Nell! That had been Eamonn’s voice she’d heard, hadn’t it? But she was lying on her back looking at the ceiling of the dojang, and Mr. Kahn was kneeling over her, telling her to focus on his finger as he moved it back and forth. At the edge of her peripheral vision, two figures in sparring gear hovered, offering anxious apologies and concern.
“I’m fine. Let me get up.” She tried to sit, but Mr. Kahn stopped her with a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“Nell, you were hit pretty hard. Just lie still a moment. You could have a concussion.”
He called me Nell, even though we’re in uniform. That seemed wrong. They could call each other Riley and Nell outside of class, in street clothes, but of all the instructors and masters she knew, he adhered most to the formality of titles within the dojang and in uniform. He’s worried.
Her head throbbed. “I’m good, sir,” she said. “I’m not concussed. I’ve been hit harder in the ring. Just let me get a drink of water and I’ll go back to my students.”
Mr. Kahn snorted with grudging amusement but helped her get to her feet and ushered her toward a chair that one of the leadership students brought over. “I know how you feel, Miss Whalen, but you’re sitting out for a week, and—”
“I can’t! I need the hours, sir.” Her voice wobbled with horror and frustration.
He shook his head slowly, his eyes sympathetic but the set of his mouth unyielding. “Sorry. If Master Simran were here, I might look the other way and let you make the call for yourself, but… I’m responsible for the dojang right now. I’m responsible for you. Don’t fight me on this, all right?”
Years of ingrained respect for senior belts and the martial arts hierarchy, years of discipline and self-control, forced her to choke out “yes, sir” when she wanted to scream and rage and even beg. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go…
“I think your dude wants to come see that you’re okay.” Mr. Kahn tilted his head toward the guest seating area where Eamonn stood with his arms crossed, tapping a foot in a twitchy rhythm — not hovering, exactly, but definitely on alert while still trying to appear cool. “Will you let him take you to Urgent Care? Or at least keep an eye on you overnight?”
Nell huffed out a disbelieving breath. “I don’t need to be taken care of, sir.”
“All right.” His raised eyebrows said he doubted that, but she couldn’t very well argue with eyebrows. “Go take care of yourself, then. I’ll see you next week.”
“Yes, sir.” That came out sounding more defeated than she’d have liked, and she automatically raised her chin and straightened her shoulders, triggering various twinges of discomfort. He gave her an encouraging pat on the shoulder before walking away — back to students, back to training, back to everything she’d be missing. At least he had the sense not to go talking to Eamonn about her care or anything.
She got up from the chair and dragged it over to the audience seating area, placing it back on the end of the row it had been taken from. Only then did she acknowledge Eamonn, turning to him with a sigh, saying, “Well, that wasn’t me at my best tonight.”
“You are absolutely the toughest woman I’ve ever met,” he said, shaking his head. “And I’ve spent my whole life around groupies and roadies and rockers, so that’s saying a lot.”
“Thanks,” she muttered. That doesn’t scare you off? She put on her shoes and picked up her gear bag. “I can change at home. Let’s go.”
“Can I carry your bag?” he offered.
“No.”
“Of course not,” he said. But he held the door for her as they left, and when they reached his truck, he tossed her bag into the back for her, and opened the passenger door for her too, giving her an arm to lean on as she climbed in.
“I’m fine,” she said firmly, even as she appreciated his steady arm and the comfortable ride home. “I don’t have a freaking concussion. I don’t need to be babied.”
He stood at the open door of his truck, leaning on the frame, regarding her with a bit of concern. “Ninja woman, it was a hard hit. I believe you when you say you don’t have a concussion — I figure you’d know, right? — but it’s still okay to be hurting, to need a little care.” He gave her thigh an encouraging pat, his big hand lingering just enough that she knew it could easily become a caress if she encouraged him at all.
“Yeah. Well, I don’t want to go get my head looked at, but you can stay the night with me if you like.”
“You want to come to my place instead? I’ve got ice packs, and a really comfy bed, and a clean t-shirt you can sleep in.”
It is a really comfy bed. The thought of his silky high-thread-count sheets and fluffy pillows called to her. Nicer than mine. “Sure.”
He closed her door and strode around to the driver’s side. Straight back, confident, not even scared off by seeing her take a hard hit.
Everything I’ve ever wanted. As he got in and put the truck into gear, she watched him out of the corner of her eye. After a bit, she said, “I… uh, might not be much use to you tonight. Not that I — I’m just so tired…”
His eyes were on the road, one hand on the wheel, and his other hand reached out, open, inviting her to take it. So she did.
