Beautifully Destroyed (Beautifully Broken)

The weird apprehension I’ve been feeling lately sinks heavily into my gut, and for the first time, I don’t want to know what happened to her.

My stomach twists when scenarios fill my mind, and I quickly kill the disturbing thoughts.

I have one hell of a connection with Finlay, and learning what hurt her might just be too much for me to handle.

Sitting down on the stairs, I take a deep breath. I rub my palm over my face then close my eyes. Everything I’ve learned of Finlay fills my mind.

She’s always scared. She’s only comfortable with her dad, uncle, and Quinn. The expression I mistakenly took for indifference is a protective wall she keeps up between her and everyone else.

But she actually smiled today. She laughed and relaxed, even if it was only for a short while.

Finlay hasn’t lost the ability to be happy.

She’s trying to learn how to defend herself, and it makes an intense burst of admiration fill my heart.

She’s still fighting.

I turn my gaze toward the Drakes’ house as my veins fill with steely resolution. I’m going to do everything I can to help Finlay.

And just maybe she’ll be able to consider me a friend.

I hope.

Chapter 11

FINLAY

Needless to say, I’m nervous as hell when Ethan comes up the stairs.

My face heats with embarrassment because he got a front-row seat to me having a panic attack. I’ve been doing so well until I had to lie down on the floor, and he towered over me.

I didn’t sleep much, terror bleeding into a nightmare that had the walls of the house closing in around me.

My shoulders slump, and I let out a tired sigh.

I thought I was getting better.

“Morning,” Ethan says, pulling me out of my miserable thoughts.

“Morning,” Dad greets him while tapping me on my shoulder so I’ll get up off the couch.

My legs feel heavy as I rise to my feet, and with zero energy, I turn toward Ethan, keeping my eyes on the floor.

“You’re going to show her how to hit?” Dad asks, and it has my eyes flying up. Seeing Ethan pull a pair of sparring gloves from a bag along with two punching mitts, my eyebrows lift.

Ethan grins at us. “You get to pick, Finlay. Either beat the crap out of your dad or me.”

There’s no awkward wave coming from him, his body relaxed and expression friendly.

He doesn’t stare at me like I’m a weirdo.

The coil in my stomach loosens a little.

He holds the gloves out to me. “Put these on to protect your hands.”

I reach for them and can’t keep my eyes from flitting to his face. My hand freezes, and a tremble shoots through my body when I see admiration in his eyes.

He doesn’t think I’m pathetic?

Why would he look at me like that?

I catch myself and take the gloves. When I have them on, I flex my fingers.

“Who’s it gonna be?” Ethan asks.

Knowing Dad must be tired from staying up with me, I shrug. “You?”

Ethan’s grin widens a little, looking pleased by my choice.

Dad takes a seat on the couch, reaching for his book.

“Keep your thumb on the outside of your fist, so you don’t hurt it when punching,” Ethan instructs.

I make a fist, then hold it up for him to see. “Like this?”

“Perfect.”

He slips the punching mitts on and takes in a defensive stance, bringing his hands up in front of him. “Take a couple of swings.”

I inch closer, my eyes darting over Ethan.

Deep breaths.

You can do this.

I take a swing but slow down right before hitting the pad. My lips curve up in an awkward smile because that sucked, and I’m feeling self-conscious.

“You can’t hurt me. Try again,” Ethan encourages me.

I nod and put in more effort. When my fist connects with the padded mitt, an electric current zaps up my arm, making my lips part.

That felt good.

“Alternate between left and right,” Ethan murmurs.

I start to hit the pads and soon find a rhythm that has my pulse speeding up. Energy washes through me, and I’m so focused on hitting the mitts, I forget about everything else.

“Faster,” Ethan says softly.

Minutes pass, and a refreshing layer of sweat forms on my skin.

“Harder.”

My breathing speeds up, my lungs expanding.

A light feeling settles in my bones as I keep hitting the pads, and time slips away.

I’m breathless, my skin flushed, and my heart pounding happily in my chest when Ethan says, “Let’s switch up.”

I stop, and sucking in air, I grin at him. “I liked that.”

He gives me a proud smile. “You did really well.”

His praise makes a burst of warmth rush through my heart.

“You okay with taking the punching mitts and trying to avoid my blows?”

I shrug. “Ah… I can try.”

Ethan hands me the mitts, and I squeeze my hands through the straps at the back.

“The second you feel uncomfortable, stop me.”