Chapter 15
Quinn
It was barely morning when I stumbled up to the front of the Hearthstone Security building.
Frost clung to the edges of every surface, glittering in the thin rays of dawn. I wrapped my arms around myself and blew out a long breath, watching it billow in the cold air. November was almost over, and the chill had settled deep into everything—including me.
The trial was set to begin at the start of January. It felt too close. So close my stomach knotted, thinking about it.
I stared at the office building, unsure how I’d managed to let myself get talked into this.
For days, I had been avoiding Graham, immediately regretting my decision to let him teach me self-defense. The last thing I wanted was to be that vulnerable around him again. But Graham could be almost as stubborn as I was.
He hadn’t let it go.
Now here I was, freezing in the pre-dawn light, lamenting every decision that had led me here.
I stifled a yawn, my breath hitching as my ribs twinged. The pain from the bruising had gotten better every day since the attack, but I was still sore. Which was another reason I shouldn’t be here.
As a vehicle pulled into the parking lot, I tensed. It drove into a spot near me, and I recognized the shape of him behind the wheel.
Graham grinned when he exited his car, but I didn’t return it. I was too busy shivering. I’d walked all the way from the bed-and-breakfast. It wasn’t far, but far enough to make me question my sanity.
“Remind me again why we’re doing this so early on a freaking Saturday?” I muttered, my voice muffled by the scarf I had pulled up to my chin.
Graham approached, wearing a dark sweatshirt and gray athletic pants.
I tried not to stare. I’d never seen him so casual before.
Even the morning I’d woken up in his house, he’d already been in his usual slacks and button-down.
Seeing him like this, relaxed and human, sent a slow heat curling low in my belly.
One I immediately pretended didn’t exist.
His mouth pressed into a tight line. He pulled a set of keys from his pocket and unlocked the front door. “This was the only time I could guarantee no one else would be in the building.”
I stifled a sigh and followed him inside.
The lobby was small but inviting, with a few chairs around the perimeter and a front desk.
The air smelled faintly of cleaner and coffee.
The space was an odd but surprisingly appealing mix of modern minimalism—black metal, glass, clean lines—and rustic charm.
Rough brick walls and exposed beams softened the sharpness.
It was unexpectedly charming.
I trailed behind Graham as he led me deeper into the building, past neat offices and closed doors. The silence of the building made my nerves prickle.
“Are you sure we’re allowed to be here?” My voice echoed in the stillness.
He glanced back at me. “I had the keys, didn’t I?”
I lifted an eyebrow. “That doesn’t answer the question.”
He chuckled, the sound low and amused. “Like I said before, there’s a gym my brothers and I added when we expanded. We’re all welcome to use it.”
I folded my arms over my chest as we approached a metal door near the back of the building. “But is it okay that you brought me here?” I pressed.
I wasn’t exactly part of the Ramsey family.
Graham shot me a hard look, his voice firm when he spoke. “You’re with me,” he said flatly. “You’re welcome to use this space as much as I am.”
He pushed open the door.
Inside was a compact but well-equipped gym—weight racks, punching bags, even a padded mat area in the center. The faint scent of sweat and rubber hung in the air.
Graham flicked on the lights, and I squinted against the harshness of the fluorescents. He hadn’t turned on any of the other lights in the building, so it had been dim and shadowed the whole way here.
“I’ll take your coat.” He reached out a hand.
Reluctantly, I peeled off my coat and scarf, shivering a little as I handed them to him. His eyes trailed over me, so quickly I almost missed it, before he turned toward a set of hooks on the wall.
I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirrors facing me.
I wore the kind of outfit I’d usually wear to run on the treadmill at my apartment gym—tight stay-dry pants and a matching long-sleeve shirt that clung to me like a second skin.
The dark-purple color made me look too pale, like I hadn’t been in the sun for weeks.
My lip was still bruised, the cut healed enough that I didn’t need a bandage anymore, but the whole thing looked… gruesome.
I glanced away abruptly, my eyes unexpectedly catching on Graham as he pulled off his sweatshirt.
It clung to the navy T-shirt he had on underneath, lifting it and exposing a strip of skin at his waist. His abs were more defined than I ever would’ve guessed.
I’d always thought of Graham as lean, but he definitely didn’t lack muscle tone.
