Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
But, again, that was all the more reason to go.
I never could have anticipated that a trip to a workout studio might change the trajectory of the rest of my life.
Slash - 6 months
Nyx had thrown herself into self-defense/martial arts the way I hadn’t seen her throw herself into anything.
I guess, yeah, if I’d been made to feel that defenseless, and had gotten that hurt, I would want to get stronger, to learn how to defend myself too.
But it was more than that.
I caught her scribbling in a notebook, trying to figure something out, plan something, and I had a sneaking suspicion it had to do with those classes she was taking four or more times a week now, having to travel several towns over to do so.
I was just waiting for the day that she decided to bring me in on her plans, and her hopes for the future. Especially since I had a ring in my closet that was hoping she would say yes and want me in it with her.
Maybe it seemed soon.
Six months.
But Nyx and I had been hooking up for years, had known each other for longer than that even.
And we’d been living together since she showed up at our doorstep asking for help.
It kinda pushed everything into overdrive in a way.
That said, I wasn’t going to ask until I was sure she was going to say yes. And the only way I could be sure is if she finally brought the plans to me.
She’d been back to The Bog, but only to help train the new bartenders that the Murphy brothers had exhaustively vetted to make sure they didn’t belong to any goddamn crime syndicate.
But it was clear that she didn’t plan to go back. Which was fine by me. If all she wanted to do for the rest of her life was to fuck around with makeup and get tattoos done, so long as she did that shit around me, I didn’t care. I’d be happy to support her. I made more than enough for the two of us.
“Okay,” Nyx said, coming in from another class, a flush still creeping over her cheeks, nose, and over her chest. “I need to talk to you about something,” she went on.
“About your plans to open a self-defense gym?” I asked, smirking at the way her lips fell open.
“How…”
“Babe,” I cut her off, shaking my head. “I might not be fucking in touch with my inner child or have my Qi aligned or whatever the fuck other shit Coach spouts off about, but I’m not fucking blind. You’ve been beaming since you started those classes. Figure that when someone finds something that makes them that happy, they are going to try to find a way to turn that passion into a job.”
“Well, way to blow my news,” she said, making fake angry eyes at me as she fetched her notebook and came to the bed, sitting crois-cross, but with a serious face. “But yes. That’s actually totally what I was thinking. And it might seem absolutely batshit of me, but I was thinking of maybe renting out the—“
“Building where you were attacked,” I said, nodding.
“Did you read my notebook?” she asked, eyeing me suspiciously.
“No, babe. I just know you,” I reminded her.
This character arc of hers, from traumatized and terrified to go anywhere alone, to strong and fierce and skilled, had been kind of mesmerizing to watch.
I’d enjoyed watching her growth, seeing her find her passion, and, yeah, the endorphins she got from working out made her come home and want to fuck for hours. So I wasn’t exactly bitching about that either.
“Do you think it’s batshit?” she asked.
“Yeah. But in a good way,” I said, shrugging. “That place needs work, but I think it’s structurally sound.”
“I’ve been crunching the numbers,” she said, flipping through her pages.
“Fuck the numbers,” I said, putting my hand over hers to stop the flipping. “It doesn’t matter what it costs.”
“Except, you know, that it totally does matter,” she said, rolling her eyes at me. “You grew up poor like I did. You know the money matters.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “But once you get to a certain level of stability, it doesn’t matter as much anymore.”
“Yeah, but that’s your—“ she started.
“I’m gonna stop you right there. You’re with me, right?” I asked.
“Right,” she said.
“You plan on staying with me?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Then it’s your money too.”
“That’s not how it—“
“It is,” I cut her off. “Look, I get it, babe. You’ve only ever had yourself to rely on. And your independence is hot. But it’s not necessary anymore. What did Coach call it…” I said, trailing off, trying to think of the word.
“He said that hyper-independence is a trauma response,” she said.
“Exactly. You don’t need that trauma response anymore. We have the money. Use however much of it you need to build a business.”