Easy Nights (Boudreaux #6)

“Okay.” I nod. “Good idea. You get started and I’ll be right back.”

I hurry out of the office and down the hall to the back staircase. I pass by the kitchen and have to stop, backtrack, and stare in awe at all of the flowers covering every spare inch of my countertops.

“Holy shit.”

“They’re from all of us,” Declan says from behind me.

“I’ve never seen this many flowers before.”

I can’t look at him. If I do, I’ll start crying, and I won’t be able to stop.

“You deserve pretty things, Van.”

“I don’t know if I deserve all of this.”

He steps up beside me now and takes my hand in his.

“You deserve this and more. You deserve everything.”

I glance up at him and see tears swimming.

“I think I finally believe you.”

“Good.” He nods once and folds me into a hug. “It’s about damn time.”





Chapter Two


Savannah

It’s been an incredible day.

An emotionally exhausting day, but still great.

I sip my wine and stare into my gas fireplace. I know I live in New Orleans, and it rarely gets cold enough for a fire, but I just turn up the A/C and make it work.

Few things are more soothing than a fire.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes. I got to spend this day with everyone I love the most. I ended up running into all of my siblings. And by running into, I mean they all took the time to see me.

Even Ben.

And that makes part of me that I thought was long dead sit up and take notice.

Having dinner with Mama was the best way to end the day.

The life that Lance tried so hard to kill is alive and well. My house is finished. My family is safe and healthy.

I am safe and healthy.

It’s taken time, and some therapy, but I’ve come a long way from that scared, beaten woman that I used to be. It finally feels like that chapter is closed, and I’m ready to see what the next one brings.

Finally, late into the night, I turn the fireplace off, set my empty wine glass in the kitchen sink, and head up to bed.

***

“Open your stance, Tracy,” Shelly, our instructor, says the next afternoon. I’m in one of my many happy places these days.

Krav Maga has given me so much self-confidence back over the past two years. After the incident, Ben added this class to his studio. It’s led by a woman, and is for women who’ve survived physical or mental abuse. It’s more than learning self-defense.

It’s also about learning self-love and self respect.

“Savannah, don’t forget to punch with your first two knuckles.”

I nod and punch the woman across from me again. We’re sparring today, and it feels fantastic.

Sometimes, a girl just needs to punch something. It’s been as valuable as therapy. For the first year, I pretended I was punching Lance in the face. But now, I’m just punching, protecting myself, getting out some major aggression.

“Better, Van,” Shelly says with a nod.

We spend the next hour learning new strikes, and going over the ones we already know. Sometimes I’m the aggressor, and other times I’m defending myself.

It’s a fucking amazing workout. My body is screaming at me when the class is over.

“Great job today, everyone. I’ll see you next week.” Shelly smiles and hugs each of us as we leave the classroom. Shelly also came to Krav Maga about ten years ago after she’d been horribly abused by her ex-husband.

She gets it.

“Van.”

I spin at the sound of Ben’s voice, and silently cringe. I look horrible. I’m sweating like an ice cold drink without a coaster, and the clothes I wear here are skin tight, making it easier to move.

“You’re not usually here at this time,” I say and dab a towel on my face. “What’s up?”

“I had a meeting with another instructor,” he says with a smile. “Thought I’d say hi.”

“Hi.” I smile and readjust my ponytail. It’s much smaller now, but I can still pull it back. “How was your day?”

“Busy,” he replies and surprises me by letting his eyes travel up and down my body. “I like the new hair. You look great.”

“I’m a mess.” I chuckle and hook my towel around my shoulders. “You, however, do look great.”

That’s a fucking understatement. He’s in cargo shorts and a black tank top, showing off his tattoos and his muscles.

Good lord, the muscles.

“Can I show you a few things?” he asks, breaking my concentration on his muscles.

“Sure.” I frown as I follow him back into the empty classroom. “Am I doing something wrong?”

“No, I just want to go over some form things.” He leads me to the center of the room and stands behind me, looking into my eyes through the mirror.

Oh God. This is way sexier than it probably should be.

“Assume the stance.”

I follow his directions and work very hard to not react to his strong hands on my sides as he walks me through punches, kicks, and better ways to keep my center of gravity.

“You’re small,” he murmurs and pushes my legs just a little closer together. “I want you to keep your feet just a little closer together. You’ll have better balance.”

I nod. “It feels better.”

He smiles at me. I can’t keep my eyes off of him in the mirror. The way he moves, his facial expressions.

Ben has always been attractive to me, but holy shit, did he get hotter? Or was I just too broken before to see it?

Because holy shit, he’s hot.

“Van?”

“Yeah?”

“I just asked you to do the spin/elbow move.”

“Oh.” I bite my lip and will myself to stop ogling his arms.

“Are you okay?”

“Of course.” I do as he asks and spin, attempting to ram my elbow in his nose, the way I’ve been taught, but he blocks and sends me onto my ass. “Damn it.”

“You’re not spinning quickly enough.”

“I’m as clumsy as they get,” I remind him. “If I spin too fast, I’ll fall on my ass. I’ll be helping my attacker more than anything.”

“It’ll actually feel easier,” he says, helping me to my feet. “You can do this. I’ve seen it.”

“You’re taller than anyone else I’ve ever sparred with.”

“Good,” he says and narrows his eyes. “Chances are, if you ever have to defend yourself, your attacker won’t be shorter than you.”

“True.” I nod thoughtfully.

“But if you’re still not comfortable doing this with me, that’s fine. I can make suggestions for Shelly to work on next week.”

“I’m okay,” I reply, and am surprised to realize that it’s true. It wasn’t long ago that I couldn’t stand for any man to touch me, not even my brothers. But I don’t mind so much now.

In fact, I’m utterly shocked to realize that his touch is turning me on. I don’t remember the last time I had sexual thoughts toward a man. Even Ben. Which was one more thing that made me sad.

But hello, long lost hormones.

I wonder if I’m still capable of flirting…

“I can totally do this.”

“Of course you can,” he says and assumes the stance, waiting for me to hit him.

Or try.

“You know, you should wear more tank tops,” I say casually. “Your arms are ridiculously hot.”

I spin, faster this time, and actually hit him in the nose with my elbow.

Hard.