Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Reluctantly, I bowed to Lewis as he bowed to me.
He’d barely straightened when I struck out, but Lewis was fast and blocked the straight punch. His eyes widened slightly as I struck again and we were suddenly a blur of jabs, strikes, and blocks. Lewis didn’t back down, though I saw the slight confusion in his expression at my fierceness. He kept coming at me, and I had to turn to avoid hitting the wall. I used the moment to pivot on my heel and strike out with my other leg in a back kick. It almost hit him, but he darted out of the way, yet too close to my zone. I threw an elbow strike that brushed his ear.
“What the fuck, Callie?” he muttered, using his palms to block my incoming hook punch, his feet to block my front kicks, sidekicks. And then he went on the offense, though he held himself back, merely trying to hold me off with his longer legs and greater power. Muted power. I knew in the back of my mind that if Lewis let go, he could really injure me, if I allowed him past my defenses.
The tank beneath my dobok was drenched in sweat, my suit coming loose from my belt, my breathing hard and fast. I was vaguely aware the rest of the class had stopped to watch us.
“What is going on?” Lewis asked quietly, his own breathing a little fast, shallow, but unfortunately nowhere near as labored as my own.
“You really want to know?” I asked, letting all my hurt and fury blaze from my eyes.
Lewis lowered his arms. “I really want to know.”
In answer, I dropped to the floor and kicked out at the side of his ankles, hitting his weak spot. It was a move my dad taught me years ago. And it was forbidden in tae kwon do. You were not allowed to hit below the waist.
Lewis’s back slammed onto the mat. He was uninjured but stunned.
“Foul! Unsportsmanlike conduct!” Fyfe yelled from across the room, storming toward me, anger darkening his expression. And disbelief. “What are you doing, Callie?”
A smidgen of guilt flickered through me.
But then I remembered Carianne’s little visit to the bakery this morning.
I knew the rules. As a black belt who knew better, my deliberate attack on Lewis was grounds for removal from a class.
But I ignored the guilt, choosing not to care. I swept past Fyfe. “Don’t worry, I’ll see myself out. Wasn’t coming back here, anyway.”
The class gaped, but there was freedom in suddenly not caring if everyone loved or hated, accepted or rejected me.
“Callie!” I heard Lewis call.
But he’d hurt my feelings. Abandoned me. Engaged in a drunken one-night stand with me. Returned to Ardnoch claiming to want me back, but when I said no because I mistrusted his love, he proved my mistrust was warranted by agreeing to date my friend.
I didn’t know him anymore. And honestly, I found myself asking all over again if I’d ever really known Lewis.
So, fuck him.
I was done.
Nineteen
CALLIE
By the time I’d gotten home after the class, my phone was practically on fire with missed calls and texts from Lewis. Obviously, Eilidh had given him my number. I immediately blocked him. Then Eilidh tried calling. When I didn’t answer, she’d texted:
What’s going on? Lewis says you’re mad at him for some reason.
I’d texted back I didn’t want to talk about it, and not because I was being huffy or melodramatic. But because I was done, and I had no more energy or headspace to deal with my ex. I wished he’d stayed the hell in London.
As the bakery was closed the next day, I got up to have breakfast with my parents and Harry before Dad left for work and Harry for school.
“Are you okay?” Dad asked. I could feel his penetrating stare as I sat down at the table with a cup of coffee and a plate of scrambled eggs he’d cooked for us all.
“Fine.” I shrugged. “Actually, I’m going to call Arro about the cottage. I was hoping I could move in there as quickly as possible.”
“You’re leaving?” Harry’s spoon fell into his bowl of cereal.
Surprised by the dismayed expression on his face, I nodded. “It’s about time I had my own place, don’t you think?”
My wee brother swallowed, glancing nervously from Mum to Dad and then back to me. “You’re not going because I was a dick to you?”
“Harry,” Mum scolded. “Language, please.”
He grimaced but repeated with some modification, “You’re not going because I was mean to you?”
“No, of course not,” I semi-lied.
Harry seemed to sense the lie because he stared guiltily at his bowl. “I am sorry.”
“Harry, I know that.”
Still not looking at us, he continued, “I, uh, I googled it. There are a lot of newspaper articles about what Mum’s stepmum tried to do and about your real dad and stuff.”