Days later, the Monday evening class was particularly crowded, the mats packed with sweating bodies drilling a complex guard pass that involved a subtle weight shift and precise hand placement. Ashley paired with a blue belt woman about her size, their movements becoming more fluid with each repetition.

Across the room, Jacob worked with Mike, the firefighter they’d befriended at The Anchor. Mike was stockier but shorter than Jacob, making the physical dynamic of the technique different than what Carlos had demonstrated. Jacob’s brow was furrowed in concentration as he attempted to replicate the movement, his lanky frame not quite finding the leverage points that made the technique effective.

“You’re thinking too much,” Mike said good naturedly after Jacob’s third failed attempt. “Feel it, don’t analyze it.”

Jacob nodded, wiping sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. “Easy for you to say. Your center of gravity is practically at ground level. I’m like a giraffe trying to do parkour here.”

Ashley watched Jacob, her attention briefly diverted from her own drilling. Jacob caught her eye across the room and gave her a small wave, his expression brightening at her notice. The simple gesture, the evident pleasure he took in her attention, sent a pang of guilt through her chest. The business card remained hidden in her drawer, untouched but not forgotten. She’d thought of it each day, rehearsed scenarios where she texted the number, imagined Carlos’s response.

“Focus, Ashley,” her partner chided, noticing her distraction. “You’re leaving space for me to recover guard.”

“Sorry,” Ashley murmured, returning her attention to the drill.

When Carlos called time and instructed them to switch roles, there was a momentary shuffle as people adjusted positions. Ashley glanced toward Jacob again, saw him settling onto his back as Mike prepared to execute a move from the top position. Nothing unusual, just the normal flow of class.

Then it happened.

Mike, heavier and more muscular than his height suggested, drove forward with slightly too much force. Jacob, attempting to create space with his legs, extended his arm to push against Mike’s shoulder. The angle was wrong, the pressure too direct. There was an audible pop, followed by Jacob’s sharp intake of breath.

“Shit,” he hissed, his face contorting in pain. “My shoulder.”

Mike immediately backed off, concern etched on his face. “You okay, man?”

Jacob sat up slowly, his right arm hanging awkwardly. “I don’t think so. Something’s not right.”

Ashley snapped into motion, rushing to Jacob’s side.

Carlos appeared beside her, his expression shifting from mild annoyance at the interruption to assessment as he took in Jacob’s posture.

“What happened?” he asked, crouching beside Jacob.

“My shoulder,” Jacob said through gritted teeth. “It popped when I was pushing against Mike.”

Carlos nodded, his demeanor shifting. “Let me see. Can you move it at all?”

Jacob attempted to raise his arm, wincing visibly. “A little, but it hurts like hell.”

“Likely a partial dislocation,” Carlos said after a brief examination. “Not a full dislocation or you’d be in much more pain. Ice it immediately, then heat after 48 hours. Rest for at least a week, possibly two.” He looked up at Mike. “Help him to the side, please. And bring an ice pack from the freezer behind the desk.”

Mike nodded, carefully assisting Jacob to his feet.

“Are you okay?” Ashley asked, her hand hovering near his injured shoulder, afraid to touch it.

“Been better,” Jacob replied, his attempt at a smile more of a grimace. “Sorry to disrupt class.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Ashley said, following as Mike guided Jacob to a bench along the wall.

Carlos had already resumed teaching, gathering the momentarily distracted class back to the technique at hand. His voice carried across the gym, authoritative and even. “These things happen. It’s part of training. Now, watch again as I demonstrate the correct hand placement…”

Ashley sat beside Jacob as he gingerly applied the ice pack Mike had retrieved. “Should we go to the ER?”

Jacob shook his head slightly. “I don’t think it’s that serious. Just painful. Carlos is probably right about it being a partial dislocation.” He grimaced again as he shifted the ice pack. “I’ve had shoulder issues before, in college. Same feeling but worse this time.”

“You never told me that.”

“Never came up. It was from moving furniture, not exactly an exciting injury story.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, the class continuing around them, the rhythmic sounds of bodies hitting the mats, of controlled breathing and occasional grunts of effort forming a backdrop to their private bubble of discomfort.

“You should get back to drilling,” Jacob said, nodding toward the main mat area. “No sense in both of us missing out.”

Ashley hesitated, torn between concern for her husband and the pull of the training she’d come to crave. “Are you sure? I don’t mind sitting out.”

