Chapter 9
My alarm goes off way too early. I hit snooze. Twice.
Then comes the knocking.
“Let’s go, Lina! Get that cute ass out of bed!” Axel’s gravelly, morning voice calls through the door.
My eyes snap open. Cute ass? That’s… new. I’ve never thought of my ass as particularly cute, but hey, I’ll take the compliment.
Grumbling, I untangle myself from my blanket cocoon and drag on a pair of leggings, a sports bra, and my favorite sweat-wicking shirt that says Body by Bacon. Just because I don’t work out doesn’t mean I don’t own athleisure.
I wrestle my curls into a messy knot, slather on deodorant like war paint, and lace up my gym shoes with the enthusiasm of someone being led to their execution.
When I open the door, Axel’s already waiting, looking annoyingly chipper.
“Hey, Princess!”
I consider stabbing him. Instead, I grunt.
“Not a morning person, huh?”
“Unless you’ve got coffee, stop talking,” I mumble.
He laughs. “Hydration first. You can have coffee after the workout.”
“Promise?”
“I pinky promise. Everyone knows that’s the most sacred promise.” He holds up his little finger.
I roll my eyes but hook mine with his anyway, a smile tugging at my lips despite myself.
We head to the garage-turned-gym. Ben and Johnny are already inside, mid-routine.
The setup is impressive: treadmills and bikes to the right, weights and a punching bag to the left, mats across the center, mirrors on the back wall, and Eye of the Tiger playing on the speakers like this is a Rocky montage.
“Hey, Lina!” Ben calls, walking over. I give a tired wave.
“Let’s get you warmed up with some cardio. How often do you normally work out?”
“Umm… never?” I say flatly. “Sweating sucks.”
He laughs like I’m joking.
“Okay, no worries. Everyone starts somewhere,” he says, tone light and reassuring. “Let’s have you warm up on the bike.”
He leads me over, adjusts the seat, and gestures for me to climb on. I start pedaling slowly while he fiddles with the settings.
“There. Start with ten minutes. If it feels too easy or too hard, you can adjust the resistance with these arrow buttons,” he explains, tapping the controls.
“Thanks,” I reply with a massive yawn.
Axel hops on the treadmill next to me. He walks briskly at first, then breaks into a smooth run like it’s nothing.
Show-off. I can’t help watching him, hypnotized by how effortless he makes it look.
Through the mirror, I catch glimpses of Johnny and Ben practicing self-defense drills.
They move with that same quiet confidence. Efficient. Unbothered.
Before I know it, ten minutes are up, and I clamber off the bike, already sweating. Axel tosses me a water bottle, and I gulp it down like a dying plant.
“Okay. Lina, pair up with Johnny,” Ben calls out. “He’ll run you through the basics. Axel, you’re with me.”
Johnny crooks a finger at me, a subtle, cocky invitation, and moves to sit cross-legged on the mats. I follow and mimic his posture, settling in across from him.
He lowers his voice so only I can hear. “Before we start,” he says gently, “I need to know… are your triggers connected to physical contact?”
I just stand there, caught off guard by the directness.
“I don’t want to accidentally trigger your PTSD,” he explains. He looks at me with kindness and understanding, not judgement.
I nod, looking down. The mat suddenly becomes very interesting. I trace my name into it with my finger.
“Yes.”
“How bad are we talking?” he asks, voice soft.
“Bad.”
“Is it all contact?” he clarifies. “Or specific areas? Certain situations?”
He’s so calm, so patient, that it makes the words easier to say, if only slightly.
“I’m okay being touched by people I know and trust,” I murmur. “But it takes time to get there. Until then, I need a heads-up. Every time. You have to tell me exactly what you’re going to do, and where. No surprises.”
Johnny nods slowly, his brow lifting just a little at my honesty, but not in a way that makes me feel embarrassed.
“Okay,” he says. “That makes things a little more complicated, but not impossible. We’ll work with it.”
Relief floods me.
“For today, let’s focus on stance and how to throw a proper punch,” he says. “I won’t touch you unless you give me permission. Deal?”
“Deal.”
I nod appreciatively, and Johnny immediately jumps into the lesson. Even though it was mortifying to lay out my boundaries, I’m thankful he doesn’t test them. Doesn’t question them. Doesn’t make me feel weird for needing them.
He spends the rest of the hour walking me through how to stand properly, how to balance and keep myself grounded, in turn, making me harder to knock over.
Then he shows me how to shift my weight while throwing a punch.
He corrects my hand positioning and posture with verbal commands, all patient, never getting physical.
By the end of our session, something unfamiliar starts to bloom in my chest. Confidence. A sense of control. A rare sense of accomplishment I’m unaccustomed to feeling.
“Great job this morning! Hit the shower,” Ben calls as we head back into the house.
