Over the years, he’d packed his working hours with so much he had no idea what to do with himself when he had free time. So what had he done when he had free time? Started a new promotion company that occupied his every waking hour spent in the dojo so he didn’t have to worry that he’d finally irreparably damaged his body and he’d never bounce back to the man—to the fighter—he was.
As much as he tried not to think about the repercussions of a lifetime spent pushing his body past normal limits, he couldn’t help it since he had a doctor’s appointment scheduled for tomorrow.
A loud ki-yah brought Ronin’s attention to the class of yellow belts. He barely remembered being in that stage of his training. He’d accelerated quickly because his father had drilled him continually, both in class and outside of it.
Maybe it was Shiori’s constant presence, or maybe it was because he’d been dodging his mother’s calls, but his family had been on his mind a lot lately. He’d been thinking about his grandfather’s expectations, which had somehow segued into his questioning his father’s motives in enrolling him in jujitsu at such a young age.
Had his father seen that something extra special in his son that caused him to constantly push Ronin to the next level? Or had his father merely lived vicariously through his child?
A long-buried memory surfaced of being with his father in the tiny backyard of their house on base, practicing kicking strikes. Ronin couldn’t have been older than five, and all he’d wanted to do on that sunny afternoon was roll in the grass, chase his little sister around, and dig in the dirt with his toy trucks. He’d heard the happy shrieks of the boy next door and his friends and experienced his first taste of envy. His father believed a purposeful life meant a structured use of time. So while kids his age learned to have fun, Ronin learned how to tune out those sounds and concentrate on achieving greatness.
That jarred him. Been a while since that phrase surfaced: achieving greatness. Those were his father’s favorite words to explain why Ronin’s life wouldn’t be like other kids.’ He was meant for more.
Ronin heard the bottom door open and played the guessing game of who’d breached Master Black’s ivory tower. Then Amery’s sweet cherry scent wafted toward him, calming him.
She pressed her chest to his back and wreathed her arms around his waist. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
“I had this crazy idea you were hiding from me when you didn’t answer your phone, and you weren’t in the penthouse or in your office or punishing yourself in the weight room. So I set out on a quest to find you.”
“And find me you did.”
“So whatcha doing up here, Sensei?”
“Taking stock.”
“And how are the kiddos performing?”
Ronin launched into details of training errors he’d seen. When Amery didn’t respond, he realized his explanation had turned into a diatribe. “Sorry to go off on a tangent.”
“It’s okay. I could complain about my horrible day, but luckily, I got to manipulate shadows and light on an image of this really hot guy who is gracing the cover of a very naughty book.”
He didn’t even crack a smile.
Amery moved in front of him. “Is the pained look in your eye because of me? I know I’m not supposed to be up here.”
“No, baby, I’m very glad to see you.”
“Doesn’t seem like it. Do you want me to bail so you can continue glaring at the yellow belt class? Because that redheaded kid in the second row? I think he’s looking up here and purposely taunting you with his very sloppy half-guard technique.”
That did bring a smile. “You are such a smart-ass.”
She placed her cool hands on his cheeks.
He closed his eyes and sighed.
“Ronin. You’re not well.”
“Was it my lack of charming conversation or that I didn’t immediately try to seduce you that gave it away?”
“Come on. Tell me where it hurts. Maybe I can help.”
He glossed over her concerns. “I’m having light-sensitivity issues, which is why you found me sitting in the dark, with a screaming f**king headache. I’ve been spending time picking apart my youngest students’ techniques when I’m not fixating on Black and Blue Promotions and what it’ll mean in the long run to absorb ABC into Black Arts. I’m not getting shit done.” Ronin softly smooched her mouth. “That makes me unpleasant to be around.”
“I beg to differ. I find you very pleasant to be around. Especially when you’re naked with that wicked gleam in your eye.” She kissed him. “So since you’re not getting shit done down here, why don’t you come upstairs and do me?”
He gathered a handful of her hair and pressed the softness against his lips, breathing her in. Just being close to her chased away his shadows.
“Ronin?”
“You don’t have any idea what you do to me, do you?” he murmured. “You bring such joy and light into my life, Amery. Can you blame me for wanting to wake up with that every morning? To surround myself with it every night?” Her reluctance to officially commit to moving in with him was just another thing he’d been obsessing about.
For once she didn’t look away from him when he brought up taking that permanent step. She reached up and brushed away a few hairs that were stuck to his forehead. “Let me take care of you tonight.”
“I wouldn’t mind if we just crawled in bed and you wrapped yourself around me.”
Amery gasped with mock horror. “You don’t want to wrap ropes around me? Just your arms? You must really feel like shit.” She kept running her hands through his hair. “When is your appointment with the neurologist?”
As much as he wanted her at his appointment tomorrow . . . he didn’t want her there. Telling her that would piss her off, and she deserved better after trying to improve his mood. He wanted her to see his physical improvement, not dwell on whatever limitations his doctor would set. He’d been enough of a whiny, brooding ass lately.
“Ronin?”
“Can we just drop it and go upstairs? My brain is throbbing.”
“Poor baby with a throbbing need. Once we’re upstairs, I’ll give you a little head . . . massage.”
Damn woman always made him feel better.
• • •
AMERY did drop it, but she didn’t forget about it. And she wasn’t sure whether it was a blessing or a curse when she saw the doctor’s appointment card with today’s date and time tossed in the garbage. It wasn’t as if she’d been pawing through the trash looking for clues; the postcard had fallen out of the bag when she’d removed it from the garbage can.