“I’m sure. I’ll just ice this for a bit, then maybe head home early if it’s not feeling better.” He attempted another smile, more successful this time. “Go. Learn enough for both of us.”

After another moment’s hesitation, Ashley nodded, squeezing his good shoulder gently before rejoining her partner. The remainder of the class included more techniques and drilling, her attention split between the movements she was practicing and periodic glances toward Jacob, still sitting on the bench, his expression growing more resigned as the ice numbed his discomfort.

When Carlos called the end of class, Ashley immediately went to Jacob’s side. “How’s it feeling?”

“About the same. Hurts if I move it too much.” He stood carefully, keeping his injured arm close to his body. “I think take some ibuprofen, maybe try to sleep it off.”

“I’ll come with you,” Ashley said, already gathering their bags.

Jacob shook his head. “No need to miss open mat. I know you’ve been looking forward to testing that scissor sweep in live rolling.” When she started to protest, he added, “Honestly, I’ll probably just pass out as soon as the painkillers kick in. Not much you can do except watch me snore.”

Before Ashley could respond, Carlos approached them.

“How’s the shoulder?” he asked, addressing Jacob directly.

“Still attached, so that’s something,” Jacob replied with a weak attempt at humor.

Carlos didn’t smile. “You need to take this seriously. Shoulder injuries can become chronic if not properly rehabilitated.” He turned to Ashley. “Make sure he rests it completely for at least a week. No training, minimal computer work if possible. Ice for the first 48 hours, then switch to heat.”

The directive, delivered as if she were Jacob’s caretaker rather than his wife, sparked a flicker of irritation in Ashley’s chest. “I think we can manage his recovery,” she said, her tone cooler than intended.

Carlos raised an eyebrow slightly at her tone but continued addressing Jacob. “When you do return, I’ll show you some specific exercises to strengthen the joint and prevent recurrence. Bad shoulder mechanics are a common issue for people with your build.”

“Thanks,” Jacob said, his expression a mixture of gratitude and embarrassment. “Sorry about disrupting class.”

“Injuries happen to everyone.” Carlos’s voice softened marginally, though his posture remained authoritative. “The difference between those who advance and those who quit is how they respond to setbacks.”

The words, though not unkind, carried an implicit challenge that made Ashley bristle. Was he suggesting Jacob might quit? That he lacked the mental fortitude to overcome a simple injury?

“Jacob’s not a quitter,” she said, the defensiveness in her voice surprising even herself.

Carlos turned his gaze to her, something unreadable flickering in his dark eyes. “I didn’t suggest he was. Simply offering perspective.” He nodded to them both. “Rest well. We’ll see you when you’re recovered.”

As Carlos walked away to address another student, Ashley felt irritation at Carlos’ presumption, admiration for his confidence, and beneath it all, that unwanted current of attraction that seemed to intensify rather than diminish with each interaction.

“He’s right,” Jacob sighed, breaking into her thoughts. “About taking it seriously, I mean. I can’t afford to develop a chronic issue.”

Ashley nodded, pushing thoughts of Carlos aside to focus on her husband’s needs. “Of course. We’ll follow all the recommendations. Do you want me to drive you home now?”

Jacob hesitated, glancing toward the mats where people were pairing up for sparring. “Actually, if you don’t mind staying for open mat, I think I’ll just sit and watch for a bit. The distraction might help with the pain, and ibuprofen works better if I’m upright anyway.”

The suggestion surprised her. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. I’ll live vicariously through you.” His smile was more genuine now, though she could still see the strain around his eyes. “Just promise to submit at least one blue belt in my honor.”

Ashley laughed, relief washing through her at this glimpse of Jacob’s usual good humor. “I’ll do my best, though no promises. Those blue belts are crafty.”

She helped him settle more comfortably on the bench before joining the open mat session. For the next hour, she lost herself in the flow of sparring, the instinctive push and pull of bodies seeking advantage, the puzzle of limbs and leverage that made jiu-jitsu both physically demanding and mentally engaging. She caught glimpses of Jacob watching from the sidelines, his expression alternating between wincing at his own discomfort and genuine interest in the techniques being executed around the room.

Carlos moved through the sparring pairs, occasionally stopping to offer guidance or demonstrate a detail. When he approached Ashley and her partner, a three-stripe white belt man with a wrestler’s build, she felt the familiar quickening of her pulse, the heightened awareness of her own body.