He splits off toward the master suite on the main level, while Johnny and Axel take the stairs with me.
“Question,” I say, glancing sideways at Axel. “Am I actually going to get a shower this morning?”
I’m mostly teasing, but also very serious. There’s no way I’m showing up to school smelling like yesterday’s chaos and this morning’s sweaty gym socks.
Axel’s eyes flash with mischief. “Depends…”
“On what?” I ask suspiciously.
“On who gets there first!” he yells, already bolting up the stairs.
Oh, it’s on.
He might have the head start, but my room’s closer.
I sprint after him, feet pounding the hardwood, and veer sharply into my room. I dive for the bathroom door connecting to his room at the exact moment he tries to open it from his side.
We end up locked in a ridiculous tug-of-war over the doorknob. Me yanking one way, him the other.
And then, on a whim, I let go.
The door flies open.
Axel falls backward and lands flat on his ass with a stunned expression. The look on his face breaks something loose in me, and I burst out laughing. Full-body, bent-over, tear-streaming laughter. It’s the kind of laugh I haven’t had in a long time. Maybe years.
When I finally manage to catch my breath, I flash him a victorious grin and close the door behind me.
I take a fast, hot shower. Just long enough to feel clean, short enough to be generous. I might be petty, but I’m not heartless. Not today.
Back in my room, I finish my hair and makeup, throw on a cute outfit, and head downstairs. Coffee is waiting for me like a long-lost lover, and I cradle the mug in both hands, inhaling the glorious, brown-bean goodness. Heavenly.
I hate to admit it, but the morning workout did leave me feeling… better. Stronger. More awake. Endorphins are real. Who knew?
On the drive to school, however, the high starts to fade. Memories of yesterday come rushing back.
Darren’s voice, his hand, the panic.
My palms sweat. I twist my fingers in my lap, the way I always do when I’m trying to hold it together.
Axel glances over, catching the shift in my mood.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, his tone gentler than expected.
I hesitate, then sigh. “Just dreading today.”
He’s quiet for a second.
“Don’t. I took care of it,” he says, almost offhand.
My eyes narrow. “Took care of what?”
“I took care of it,” Axel repeats.
I cross my arms. “Okay... but what does that mean?”
He sighs, loud and theatrical, like I’m the exhausting one here. “Darren won’t be bothering you again. And if he does, you’ll tell me immediately.”
“Oh? I will?” My voice drips sarcasm. “And how exactly, pray tell, did you manage that?”
He doesn’t meet my eyes. “Don’t worry about it.”
Oh, hell no. Now I’m not just curious. I’m pissed.
But before I can press him, Axel blurts, “Come eat lunch with me and my friends.”
That throws me. I study him for a second, trying to figure out the angle.
Lunch with him? Could be a social landmine. But sitting with a group might deter another Darren-style drive-by. Safety in numbers. Or something like that.
“Fine,” I say, just as we pull into his usual spot. We walk into school together.
Axel sticks with me all the way to my locker. I was bracing myself for stares, whispers, some kind of fallout from yesterday’s courtyard disaster. But to my surprise, no one’s looking at me sideways. If anything, people are minding their business. Focused elsewhere.
Thinking about what Axel said, I decide not to pry. A win is a win.
Jessie’s already at her locker when I arrive, pulling out a stack of books.
“Hey,” I greet her, trying to sound nonchalant.
She flashes a quick smile, but her voice dips to a whisper. “Hey, girl. How’re you doing? I, uh… heard you had a panic attack or something in the courtyard yesterday?”
I groan, dragging a hand over my face. “Knew it. Everyone’s talking about the new nutcase, huh?”
“Oh no—no, no!” she rushes to say, her eyes wide. “I didn’t mean it like that. No one else is talking about it. They wouldn’t dare.”
I frown. “Why not?”
Jessie peeks the surrounding area like she’s checking for spies. “I don’t know if I’m supposed to say this or not… but Axel kind of made an example out of Darren. And he told people, well, more like, threatened them… that if he caught anyone gossiping, he’d do the same to them.”
My brows shoot up. “What?! What do you mean, he made an example of him?”
Jessie’s lips twist into a mischievous smirk. “Oh, girl. You’ll see soon enough. Let’s just say Darren won’t be running his mouth for a while.”
She slams her locker shut and hoists her books with one arm.
“I’d steer clear of Darren and his friends, but I really don’t think you have anything to worry about anymore. See you around!”
And just like that, she disappears down the hall, her long red hair swishing behind her. I’m left standing there, still trying to process what the hell Axel’s done. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the backup, but I didn’t ask for a personal bodyguard.
The warning bell dings, snapping me out of my thoughts. I scramble to grab my stuff and head to class, brain spinning with one repeating question:
Why would he go to those kinds of extremes for me?