilling into the leather as I watched her go.

“Sorry about that, honey. What’s up?” I don’t even realize I’m gazing longingly out the window until Dad’s voice brings me back. That—and Mom’s incessant clanging in the kitchen.

“Why is Mom making me get things for an apple pie for your birthday that was two months ago? She’s going psycho in the kitchen.”

“Daniel! Pie weights?!”

Dad and I both flinch at the sound of Mom’s shrill voice. I look at my dad with eyes that scream, “See what I’m talking about?”

“One second, Connie! I’ll help you find them!” Dad just shakes his head, looking at me with an almost pained expression.