“Your base is too narrow when you’re in his guard,” Carlos observed, crouching beside them. “It makes you easy to sweep.” He demonstrated the correct posture, his hands briefly adjusting Ashley’s position, the simple touch sending a shock through her even through the fabric of her gi.

“Like this?” she asked, mimicking the posture he’d shown.

“Better. Now maintain that when he-” Carlos was interrupted by the sound of his name being called from across the gym. Liz stood at the front desk, holding up a phone. “Excuse me,” he said, rising smoothly. “Remember, base low and wide.”

As Carlos walked away, Ashley’s sparring partner chuckled. “Must be nice getting personal attention from the boss.”

“What do you mean?” Ashley asked, suddenly defensive.

The man shrugged, his expression good natured. “Just that Carlos doesn’t stop for everyone during open mat. Some of us have been here months without getting more than a passing correction.”

Before Ashley could respond, he initiated another round, and she was forced to focus on defending against his pressure. But the comment remained in her mind, added another layer to her already complicated feelings about Carlos’s attention.

Was she receiving special treatment? And if so, why? The obvious answer, the one she both hoped for and feared, made her pulse quicken with a mixture of anticipation and guilt.

Eventually, the open mat session wound down. Ashley, pleasantly exhausted from the rounds of sparring, made her way back to Jacob, who had been joined on the bench by Mike.

“I am so sorry about your shoulder, man,” Mike was saying. “I came in way too hard on that pass.”

Jacob waved off the apology with his good hand. “Not your fault. My technique was sloppy, and I panicked. Besides, according to Carlos, my ‘shoulder mechanics’ were already suspect.” He mimicked Carlos’s authoritative tone on the last words, drawing a laugh from Mike.

“Still, I feel bad. First round at The Anchor is on me next time we go.”

“Deal,” Jacob agreed, then glanced up as Ashley approached. “Hey there, warrior woman. Saw you nearly catch Andrews in an armbar. Very impressive.”

“Nearly being the operative word,” Ashley said, though she was pleased he’d noticed. “How’s the shoulder?”

“Throbbing, but the ibuprofen’s taken the edge off. Ready to head home?”

As they gathered their things, Ashley noticed Carlos watching them from the front desk, his conversation apparently concluded. Their eyes met briefly across the room, and something in his gaze, a question, perhaps, or a challenge, made her stomach flip. She looked away first, focusing on helping Jacob with his bag.

Outside, the night air was crisp. Jacob walked carefully to his car, mindful of jostling his injured shoulder.

“I’ll drive,” Ashley said, holding out her hand for the keys. “You just focus on keeping that arm still.”

Jacob handed them over without argument. “Thanks. Not sure I could manage the gear shift anyway.”

As they pulled out of the parking lot, Ashley glanced in the rearview mirror. Carlos stood in the doorway of the gym, his form silhouetted against the light from inside. Watching them leave. Or, more specifically, watching her leave.

The drive home was quiet, Jacob’s pain and fatigue evident in the tight lines around his mouth, in the careful way he held himself against the passenger seat to minimize movement.

“We should set up a doctor’s appointment tomorrow,” Ashley said, breaking the silence. “Just to be sure it’s what Carlos thinks and not something worse.”

Jacob nodded. “Probably smart. Though from the symptoms, I’m pretty confident it’s a subluxation. The same thing happened freshman year, just less severely.”

“What did they do for it then?”

“Sling, rest, physical therapy once the pain subsided.” He sighed, leaning his head back against the seat rest. “Guess this means no jiu-jitsu for a while.”

The resignation in his voice tugged at something in Ashley’s chest. Despite his struggles, despite his frustration with his slower progress, Jacob had been committed to their jiu-jitsu journey. It was the first physical activity he’d stuck with beyond the initial novelty phase, mostly, she suspected, because it was something they shared.

“You’ll be back on the mats before you know it,” she assured him. “And honestly, a short break might help. Sometimes stepping away lets things consolidate mentally.”

“Maybe.” Jacob glanced at her. “You should keep training though. Don’t let my gimpy shoulder hold you back.”

A small barb of guilt pricked at her. Was she disappointed at the prospect of training without him? Or secretly relieved that she could immerse herself in the gym’s environment without the complication of his presence, his observant eyes?

“We’ll see,” she said noncommittally. “Let’s focus on getting you healed first.”

