Page 28 of The Pleasure of Panic

So I say, “Issy,” and offer her my outstretched hand. “Trust me. I promise, I’m not going to hurt you.”

Which makes her snort. And then laugh. “You can’t hurt me.”

I can think up a million ways to hurt a woman, even a capable woman like Issy, and none of it involves violence. You can’t jujitsu your way out of emotional damage. “It doesn’t even matter if I can or can’t, Issy. I’m not going to. So go pack a bag and let’s go.”

She holds her position for five more seconds. I know, I count them. And then she gives me a slight nod and walks upstairs to what is most likely her bedroom.

“Quickly,” I call after her. “We’re wasting time.”

I put myself back together while I wait. Tuck in my shirt, button my pants, and then I walk around her house and look at stuff in the moonlight. I don’t want to turn on a light just in case anyone is outside watching. I didn’t see a tail when we drove over here—and I was checking—but you can’t be too careful.

I find three things of note.

One—an award. It’s a little gold-colored statue of a microphone. The plaque on the base says Empowerment Speakers Award and has her name in fancy calligraphy underneath.

Two—an old family photo. A very small Issy with an older man who might be her grandfather. They’re holding hands, eating ice cream cones, sitting on a front stoop, looking pretty happy.

Three—a framed front cover from the Pan-American Jujitsu Magazine with Issy Grey’s face front and center. The headline across the picture is blacked out with marker.

Which makes me wish this wasn’t just the cover, but the entire article so I could read more about her.

I take that off the wall and study it. She looks young. Like… young. I don’t know a lot about martial arts, it was never my thing. But I do know that there are age requirements for black belts. She’s holding a gold medal, smiling since she obviously won some very important competition.

“What are you doing?”

I turn to find Issy standing at the top of the stairs, wearing a fresh blouse, holding a bag. “This was a big deal, huh?” I hold the frame out in her direction.

“Yes,” she says, slowly descending the stairs, eyes trained on mine. “And that’s very meaningful to me, so please put it back where you found it.”

“Sure,” I say, feeling chastised. I hang the frame back on the wall and turn to face her.

Neither of us speak.

“I’m ready,” she finally says, breaking the awkward silence.

“Right,” I say. “Let’s go.”

I wave her forward towards the door but she shakes her head and juts her chin out. “You first,” she says.

Which is weird. But then again, this whole fucking night has been weird. “Sure,” I say, walking to the door and opening it up. But when I look over my shoulder, she still hasn’t moved. “Issy? You coming?”

She stares at me again. The seconds tick off. I start to feel uncomfortable, like she’s onto me. She knows I’m not a player in whatever game this is she’s playing. But just when I’m about to open my mouth and try to explain, she steps forward, and I relax.

“Where are we going?” she asks.

“Silver Springs,” I say.

“What? That’s like two hours away!”

Shit. Is it? I have no idea where Silver Springs is. Fuckin’ Declan was supposed to text me the address, so I check my phone, find the missed message, then press the maps app to get directions.

“How will I ever be back in time for masterclass prep tomorrow?”

What does she think is happening tonight? It’s fuckin’ killing me. But I can’t ask so I lie. “What we’re doing in Silver Springs won’t take long, don’t worry. You can sleep on the way there and the way back. I’ll keep you safe.”

“You keep saying that,” Issy says. “But I don’t need your protection, Finn. I need—”

But she stops. She was just about to tell me what she needs and… goddammit. I really hate this game we’re playing. “You need what?” I prompt her, hopeful.