Page 112 of Traces Of You

She didn’t think Clay was baiting her, but she didn’t want to be thought of as the only one who couldn’t do it.

“Let me try again,” she said, reaching her hand out.

“That a girl,” he said and loaded it again, then handed it over.

Clay rolled his eyes when Ford said that to her, but she’d caught the smirk between the two of them.

She lined the gun up again, fired four times and actually hit the edge of the target.

“That was better,” she said, handing the gun back and shaking her arms out. Her shoulders were tense, her back too. Heck, even her thigh muscles hurt.

“We are going to show you how to defend yourself,” he said.

“What?”

“You’re going to learn to fight back,” Clay said. “Everyone should fight back.”

“Not always,” she said quietly. This might release her inner demons and the last thing she wanted to do was come apart at the seams in front of Ford.

As a kid, she didn’t have to go as far as fighting back; just yelling or running away and not doing what was told of her resulted in a bigger beating.

With Oliver, for sure fighting back only riled him up.

He was bigger and meaner than her mother ever was. Her mother even kept the guys she dated in line... most times.

“You won’t feel that way again,” Ford said, putting his arm around her and pulling her close. “This is to fight to get away, not fight to purposely hurt someone. There is a difference.”

“If you say so.”

“Are you going to have a hard time doing it?” Clay asked. “Will it give you flashbacks or anything?”

It was the first Clay had asked her something like that.

A concerned question rather than an accusation.

She’d be honest. “I don’t know. I hope not. There were so many times in my life I just wanted to fight back. In my mind I was doing it, but my body turned and ran. The two could never connect. I guess that is how I learned to talk my way out of things, or distract from them. Make promises or suck up. Whatever got me out of a sticky situation.”

She’d been doing that most of her adult life to just put one foot in front of the other.

“Self-preservation isn’t a bad thing,” Ford said. “But when you run, you always have a fear inside of you. Looking over your shoulder will consume you.” He raised his eyebrow, staring at her, silently questioning her.

“I don’t want that anymore.”

“That’s right,” he said. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“Clay’s basement. He’s got a workout room and we are going to show you self-defense moves.”

“And how to use a knife,” Clay said.

“What? I know how to use one.”

“Not on someone,” Clay said and moved past them into the ranch house.

Ford threaded their fingers together and pulled her along. The thought of using a knife on skin made her want to vomit.

She could barely bring herself to do it, even when she knew she had to escape. The burning pain was a warning. Either endure this or face something worse. That was how she made it through… four cuts and a will to survive.