At home, she helped Jacob change into pajama bottoms, his t-shirt requiring careful navigation around the tender joint. The vulnerability of the moment, her strong, capable husband wincing at small movements, needing assistance with a task as basic as dressing, stirred a protective tenderness in her that had been overshadowed lately by her restlessness, her wandering thoughts.

“Thanks,” he said as she guided his injured arm through the sleeve. “Sorry to be a burden.”

“You’re not a burden,” she said firmly, smoothing the fabric gently over his shoulder. “You’re my husband. This is what we do for each other.”

He smiled at her, the pain in his eyes softened by gratitude, love, trust. “I know. Still, not exactly the strong, capable protector role I’m supposed to be playing.”

The comment, meant as self-deprecating humor, highlighted something Ashley had been increasingly aware of since they’d started at Iron Grip. The subtle shift in their relationship’s dynamics, the way her rapid progress in a physical realm had altered, however slightly, the balance of capability between them.

“I don’t need a protector,” she said, settling beside him on the bed. “I need a partner. Which is exactly what you are.”

Jacob’s expression warmed, and he leaned in to kiss her, a gentle press of lips that spoke volumes about his appreciation for her words. “Even with one functioning arm?”

“Even then.” She returned the kiss, then pulled back to look at him seriously. “But I do need you to actually rest this thing. No trying to power through. If Carlos…” She paused. “If the advice is to take it easy for a week or two, that’s what you need to do.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jacob mock-saluted with his good arm. “Though I have to say, a week or two of limited computer use is going to be a challenge. The Farrier project deadline is coming up fast.”

“We’ll figure it out. Maybe you can dictate code to me, and I’ll type it for you.”

Jacob laughed, the sound brightening the room. “I love you, but I’m not sure our marriage would survive you trying to translate my rambling into actual workable code.”

“Probably not,” Ashley conceded with a smile. “But we’ll find a solution. We always do.”

Later, as Jacob slept beside her, the painkillers having finally pulled him under, Ashley lay awake, her thoughts churning. The sight of him in pain, vulnerable and restricted, had awakened protective instincts she hadn’t fully acknowledged before. Yet alongside that protectiveness ran a parallel current of awareness, that with Jacob sidelined, her time at the gym would be unchaperoned. That she would be free to interact with Carlos without the complication of her husband’s watchful presence.

The realization made her stomach twist with guilt. What kind of person was she becoming, to see her husband’s injury as an opportunity?

She turned onto her side to face Jacob. She loved him. That had never been in question.

But she felt the pull toward Carlos. The electric current that seemed to vibrate between them whenever they were in proximity wasn’t diminishing as she’d told herself it would. If anything, it was intensifying, becoming harder to dismiss as mere physical attraction or the natural response to a confident authority figure.

The business card remained hidden in her drawer, untouched but not forgotten, a path not taken but not abandoned either.

Morning arrived with a to-do list of practical concerns that temporarily pushed aside Ashley’s internal turmoil. Jacob’s shoulder was stiff and painful, requiring help with tasks as simple as putting on socks. She called his doctor, scheduled an appointment for later that afternoon, then emailed his boss to explain the situation.

“They can survive without me for a day or two,” Jacob protested weakly as she sent the message.

“They’ll survive longer than that if necessary,” Ashley replied, her tone brooking no argument. “And Alicia said they can set you up with voice recognition software if the doctor agrees you need to limit typing.”

Jacob sighed, cradling his arm carefully as he sipped the coffee she’d prepared. “I feel like an idiot. All this fuss over a stupid shoulder.”

“It’s not stupid if it hurts,” Ashley countered, spreading peanut butter on toast for him since he couldn’t manage it one-handed. “Besides, injuries are part of any athletic endeavor. You heard Carlos, it happens to everyone.”

The thought of Carlos sent a now-familiar jolt through her, a Pavlovian response she was growing increasingly concerned about. Jacob didn’t seem to notice, too focused on managing his discomfort to register her momentary shift in demeanor.

“I guess,” he conceded. “Still feels like a setback. Just when I was starting to get the hang of some techniques.”

The frustration in his voice was palpable, and Ashley felt a surge of genuine sympathy. Despite his struggles, Jacob had been committed to improving, had pushed through the awkwardness and physical challenges with the same determination he brought to complex coding problems.

