Her Mafia Brothers

Part 3 - One Month Later

"You ready Carrie?" Nick yelled from the bottom of the stairs. How come he was allowed to yell and get away with it? That's totally not fair. Damon still insists that there is to be no yelling in the house, and even when he's not here, the rest of my brothers enforce the rule strictly. Except for Nick, quite clearly. I didn't say anything to him, though. I've managed to stay out of trouble since the night at the pool party, and I'd quite like to keep it that way.

"Yeah, coming!" I yelled. I waited for an answering scolding, a reminder not to yell, but none came. Hmmm. Maybe the boys aren't home. Not very long ago, that would have bothered me. I'd needed to know where the boys were, who was here with me, when the others would be back. But the therapy Damon had forced me to go to had helped me work through all that.

At first, he'd made me go every single day. Then three times a week. Then twice a week. Now it was just weekly, with the understanding we could increase it at any time.

Fear and anxiety were a distant memory now, instead of my constant companions.

I no longer had nightmares.

I was no longer afraid of being alone.

These days, when I snuggled with my brothers it was because I wanted to snuggle with my brothers, not because I was terrified.

I didn't need my brothers as security blankets anymore, although I did still sleep with my teddy. I didn't see that changing any time soon.

I pulled on my workout clothes as fast as I could. Leggings, and a t-shirt I stole off Logan that was nice and big and didn't restrict my movement.

Nick was teaching me to kickbox. But he wasn't just teaching me how to punch and kick safely, or showing me different combinations. No, he was training me properly. He was teaching me how to actually fight. How to hold my own, how to defend myself, how to escape from various holds. He was also training me physically. The workout he put me through twice a week was far more rigorous than anything the gym instructor at school could come up with.

Nick actually fought me. He insisted that the only way I would learn to fight properly, was by sparring with me. So I got punched. And kicked. A lot. Not hard obviously; he never actually properly hurt me, but if I didn't block the blows, the punches and kicks landed, and they left bruises. Damon didn't like it, but he didn't make me stop. I think he liked the fact that the twice-weekly sessions with Nick helped me work out all my pent-up anger, and during the week I used my boxing bag in my room instead of hitting my brothers. And he definitely liked the fact that Nick trained me so hard that after a session in the gym I was so exhausted all I could do was blob out on the couch or in my room and my smart mouth didn't make an appearance.

"If you're not down here in five seconds you'll be doing push-ups!" Nick yelled up the stairs, sounding more amused than impatient.

"I'm coming!" I yelled again, my hair tie between my teeth as I gathered my hair back off my face and into a loose bun. "Hold your horses! Geez!" I muttered the last part under my breath. If Nick heard it, he'd make me do sit-ups or something equally cruel, under the guise of punishment for my smart mouth but really, it was just because he could. Because that was the deal - he'd teach me to kickbox, but he'd train me properly at the same time. The day I stopped cooperating and started complaining in earnest about his awful workouts was the day he stopped teaching me. And I wasn't good enough at it to stop, yet. I wanted to be able to do more than just hold my own in a fight, I wanted to be able to kick Blondie's ass. And of course being able to defend myself in an emergency, which was the whole point of me learning to kickbox.

I ran into the hallway and slid down the banister, going as fast as I could so as not to keep Nick waiting. He was tapping his expensive watch impatiently at the bottom of the stairs but when he saw me flying towards him he stretched out his hands and caught me, stopping me from crashing into him and bouncing off his solid chest onto the floor. He didn't say anything as he set me on my feet, but he was grinning. Aside from Logan, Nick was the most fun of all my brothers. Although he'd never bounced down the stairs on the mattress with me again, he never told me off for sliding down the banister, and he jumped on my trampoline with me quite a bit, making me squeal with laughter.

Nick held the door open for me and followed me down to the basement gym. It was fully equipped, including a full-size kickboxing ring, and heavy boxing bags. Weights equipment, rowing machines, treadmills and other stuff that I had no clue about lined the walls and filled the rest of the space. Music pumped through the surround sound system. It was a masculine, testosterone-filled space, but I quite liked it. I felt powerful, down here.

Together, we stretched and warmed up. Nick was so much fitter than I was, but I was definitely improving with every training session. When we first started, I couldn't exercise for more than a few minutes without nearly dying. I'd never been particularly sporty, mom had never let me play team sports or cheer or anything, and I didn't exactly lead an active life. The only exercise I got outside of school was swimming and jumping on my trampoline. Until now. When Nick had agreed to teach me to kickbox, he apparently also made it his mission to get me as fit as possible. Or maybe he just liked torturing me. Whatever his aim, it was working.

For the next hour, Nick taught me more kicking and punching combinations, held the bag steady for me while I attacked it, then sparred with me in the ring. He taught me how to block the blows, cheering me on when I did it successfully, and not being in the least bit sympathetic when I didn't, and his punches landed.

At the end of the hour I lay flat on my back on the mat, totally spent.

"Come on." Nick extended his hand to help me up but I was too exhausted to even reach up and grab it. My entire body was sore. Every single muscle, including ones I didn't even know I had, hurt.

"Carry me," I mumbled, lying there with my eyes shut.

"I'm all sweaty," Nick said. "You don't like it when I carry you when I'm sweaty."

"Don't care. Carry me," I demanded, still refusing to both move and open my eyes.

"Stand up then," Nick said.

I didn't even have the energy to shake my head. "Nope. Carry me."

Nick groaned. "I can't pick you up from off the ground."

"Yes you can," I insisted. "You're strong."

Nick groaned again, but he did bend down and pick me up, throwing me over his shoulder as he straightened up.

"You stink," I grumbled. "You need a shower."

Nick chuckled. "I did warn you!"

Out on the main floor we ran into Jack.

"You have a good training session, Sweetheart?" Jack asked.

"Mmmm," I mumbled, too tired to answer properly.

"Here, have a smelly sister," Nick said, passing me over to Jack like I was a sack of potatoes or something.

"Oi!" I objected loudly. "I do not smell!"

"Sorry to break it to you sis, but yes you do."

"Hmph," I grumbled. "It's your fault if I do anyway. You work me too hard."

"I train you. You want to learn or not?"

"Yes," I grumbled, huffy now.

Jack tightened his grip on me, holding me securely in his arms, snug against his chest. I wrapped my arms around his neck. I knew Jack wouldn't drop me, but I always felt safer if I held on.

Nick disappeared up the stairs, presumably to have a shower, and Jack looked down at me.

"You want a shower or do you just want to have a drink and relax for a bit?"

"No shower," I mumbled.

Jack tried to set me on my feet but I wasn't having it. I wasn't going to walk when there were two perfectly fine arms to carry me, courtesy of Jack.

"Nuh-uh, carry me," I demanded. "I'm tired."

Jack chuckled and shook his head, but he didn't put me down.

"Come on then," he said. "I'll take you into the kitchen and you can get some water, then we'll go watch a movie. Okay?"

I nodded.

"Verbal answer."

"Why? I'm tired," I grumbled.

Jack raised an eyebrow, looking scarily like Damon.

"Okay." I sighed, and snuggled closer against Jack. "As long as you carry me. My legs hurt."