Identity

“I’d have said yes before. Now, I say: wow.”

“Built by Jen. Personal trainer, and fitness center manager. Part of your benefits is use of the fitness center. You get personal training at a discount, and Jen teaches a self-defense course every quarter at Westridge High School gym. You just missed the spring class, but you should go see her at the fitness center.”

Nell checked her watch. “You’ve still got nearly twenty-five minutes. Go see her now.”

“Now?”

“Why wait? I’ll text her, let her know you’re coming.”

Don’t argue with the boss, Morgan reminded herself, and trotted her way down to the fitness center.

Inside fifteen minutes, she had her first session booked for the following day.

She had yoga pants. She didn’t really do yoga, but she had the pants. She had a sports bra even though she didn’t do sports. That seemed adequate, since she calculated she could fit a training session into her schedule once a week until she gained some skill with self-defense.

With the discount, the cost was doable even on her strict budget. Added to it, she learned that Jen—who looked terrifyingly fit—was Nick’s sister. Morgan figured that gave them a bond that would translate into easy training.

As instructed, she arrived fifteen minutes early to warm up on her choice of treadmill, elliptical, or incline bike.

She liked to bike, but the incline looked weird, and the elliptical too complicated. Walking seemed the safest choice.

A few people scattered around using the scary-looking equipment, lifting weights, doing what looked like painful stretches on mats.

She stepped onto a treadmill, and after a brief study, programmed it for the allotted fifteen minutes at a moderate incline and speed. With the music from her phone singing through her earbuds, she felt righteous.

The rise and fall of the terrain outside the windows gave her a view of a few shrubs thinking about waking up for spring, and some brave daffodils and tulips in tight buds.

Pleasant, she decided. She could do this, even enjoy this. After all, now that she’d established a routine, she missed her weekday biking. Not the same, of course, as she just took this brisk kind of walk and stayed in one place. Maybe by summer, she’d hunt up a good secondhand bike, try out the hilly roads. She could even bike into town now and again.

She had more time now than she’d had before she’d moved. The idea she’d toyed with of getting a second part-time day job just didn’t work. With that she couldn’t cover any day shifts at Après if necessary, or help out at the café if her ladies needed her.

Still, even with the car payments, her budget worked and allowed her to start slowly building her savings again.

Six months, she decided. She’d take six months, then let herself start planning some long-term goals again.

It surprised her how quickly and easily the fifteen minutes passed. She gave herself a mental I-worked-out pat on the back and stepped off.

She spotted Jen, fit and fabulous in a red workout tank and tights with red and black swirls, which made Morgan immediately feel unfit and non-fabulous in her old black yoga pants.

She stood talking to a man in the weight section while he did curls. It took her a minute to work her way up long, strong legs in black gym shorts, a sleeveless gray shirt already showing a line of sweat, and the ripple of muscles to focus on his face.

Her initial wonder as to why sweat looked so damn sexy on some people turned to a jolt.

Who knew Miles was built like that?

And why, dear God, why did he have to sweat in the gym when she wore old yoga pants, a stretched-out sports bra, and an ancient T-shirt?

Obviously, she couldn’t go over there, so she looked around for something to do that would look like she knew what to do.

She’d decided most of the machines looked like torture devices, when Jen hailed her.

“Morgan!” Jen lifted a hand, curled fingers in a come-ahead.

Oh well, Morgan thought as she started over. Miles shifted the weight to his other hand, kept curling.

“Sorry, I had a question for Miles.”

“That’s okay. No problem.”

“You did your fifteen?”

“Yes.”

“How far did you get?”

“Far? Oh, almost a mile, I guess.”

“We’ll bump that up next time. Let’s get started. Thanks, Miles.”

He said, “Uh-huh,” and kept curling.

“I use this room for PT when the gym’s crowded,” she began. “Or for one-on-one yoga sessions.”

Small, it had one wall of mirrors, shelves holding stability balls, medicine balls, bands, mats. A rack of free weights tucked into a corner.

“So, what do you do if you’re attacked?”

“Punch him in the face?”

“Throat’s better.”

“Really?”

“But. Some hulking asshole comes after you, what’s your real first instinct?”

Morgan hiked up her shoulders. “Scream and run.”

“Exactly. If you can scream and run, you scream and run. If you can’t, you hide. Either of those can come first, depending on the situation. If neither’s an option, fight.”

Morgan balled her fist. “Punch him in the throat.”

Jen pivoted, grabbed Morgan from behind. “How? You don’t have room to use your fist.”

“Back to screaming?”

“Make all the noise you can, but defend yourself. We’ll start with a basic: SING.”

“I’ve heard of that.”

“Solar plexus.” Jen poked Morgan in hers. “Instep,” she continued, demonstrating. “Nose. Gonads—or groin in polite company. Come up on me from behind, grab me, and watch it the mirror. I won’t hurt you.”

When Morgan wrapped her arms around Jen, Jen tipped her own weight forward. “You lean your weight forward to give yourself more room. Then?” She felt the light tap of Jen’s elbow, solar plexus.

“The elbow’s your strongest weapon. Stronger than your fist—use it and mean it. The idea is not only to hurt your attacker, but to loosen his grip so you have more room. His instep is a weak spot, hit it.” Jen brought the heel of her foot down, gently, on Morgan’s. “Most likely, his grip will loosen enough with those two blows for you to turn. This.”

She held up her hand, heel out, tapped the heel with the other. “Strong, stiff, fast upward blow on the nose from the nostrils up, then recoil. Then knee, hard, sharp, straight into those gonads. These? Elbow, heel of the foot, heel of the hand, knee. They’re strong and hard. They’ll do damage.”

“So I can run and scream.”

“Damn right if it’s an option. Let’s just start with these four steps.”

It felt good, almost like a dance. It felt like action.

“Good, that’s the way. You don’t have to think about it, you just SING. Next week I’ll have a volunteer in here wearing a padded suit. You can really let it rip.”

“I’d like that. Who knew I’d like the idea of hitting somebody?”

“But let’s say he’s got your back to the wall.” After nudging Morgan to the wall, Jen pressed close. “And he’s got his hands around your neck.”

Jen lifted hers, then dropped them again, stepped back. “God, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”