“It’s temporary,” she assured him, setting the toast in front of him. “And when you get back on the mats, you’ll have a fresh perspective.”

Jacob nodded, though his expression remained doubtful. “What about tonight’s class? You should still go.”

The suggestion, while expected given their earlier conversation, still caught Ashley off guard. The prospect of attending class alone, without Jacob’s steadying presence, sent a shiver of both anticipation and apprehension through her.

“I’m not sure,” she hedged. “I’d rather stay with you until we know exactly what’s going on with the shoulder.”

“We’ll know by then. The appointment’s at two.” Jacob took a bite of toast, speaking around it. “Seriously, there’s no reason for both of us to miss training. And you love the Wednesday advanced class.”

He was right. She did love the advanced class, with its more complex techniques and higher intensity. And Carlos taught on Wednesdays, his instruction more detailed, more hands-on than the other coaches.

The thought should have strengthened her resolve to stay home, to avoid the temptation of his presence without Jacob’s grounding influence. Instead, it kindled a spark of anticipation in her core.

“We’ll see what the doctor says,” she said neutrally, focusing on her own breakfast to avoid meeting Jacob’s eyes. “If you’re settled and comfortable by then, maybe I’ll go.”

The doctor confirmed Carlos’s assessment, a partial shoulder dislocation causing inflammation and strain to the surrounding tissues. He prescribed anti-inflammatories, recommended a sling for the next week, and suggested physical therapy to follow.

“What about work?” Jacob asked. “I use a computer all day.”

The doctor, a pragmatic man in his fifties, shrugged slightly. “Limited keyboard use if possible. Voice recognition software might help. The main thing is to avoid positions that stress the joint while it’s healing. So no overhead movements, no lifting with that arm, and definitely no physical activity that might re-injure it.”

“How long until he can return to jiu-jitsu?” Ashley asked, already anticipating Jacob’s next question.

“Depends on the healing process. Minimum two weeks, possibly a month before any serious training. Even then, he’ll need to be careful with that shoulder. These injuries have a tendency to recur if you rush the recovery.”

Jacob’s expression fell at the timeline, his disappointment evident in the slump of his shoulders, or shoulder, singular, given the immobilization of the other.

Back at home, with Jacob settled on the couch, his arm properly supported in the new sling, the question of the evening’s class resurfaced.

“You should definitely go,” Jacob insisted, gesturing to the clock. “You’ve got plenty of time to get ready, and I’m fine here. The new pain meds are already kicking in.”

Ashley hesitated, caught between genuine concern for her husband and the undeniable pull of the gym, or, more honestly, the pull of Carlos’s presence there. “I don’t know…”

“I do.” Jacob’s voice was firm despite his slightly glazed expression, the medication evidently taking effect. “I’m probably going to fall asleep soon anyway. And one of us should keep learning, keep advancing.”

The words, innocent on his part, struck Ashley as unintentionally ironic. Advancing. Moving forward while he remained behind. Wasn’t that exactly what she’d been contemplating in her darker moments, her restless thoughts?

“If you’re sure,” she said finally, the decision already made despite her show of reluctance.

“Positive.” Jacob offered a smile. “Just promise to tell me all about it when you get back. Live vicariously through you and all that.”

As she changed into her gi an hour later, Ashley caught her reflection in the bedroom mirror. The white uniform, symbol of her novice status, nonetheless suited her. It highlighted the newfound confidence in her posture that hadn’t been there two months ago. She looked like someone who knew what she wanted, who pursued it without hesitation.

If only that were true in all aspects of her life.

Her hand paused at the drawer where the business card remained hidden. Just in case. The opportunity was here, Jacob at home, unaware, unlikely to discover any communication. A simple text, “I’d like to schedule a private lesson,” would be professional, innocent on the surface.

The first step on a path she both craved and feared.

Ashley closed the drawer without retrieving the card. Not yet. Not today. The line hadn’t been crossed, the boundary still intact, if increasingly fragile. As long as she maintained that distinction, as long as fantasy remained separate from action, she could pretend that nothing fundamental had changed.

But as she drove to Iron Grip Academy, the anticipation building in her chest told a different story, one where the line was blurring more each day, where the boundary between loyalty and betrayal was becoming flimsy.

Not yet, she told herself again. Not today.

But the qualifier, not yet, rather than not ever, was a confession in itself, an acknowledgment of where her thoughts were leading her, one incremental surrender at a time.