Page 50 of Trust

Istay up most of the night, replaying her words. Part of me thinks I should shut it down before it starts.

Like I’d make her owe me. If anything, I owe her for this mess.

If she wants to learn, I’ll treat it with the weight it deserves. Every session will have purpose. Every action will teach. We only have a couple of weeks before she goes back home. That’s not much, but it’s enough to start. Enough to give her a foundation to build on.

By the time the first light slips through the trees outside, I’ve got it mapped out. It’s not a drill-sergeant plan. I’m not trying to turn her into a soldier. The basics will do. The kind that keeps you alive.

My knock goes unanswered when I wake her. Maybe she backtracked. It takes me pushing the door open and calling her name several times before she stirs.

“Let’s go,” I say. “Dress warm.”

She studies me as if I’m slightly insane but doesn’t complain. Groaning under her breath, she pushes the blanket off.

It’s early and cold, but not brutal. The clouds are thin, allowing the sunlight to come through. The earth is damp underfoot, the path shrouded in mist. We start with a run. One lap around the lake.

I keep pace at her side. The determination is there, even if the conditioning isn’t yet. Breaths come heavier than she’d like, but I let it slide. She read that newspaper. Saw what her father called her: lost. I huffed when Cash brought it over to show me. At first, I wanted to shield her from it, but then I changed my mind. She deserves to know. I just didn’t foresee it leading to me training her. Maybe that’s what this is all about. Proving him wrong.

“Slow down if you have to,” I say. “Just don’t stop.”

She doesn’t. Not until the cabin comes back into view and she folds over, hands planted on her knees.

“That was horrible,” she mutters.

“Yeah, well. It’ll get worse.”

“I expected as much.” She wipes sweat from her forehead and straightens her back.

Inside, we move the furniture so we have space for some simple exercises. Jumping jacks, shoulder rolls, a few lunges to stretch the hip flexors. She follows, stiff and awkward, her body fumbling through the motions.

I run her through a quick mobility check, each movement accompanied by a brittle crack. I explain what I’m searching for. Where she’s tight. What needs work. Then we move into stance training. “Feet shoulder-width. Knees flexible. Weight forward. Hands up. Higher. Protect your face.” She follows every instruction, but irritation creeps in anyway. Her jaw is set; her eyes flash for half a second before she smooths it out.

I step behind her and adjust her arms. “This way,” I say, showing her the angle. “You want to be ready to move in any direction. Think spring-loaded.” She flinches slightly at my touch. Although I understand, it still stings more than it should. I need her to trust me when we train. If she tenses or reacts unexpectedly every time I step in, she’s going to get herself hurt.

We do mental drills next. I toss her a pinecone I collected on the run and bark instructions. Left, right, duck, dodge. It gets sloppy fast, but she doesn’t give up. Every miss sets her mouth in a thin line, frustration written all over her face.

Once we’ve finished the basics, she’s swaying. Sweat clings to her pale skin, and she can barely keep her hands steady.

“All right,” I say. “Let’s eat.”

We head to the kitchen and put together a simple breakfast of oats, eggs, and fruit.

Sara’s hands shake when she holds out the dishes. I pretend not to notice her exhaustion.

“You did good,” I tell her as I take the plates to fill them.

She’s not convinced. But she doesn’t argue either.

“You play any sports?” I ask when we’re sitting at the table.

“Volleyball. Back in school. Didn’t last. I’m not a team player.”

I huff a laugh. “No kidding.”

Her mouth twitches, like she’s deciding whether to take that as an insult or a joke.

After the break, I show her the wall sit. She gets about twenty seconds in before her legs start shaking.

“What does this have to do with self-defense?” she grits out.