Chapter 29
Grace
Grace unlocked her front door and stepped inside.
"Take your time," Luke said from behind her. “You’ll need something you can move in. Sneakers. Leggings. Workout clothes. I’ll wait out here."
She almost told him it was fine. That he could come in. But the words stuck in her throat.
This house held too many memories. Luke in her hallway. Luke in her kitchen. Luke in her bed.
Luke leaving before dawn so no one would see.
Grace moved through the rooms quickly. She pulled a pair of black leggings from the drawer, a sports bra and shirt. Grace rolled her eyes. Maybe he was dragging her to the gym.
She grabbed her duffel bag.
When she opened the front door, Luke was crouched by the porch railing, running his hand along the wood where it sagged.
He glanced up at her approach, and stood. "You get everything you need?"
"Yes."
"Good." He took the bag from her, slung it over his shoulder.
Grace stared down at the yoga mat Luke had unrolled in the middle of his living room.
“This feels dumb,” she said.
“It’s not,” Luke said evenly. He was barefoot, in sweatpants and a plain black T-shirt.
“I’m not going to become some badass overnight just because you show me how to elbow someone.”
Luke shook his head. “You don’t need to be a badass. You just need to know how to give yourself three seconds.”
Grace crossed her arms. “Three seconds.”
“Sometimes that’s all it takes. Surprise them. Get free. And then run.”
Luke stepped onto the mat and held out a hand. “Come here.”
Grace hesitated.
Luke waited, his hand open and steady.
She stepped forward.
He positioned her so they stood facing each other. Close enough that she could feel the heat of his body.
“First things first,” Luke said, “you need to know where to hit someone if they grab you. Easiest targets: eyes, throat, groin, knees. Doesn’t have to be pretty. Just effective.”
“Great,” she said. “So I’m aiming for your groin.”
His mouth twitched. “Tempting, I know.”
That earned the smallest of smiles from her.
Luke raised his hands. “Okay. Let’s say someone grabs your wrist.” He reached out, slow and telegraphing his movements, and closed his fingers around her forearm.
Grace swallowed.
She could feel the warmth of his skin, the calluses on his fingers. Her body remembered his touch in a different context—gentle, wanting, intimate.
“Now,” he said softly, “most people try to pull straight back. That’s the hardest way to get free.”
He shifted her arm slightly. “Instead, look for the weakest part of the grip—right here, between my thumb and fingers. You pull toward that.”
She tried it.
Nothing happened.
Luke’s grip didn’t budge.
Grace gave him a look. “So helpful.”
“You’re thinking too much,” he said. “Don’t try to be polite about it. Yank. Hard.”
She did.
This time, her arm slipped free with a jolt.
Luke nodded, satisfied. “Good.”
Grace flexed her wrist. “What if they don’t let go?”
“Then you hurt them.” His tone was serious now. “Use your elbows. Your knees. Go for the soft spots.”
She looked up at him. “What if it’s not enough?”
Luke’s jaw worked for a moment before he spoke. “I’ll be coming. I’ll be there as fast as I can.”
There was a weight to that. A tightness in his voice that made her chest ache.
"What if they use both hands?" she asked. “Like this?” Grace reached out and gripped his wrist with both hands.
Luke's arm came up fast, breaking her hold before she could blink. Then he was stepping into her space, one hand catching her wrists, the other bracing her shoulder, and suddenly she was off-balance, guided down until her back hit the mat.
Not hard. Controlled.
But unmistakably trapped.
Luke loomed over her, one knee beside her hip, his weight keeping her pinned without crushing her.
Grace's heart hammered. She could feel every point of contact—his hand around her wrists, his thigh pressed against her side, the solid wall of his chest blocking out the light.
It should have felt wrong.
It didn't.
"What do I do?" Her voice came out breathier than she meant.
"You don't panic," Luke said. His eyes were dark, focused. "You stay smart. You've still got weapons—your head, your teeth, your legs."
He shifted slightly, showing her. "Bring your knee up hard. Aim for anything soft. Or—" He released one wrist, demonstrating. "Get your thumb in their eye. No one can hold on through that."
Grace tried to focus on his words instead of the heat of him, the familiar weight, the muscle memory of having him over her like this in a very different context.
"Try it," Luke said.
She brought her knee up. He blocked it easily, catching her thigh.
"Harder," he said. "You're still being polite. I need you to hurt me."
"I don't want to hurt you."
His jaw clenched. "If someone has you like this, Grace, you hurt them. You don't stop until you're free."
She drove her knee upward with everything she had—fear, anger, humiliation, all of it channeled into the strike.
Luke moved to deflect it—
—but he was a fraction too slow.
Her knee connected solidly.
The sound he made wasn’t controlled. It was rough and involuntary, ripped straight out of him. His grip faltered. His body folded, breath punching out of his lungs.
Grace froze. “Oh my God—Luke—”
His face had gone pale. “Perfect,” he wheezed. "Exactly like that."
They ran through it again. And again. Luke showing her how to get free from different holds, different angles. Each time he talked her through it—calm, patient, relentless.
By the fifth time, she managed to get her heel into his thigh hard enough that he let out a sharp breath and rolled off her.
Grace sat up, chest heaving. "Did I hurt you?"
"Yes." Luke pushed himself up on one elbow, rubbing his leg. He was grinning.
"I'm sorry—"
"Don't be." He stood, offering her a hand. "That's exactly what you should do."
She let him pull her up. They were both sweating now, breathing hard.
They stood there, both breathing hard, close enough that she could feel the heat coming off him. Sweat. Exertion. The specific aliveness of having used her body for something real.
"Why are you doing this?" she asked.
Luke tilted his head slightly. "Teaching you to—"
"No." She shook her head. "All of it. Me being here, in your house.” She gestured between them. "You didn't want me in your life two weeks ago. Now you're—" She stopped herself, jaw tightening. "What is this, Luke? Because I need to know if this is guilt.”
He looked at her for a long moment. Something moved across his face that she didn't quite have a name for.
"It's not guilt," he said.
The silence stretched between them, warm and complicated.
Grace looked down at the mat. Then back up at him.
"I should shower," she said.
Luke's voice was rough. "Yeah. Okay."
She turned, walked down the hall toward the guest room, heart beating a little too fast.
She didn't look back.
But she could feel his eyes on her the whole way.