Blood Always

11

*** Two hours later, I was back in Manhattan, outfitted in workout gear and walking into my favorite place in the world. Some girls loved spas or bookstores; others loved the park or electric nightclubs. The Krav Maga studio was where I felt most at home. My father put me in lessons when I was only eight years old to help teach me discipline and give my emotions an outlet. I adored Krav Maga from the very first day. It wasn’t just a sport—it was a fighting skillset and an artform, not unlike martial arts. It challenged me and empowered me, and I loved every minute of it. “You’re late.” Tamir called over his shoulder in a heavy Israeli accent as he transported a set of pads to the far end of the studio. “Had an unexpected meeting. I’m here now.” “Grab the last of the pads and bring them over here.” For the last ten years, since the age of fifteen, I’d had the same instructor. Tamir Hofi was a forty-year-old ex-Mossad soldier. He didn’t take any s**t, and I made it my personal mission to test him on a daily basis. It made for interesting training sessions. The second I dropped the training pads next to his pile, he swept my legs out and launched himself on top of me. We were over the padded portion of the studio, but my landing still stole the breath from my lungs. “f**k, Tamir. That hurt.” I groaned, then maneuvered my foot under me and rolled us until I was on top. It wasn’t easy—he outweighed me by sixty pounds of muscle—but that was the beauty of Krav Maga. Know the right moves, and anyone of any size can overtake their opponent. “Then you should have been paying attention. Always be ready, you know that.” Yes, I know, but today, I found out that I’m getting married. I released my grip on his arms and stood, stretching my neck and shoulders. “Guess it’s a good thing I’m here, so you can remind me.” Considering who I was going to be living with, I’d need all the training I could get. Bouncing on the balls of my feet, I faced Tamir and readied for the next attack. I didn’t have to wait long. He lunged forward and swiped at my forearm. I easily evaded. Over and over we grappled, and with each strike, my demons faded farther into the recesses of my mind. By the time we finished, I was as mellow as a housewife after a bottle of wine. “You were distracted today.” He ran his hands through his wavy, sweatsoaked hair and eyed me. “Is that a question? I thought we didn’t do questions.” There was a fifteen-year age difference between us, which wasn’t necessarily outside the realm of possibilities for a romantic relationship. However, I’d started working with him when I was only fifteen, so our interactions had developed a brother/sister feel from the beginning. We communicated via dry humor and sarcastic barbs. Anything on a deeper level went unsaid. If, for whatever reason, I did have a problem and needed his help, I had no doubt he would be there in an instant. The same went for me. Neither of us had a need to verbalize our understanding. It was a dynamic most would think was odd, but it worked for us. “You’re the one who doesn’t do questions. I simply play along.” The f**k? “What are you saying?” “I learned early on that you don’t like to share. Normally, that’s not an issue, but normally, you aren’t this distracted.” He squirted water from a sports bottle into his mouth, then tossed me the bottle. “You’re just as private as me, so don’t give me that bullshit.” I tossed his water bottle back to the floor without taking a drink. “Care to tell me about that scar on your chest or the reason you don’t go to Sabbath anymore?” “We were talking about you, little wolf, not me.” “Well, maybe we shouldn’t talk at all,” I muttered as I grabbed my keys. He smiled, using his shirt to wipe the sweat from his eyes. “Talk or don’t. I’m not going to force you.” Our session was done. My keys were in my hands, but my feet wouldn’t budge. I cleared my throat, intending to say goodbye, but the truth clawed its way out instead. “I found out I’m getting married.” Tamir’s stoic expression never faltered. His ability to remain perpetually unruffled had been my gold standard for the last ten years. He took the phrase “rolling with the punches” to a whole new level—to an entirely separate dimension. He was a living, breathing James Bond. When we first met, I knew immediately I wanted to be Tamir when I grew up. At twenty-five, I was technically all grown up, but I still had a long way to go to achieve Tamir status. “I take it the match is not of your choosing?” “I’ve agreed to it, but no, not what I would have chosen for myself.” His eyes bore into mine, those chocolate brown irises darkening to a lethal black. “Who is this man?” My father had met Tamir through seedy channels I hadn’t been privy to at the time. Tamir knew that we were part of the mafia, and while it wasn’t something that was normally discussed, he had enough background with my dad that it wasn’t off-limits. “He’s nothing I can’t handle. It’s what he represents that bothers me. His family was behind my brother’s murder. I don’t know how I could ever look at him without wanting to kill him.” “That would be difficult, for sure.” He nodded, angling his lean body against the wall. “I don’t know your father well, but he does not strike me as the kind of man who would have you tie yourself to someone who had murdered his son.” “Well, there’s a little bit of a proof issue. He says it’s been too many years and wants me to give the man a chance,” I grumbled. “If you respect your father and his judgment, then it would be wise to heed his suggestion. If you’ve agreed to the match, then you would only be hurting yourself to harbor such hatred against your partner in life.” “That sounds great in theory, but what is the practical application? How am I supposed to shut off my feelings?” I waved my arms in a frustrated gesture before allowing them to flop at my sides in defeat. “It’s not about shutting the emotions off. It is about learning to direct your anger at only those responsible. If this man played no role in the loss you experienced, then it does you no good to focus your anger upon him. You must separate this man in your mind’s eye from those who made you suffer.” “And how do I do that?” His lips quirked up in a smile.