Page 88 of The Sebastian Guarantee
And why had he done that?
The short answer: he wasn’t sure. The auto shop had returned his car to his parents’ place while he was at Glenn Pines. Not needing to rely on Tula’s sparkly scooter, he’d gotten in his vehicle, started driving, and ended up at the first location his dad and Mibby had opened years ago when he was a boy. It was housed in Helping Hands, a community center and shelter in the heart of the city. He’d gotten there as a class had ended, and they’d recognized him immediately. He’d spoken to the instructors and fielded questions from the class participants. He hadn’t officially been with the company for a year, but they’d greeted him with open arms and made him feel useful.
Was this another distraction of sorts? Possibly.
But this was different.
Maybe he’d gone to Helping Hands because he had to prove he wasn’t a complete screwup. Perhaps he needed to be seen as more than the sexiest man on the internet. Perhaps in a quest to be the kind of man who’d make his mother proud, he’d forgotten who he was, forgotten the true meaning of something his mum had believed in—serving others without an agenda.
From there, he traversed the state, stopping into studios to say hello and asking if they needed help with their books or business plan. He’d suggest a tweak here or a deviation there, but the Pun-chi yoga studios were running like a well-oiled machine.
And that’s where he’d ended up today—another studio. After visiting a few centers in the outlying suburbs, he’d returned to Denver to check on a location that was a few weeks away from opening in the Baxter Park neighborhood, not far from his parents’ place in Crystal Acres. The crew installing the hanging punching bags had finished early. He’d told them he’d stick around and lock up. Instead of turning off the lights and slipping out the door, he’d balled his hands into fists and put one of the new bags to use.
Pop, pop! Pop, pop!
Jab, cross. Jab, cross.
“Tuck that chin,boyo. It’s sticking out so far, I could land a bloody 747 on it. And tighten up, mate. You’re wobblier than a twelve-year-old sneaking his first pint.”
Despite not knowing if the man speaking in the gritty British accent wanted to curse him out, throttle him, or all of the above, he couldn’t help but smile at the sound of his father’s voice.
Sebastian rested his hand on the bag. “I didn’t hear you come in, Dad.”
“I’m stealthy like that. Your old man’s still got it,” Erasmus Cress said, knocking out a few shadow-boxing moves, then stilled and gave him the once-over. “Bare knuckles? We’ve got a real British brawler here,” the man added with a curious lilt to his tone.
After all the messages and Briggs’s warnings, Sebastian had expected his father to be cross with him. He studied the man—the boxing sensation, the husband and father, the fighter who’d been his hero for as long as he could remember. The lines at the corners of the man’s eyes had deepened. Over the years, his brown hair had welcomed a touch of gray near his temples, but he was no less imposing in his solid stature. It was like looking at the gray-eyed older version of himself.
Sebastian gave the bag one last hit. “Did you guys just get back from Rickety Rock?”
“Yeah, we left this morning and made it home an hour ago. Tula’s got an activity nearby this afternoon.” He touched Sebastian’s tie. “Are you starting a new type of posh boxing, something for corporate types?”
Sebastian eyed the blue fabric, and his throat grew thick with emotion. He hadn’t even realized he’d chosen the tie Madelyn had given him—the tie he’d used to bind Phoebe’s wrists. “I drove to Boulder to check out the studios near the Flat Irons. I wanted to look professional.”
His dad nodded. “I heard you were making the rounds.”
“I figured it wouldn’t hurt to stop in and say hello. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Not at all. A few instructors reached out. They were thrilled to see you. What’s your assessment of how the business is doing?” the man asked, watching him closely.
Sebastian took a few steps, gathering his thoughts. “It was hard to find any faults. The studios are performing above expectations. They’re gaining new members. Attrition is low.”
His dad leaned against the stark white wall. “And why do you think that is?”
“Pun-chi yoga is a solid fitness program.”
“A solid fitness program,” his dad echoed, “that had expert direction from our former employee in charge of business development. Are you thinking of returning to the family business, son?”
Sebastian tapped the bag with his fist. “Is that why you’re here—to offer me my old job?”
“I’m here because the installers called to let me know they were ahead of schedule and mentioned you’d popped in.”
“You didn’t come to talk Pun-chi yoga, though, did you? And you’re not only here because you were in the area for Tula’s thing.”
His father pegged him with his piercing gray gaze. “You were always a sharp lad.”
“You don’t look like you want to put me through the wringer,” Sebastian replied, attempting to interject a thread of humor, but it fell flat.
“From what I hear, Phoebe’s already done that to you,boyo.”
