Page 122 of The Bodyguard's Fall

“I’m trying to get you riled up.” His low voice caused goosebumps to fan out across my arm. “You know that, right?”

I blinked. I hadn’t known that. There was a spattering of emotions on his face. He held himself so tight, so controlled.

“I need you to be mad right now, Liv. I need to know that you can hold your own if I’m not there. I can’t control everything, and that scares the…” He trailed off, and I saw him visibly refocus. “But I do have some control over how well you can throw a punch. But I can’t be any meaner without feeling bad. You need to be angry. Not just scared.”

“I’ve been plenty angry,” I shot back, pulling myself somewhat regretfully out of his arms.

“When? I haven’t seen it. You’ve been jumpy, nervous, watching your back, but you’ve never gotten mad.”

I took a step back, confused. What? I hated Leroy. I hated what he’d done. I’d been plenty angry.

Hadn’t I?

“You’ve rearranged your whole life around fear,” Tate said. “You stopped living. It was self-preservation, and that’s completely understandable. But now is the time to be mad. You need to learn to hit and rage so when he does come, you won’t be running away or hiding in the corner.”

I blinked.

Heat and a sudden moisture stung my eyes.

He was right.

My life since Leroy had been guided by fear. It had drowned out every other emotion, every other thought. Fear had dictated every decision I made. Every question I had.

Should I answer the door?

Was that him calling me?

Is that his car?

Is that him in the grocery store?

Was that a coincidence?

Is that him behind me?

It became easier to stay home. Safer to say no. So I stopped living. I stopped meeting friends after work. I said no to dates. I moved apartments. I slept with a nightlight and a gun I was too afraid to use. And I showed up half-heartedly to self-defense lessons because, somewhere deep down, the thought of using those skills one day forced me to crawl out of this safety net I’d created around myself.

Precaution had given me the illusion of control. But an illusion was all it was.

I’d given Leroy all the power.

And that glimmer of rage I felt from the other night began to flare once more.

Tate must have seen it too. He helped me put my gloves back on and motioned me toward him.

“Pretend I’m Leroy. Think of all those times he thought he had the right to watch you.”

I attempted the jab/power combo. He blocked both easily.

I stepped back, deflated slightly.

“That was good form,” Tate said, nodding toward me. “Just tighten your stomach and go harder.”

I threw another punch, this time faster. He still blocked it, but he had to work for it.

“Good,” he said. “Think of all the times you had to move because of him.”

Another punch. This time was stronger.