My face heated—embarrassingly so—and I stared down at my sneakers as he finished taking off the sweatshirt.
“So,” I crossed my arms, trying to distract myself from the sight of Graham’s annoyingly sculpted abs, “what exactly qualifies a forensic psychologist to train in self-defense again?”
It was a weak attempt at distraction, but better than admitting what I’d actually been thinking about. Namely, wondering what the rest of him looked like under those button-down shirts. And that was definitely the last thing I needed to think about.
Graham didn’t answer right away. He stepped onto the padded mat area, motioning for me to follow.
His hair was slightly unruly—more so than usual, like he hadn’t bothered to brush it before coming in.
He pushed it back from his forehead as his eyes swept over me again, quick and assessing, from the top of my head all the way to my toes.
I tried not to fidget under the weight of his stare, but my mind supplied the words I feared he might be thinking: too thin, too pale, too hard and cold.
I swallowed, and his gaze flicked back up to my face.
“I work part-time here at Hearthstone,” he said slowly. “I mostly help with profiles and other insights of the criminal mind when they need them, but I also have training. I can help with physical security when needed.” He shrugged. “I’ve taken plenty of classes in combat and self-defense.”
A small, lopsided grin tugged at his mouth. “Granted, August or Reid were probably better trained, but I think I’m efficient enough.”
I didn’t reply, and he continued, “We’re going to start small, nothing too physical yet because you’re still recovering.”
He said it matter-of-fact, without judgment, but for some reason I still felt…shame.
“If someone is ever after you again, your goal is simple,” he went on, voice low and even. “Get away. Scream. Make noise to distract and gain attention. This isn’t as much about fighting as it is outsmarting your attacker and running.”
“Right.” It felt like there was something stuck inside my throat. “Easier said than done.”
I couldn’t unremember the times I’d truly been in danger, the times when I couldn’t do anything but freeze and let it happen.
Graham’s expression shifted. It didn’t soften in pity like I’d expected. Instead, it grew more intense as he locked his gaze on mine. “You are more than capable.” He sounded more confident than he should. “The more you practice, the more instinctive it’ll become. You’ll know what to do.”
I looked away, catching my reflection again in the mirrors. The bruise on my lip was somehow even more stark against my skin.
“I just…” The words came out like gravel. “I tend to freeze. Even though I know what I should do—scream, fight, run away. Anything.” My voice was half apology, half confession. The shame burned like acid. Saying it aloud felt like exposing a raw nerve.
He didn’t look surprised. He didn’t look disappointed, either. He simply nodded once, like a man receiving a fact he could work with.
“That’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he said, and I almost scoffed. “It’s a thing your body learned to do.” He let that sit between us a second, then added, “But it can be retrained. We don’t unlearn overnight. We build something new to lean on.”
My hands clenched, nails cutting crescents into my palms. I didn’t want to acknowledge the seed of hope his words sowed inside my chest. A hope I’d never been able to reap.
When I didn’t reply, he asked, “Is it okay if we begin?”
I nodded, though I wasn’t at all sure.
Graham pulled back his shoulders. “First,” he said, voice calm, but steady. “Breath.” He stepped toward me, close, but not touching.
I blinked up at him, confused. “Breath?”
“Yes,” he said, confidently. “Breathwork calms the nervous system and can give the physical and mental space to use the self-defense tools you’ve trained.”
I continued to look at him with skepticism. Breathing was the last thing I was focused on during an attack, but I didn’t argue with him.
He raised a hand, palm toward me. “Can I touch you?”
I ignored the way the question suddenly made my stomach swoop, and nodded.
“It all starts here.” He placed a hand on the middle of my chest, his touch light and warm. “Feel the way your lungs fill. Notice the beating of your heart. Match my breaths, okay? In for four, hold one, out for six.”
He pulled in steady breaths to the measured pace of the counts, and eventually I found myself copying him. In—hold—out. Again and again. The air slid slow and steady through my chest, and my hands unclenched on their own.
We continued like that for a while, before we changed breathing tactics, moving our hands to our stomachs and breathing deeply, eyes closed.
“Good,” Graham said, disrupting our breathing.
My eyes fluttered open. I did feel more relaxed, but we were in a training room. There was no real danger here.
“You should practice the breathing every day, at least twice. Eventually, it should be second nature.”