Page 62 of Hide And Seek

Rhys snorted. “You don’t need to look so impressed. Regular people do that shit all the time and no one congratulates them.”

“I know. It’s just rare in your world.”

“Yeah. I guess it is.”

For a second, neither of us spoke. I suddenly became acutely aware of how close we were standing together in the small shed, along with the way the morning light cut in through the high window and caught along the line of his jaw.

I was experiencing a really bizarre kind of mental whiplash right now. After the frank conversation Rhys and I had justshared, I was actually starting to like him. The way he held himself. The confidence in his voice. His surprisingly down-to-earth personality.

But not even five minutes ago, I’d been staring at his shoes and spinning out, wondering if he was a psychotic murderer.

I dragged my attention back to the present, forcing myself to reset. “Anyway,” I said, clearing my throat slightly. “Ax throwing lesson?”

“Yeah. We should probably get to that.” Rhys stepped past me and moved toward the rack along the far wall. “Let’s start you off with something manageable.”

“Okay.”

“Weight matters,” he went on. “Too light, and you won’t get enough rotation. Too heavy, and you’ll fight it the whole way through the throw.”

“So what am I aiming for, then?” I asked.

His eyes flicked over me then, quick but assessing, like he was measuring more than just height or reach. “Control,” he said. “Always control.”

The way he said that word made something swoop low in my belly.

He selected a mid-sized axe, then held it out to me. “Try this one.”

I stepped forward and took it from him, the weight settling into my hand heavier than I expected, but not unmanageable.

We stepped back out into the early morning light and headed over to the throwing range. The ground there was packed dirt, scuffed and worn from use.

Rhys moved to stand beside me, close enough that I could feel the heat of him even in the cool air. “Feet shoulder-width apart,” he said, nudging my stance lightly with his shoe. “Dominant hand on the handle, other hand just above it. You’re gonna bring it up to this height and release when your armscome forward. Don’t flick your wrist. Let the weight do the work.”

I nodded, trying to focus.

“Like this,” he added.

He stepped behind me then, even closer, one hand briefly closing over mine to adjust my grip, the other settling lightly at my elbow to guide the angle. The contact was brief, but it sent a sharp awareness through me anyway.

“Relax your shoulders,” he murmured. “You’re tensing up.”

I swallowed and forced myself to loosen my grip slightly.

“Good girl,” he said in a low voice. “Now throw.”

I drew the ax back, lifted it overhead, and hurled it forward. It hit the edge of the target with a dull thunk and dropped straight to the ground.

Rhys huffed out a quiet laugh. “Okay. Not terrible. Just an early release.”

He stepped past me to retrieve it, pulling it free from the dirt and handing it back.

“Again,” he said.

I reset my stance, trying to ignore the way my mind kept jolting and slipping.

“Focus,” Rhys added, softer this time.

I did. Or at least I tried to.