Dances with Monsters(120)

As tears squeezed out of her tightly shut eyelids, she struggled to draw deep breaths, inhaling and exhaling loudly as the intakes of air shuddered between her dry lips. She felt an ache in her knuckles and realized that her hands were clenched into fists, her nails digging into her palms. In fact, she realized her entire body was tight and wound up with stress. She forced herself to relax, concentrating hard on making each muscle relax, one at a time. The exercise took a very long time, but when she was complete, she felt a small measure of peace.

Next to walking out of the hospital and being in public, around people—enemies, as far as her shattered mind was concerned– for the first time after the attack, she knew the trial would be the hardest thing to date she'd ever have to do. But she was determined to do it. Even if it killed her, even if she broke down on the stand, even if she passed out or lost her mind—she'd do it. She'd never forget what Jackson James had done to her, the lingering damage he'd caused that would haunt her probably for the rest of her life, the reminder as her sisters continued to bear children, and their children bore children, that she never would be able to do the same, because he'd taken that from her. She'd be damned and no better than him if she didn't testify just because she was scared, and as a result he got off and did it to someone else. It had to stop with her. It would stop with her.

Having devoted all the energy and emotion she could tolerate to those thoughts, her mind shifted to Smackdown. To Heath.

Curiously, she felt more twinges of anxiety as she thought of it. Perhaps it hadn't been wise to think about her attack just prior. For a moment, Heath was just a faceless male body with brute strength that would tear her to pieces if he so chose.

But then she pictured his face, and the smile he'd given her in the car when she'd told him she would go with him. She thought about the way his eyes had lit up and crinkled at the corners, and the way both sides of his mouth had curved upward into a genuine smile of pleasure. Seeing him smile, really smile with his whole mouth, was so rare that she had never really noticed it before. She had always figured he would have a nice smile—he was a beautiful man, after all. It made sense. But seeing it, really seeing it, feeling its warmth and basking in its glow, watching as it completely transformed his face, accepting that it was directed at no one but her, caused by no one but her—it had almost taken her breath away. And the owner of that smile, that face, would never, ever do anything to hurt her. Of that, she was certain. She was safe with him.

Dimly, she realized she was calm now. Her heart beat was at a normal rate. Her breathing was relaxed, deep and even. Her muscles were no longer wound up and tangled tightly in themselves. In fact, she was smiling faintly. The thought of his smile had made her smile. The thought of him made her smile. She also realized she missed him. This was do-or-die week for him, she knew. She'd stayed out of his hair all week other than stopping by the gym a couple of times to bring him something to eat. He'd been gentle and sweet with her like always but she could tell his mind was on business, and she respected that. They'd talked on the phone each day, and sometimes they would text each other into the evening, but not too late, because she knew he needed his rest. He'd been going hard this week, pushing himself, increasing his workouts, sparring every single day with whoever would take him on, watching the film of his potential opponents obsessively to memorize their fighting preferences, their strengths, their weaknesses. She'd never known anyone to be so devoted to anything, and she couldn't wait to see his hard work pay off. There was no way he couldn't win. She'd secretly begun to think of him as "Superman."

As the noise of Rocky's sleepy purrs and snores met her ears from above her head, she glanced at the clock on her cable box and was dismayed to see how late it had gotten. She still hadn't packed for the weekend and Monday's trial. Tomorrow was a press day in Buffalo, Heath had told her, and the press kick-off started at noon but he wanted to check in at the hotel they'd be staying at first and get settled. That meant that he'd be picking her up at eight o'clock the next morning. John would be driving up with Connor and Lana later on. Carter Steele, Heath's manager, was already in Buffalo, awaiting their arrival. He'd been the one Heath had contacted to get her an extra pass to the fights and a hotel room close to Heath's. He'd told Heath he'd make sure he saw to Drew's every need and want while she was there, the best of the best treatment for the best fighter at the tournament. Drew had heard this herself since he'd been on speakerphone in Heath's office and she'd rolled her eyes at Heath. The words had been so dramatic and Drew was sure all that meant was that she could get coffee when she wanted it and maybe a front row seat. Heath had just smiled back at her.