KICK IT | JENLISA

65

Lisa

Four months ago, my drunk ass wanted Jennie from the moment I saw her. As if an invisible string bound me to her, my feet followed the line and dragged me to follow her to a bathroom. She brushed past me. Her elbow rubbed my upper arm. With my sleeve, there wasn't enough contact. In one sweep of my arms, I pinned her to the wall and made a complete ass of myself. I deserved her knee in my nuts.

Now? I... fuck. My hands shook, spilling half the water I patted into my heated cheeks. I wanted to pull my hair out. Why hadn't I recognised her at YG Accounting? Was I that shallow that her frumpy office clothes and glasses made her unrecognisable? Why couldn't I see her when she was two feet away from me in our sessions?

Fuck, I'd been so occupied with... I didn't even fucking know anymore. I should have been embarrassed about how quickly I became a mess over Jennie, especially with how little I knew about her. Placed in a room where twenty women eye-fucked me and her back was turned, my eyes wanted her. When she smiled, my heart lightened. Her laughter was infectious. Passion burned in her eyes for her therapy class. She protected it like a Mama Bear over cubs, but she taught it while radiating sadness and defeat. Who took care of her?

I understood passion. Driving hard was how I worked, pushing through when others quit. The strive for greatness was the fuel that charged every cell in my body. During games, I got so amped-up, I couldn't see. Memes existed for both my celebrations and my disappointments.

But this wasn't out on the field. This wasn't football. This was personal. I was not here for personal reasons. Or I wasn't supposed to be. And I interrupted her most serious class to remember this. Fuck.

I threaded my hands through my hair. In the hallway, I leaned on my shoulder and held up the wall outside the studio entrance. With my eyes on the door, I pushed off when it opened. Rustled sounds filled the air behind a guy who left. 'Sorry.' I mouthed to Jennie.

Fuck, I was a distraction. Now that I'd been to her class, humility slumped my shoulders. A small line waited to speak with her. I sat on my mat and dipped my chin. With the heaviness settling into my limbs, I wasn't sure when I would be able to stand again. Regret was a stone that sat on my chest. My apology extended far beyond the distractions in her classes and bursting out during meditation. Maybe for my general existence in her life.

Without knowing why the military guys were here, they had every right to worship the mat under Jennie's feet. Understanding the gravity of their situation, one conversation at a time, her resistance to me was crystal clear. She protected their sanctuary of recovery. Inviting me was an honour that I treated as an initiation right.

Each story hit me like a ton of bricks. One man after another laid out deep, traumatic, and personal sacrifices. Tyler, the guy I thought was hitting on her, was haunted by an attack in Kabul that killed two of his servicemen. Regret and ghost pains in his amputated leg kept him from getting a full night's sleep. Phil lost his arm when removing an IED planted near a school. Shrapnel took out the sight in Marcus' left eye.

I sagged against the wall's support. Jennie offered what they needed. An ear. A soft voice. Sympathetic eyes. She murmured assurances, praised their progress, and offered both alternative options, passages read from her notebook, and words of encouragement. She stayed until the last man offered his progress or appreciation. Her inner fire was subdued, her eyes were heavy, and her body moved slower. Her selfless strength was immeasurable.

"Lisa." Jennie wrapped malice around my name. "If you can't..."

My arms choked around her, slotting her into our comfortable hug position. She smelled like those lavender towels, the scent associated with her chakra tonight. Fuck, she thought of every tiny detail. And I treated her class, and her efforts, as a joke.

Unable to control my trembling, I curled into her. The top of her head came to my jaw, and my hand drew her cheek to my left shoulder. I couldn't ignore how the curves of her body fit against mine or the softness of her skin as my fingers rubbed the back of her arm and neck. My elbows locked at my sides, and I couldn't let her go.

We stood as statues until she shuddered a breath and sagged into me. I caged my elbows around her. The seconds passed slower than the steady beats in my heart. Her pulse accelerated into my palm on her back.

"I'm sorry, Jennie." I murmured into the top of her head. She probably had no idea why I was sorry or assumed it was for the interruption. Her hair tickled my chin as I repeated the words.

Jennie's passion, her call to serve, was a mystery. Without knowing her motivation, I respected it and agreed with her. My veteran support charity could step in at Fort Simmons. The men's presence here tonight showed a gap in the services they needed.

Jennie crawled under my skin and sparked embers of irritation with the rocks she smashed into my life. Scratched my car... smash. The constant insults... smash. Dropped me on my stubborn head... smash. She infuriated me with words, looks, mental and physical challenges, and... I was better because of all of it.

Quiet, subdued, and stripped bare, her exposed, vulnerable state was admirable, beautiful, and sobering. And its effect on me was instantaneous. Whatever drained the life out of her, I wanted to know. Jennie's raw, passionate side was beautiful and tragic. Whatever battle she fought, it was rooted deep and more significant than the petty shit we tossed back and forth.

I was wrong. Jennie didn't surround herself with thick walls. She wasn't bitchy or abrasive with her biting insults because that was her personality. No, she protected herself behind eggshells. Better to push others away than risk a cracked wall. And my instincts suggested Jennie was one crack away from destruction. Again, who held her up?