Page 68 of Made for You
Aweek and a half after Kiley’s dad approached her the first time, he had the foolish notion of doing so again when she and Marcus emerged from the training space we’d been building out about a half mile from the Saint Security offices.
I stood inside chatting with Quinn and her daughter, Cara, who were faithful attendees of the advanced self-defense course we ran on Saturday afternoons. Kiley and Marcus attended when they could, and I appreciated his support of her. I’d learned to accept that he was a fixture in her life, and especially after how he’d treated her these last few weeks, I had more and more respect for the kid.
Something caught my eye through the open doorway that let natural light and the cool late-October air filter in, and in an instant, I’d excused myself and moved outside in time to hear Carl Caruthers in the flesh.
“We had a nice time the other day, and now you’re refusing to talk to me?”
Kiley had folded in on herself. “I’m not. I just don’t want to go with you right now, okay?”
Carl practically spat his words. “If you weren’t such an ungrateful little—”
“Hey now, Mr. Caruthers, there’s no need to—”
Kiley’s piece of trash father took a swipe at Marcus, who did a fine duck. Thankfully, Kiley was paying attention and she jumped out of the way or his fist would’ve connected with her face. He hadn’t been aiming for her, but Marcus’s reflexes might’ve made it happen. And all of that proved more than enough ammunition to send me into the fray.
“That’s enough.” I moved to stand in front of the kids. “You get out of here and you stay gone. You don’t come onto my property and insult these kids. You don’t treat them this way, ever. And you don’t ever attempt to touch them, or I will call up my pal at the sheriff’s office and make sure you’re taken in for attempted assault. Questions?”
The sneer on his face was pure rage. “Always so high and mighty, like you didn’t spring from the same trash she did.” He notched his chin toward Kiley.
Disgust and something heavier laced through me. “Go.”
His jaw jutted out like he might be thinking of resisting, but after he ground his teeth at me for a beat, he spat at my feet and sent foul expletives at me before he stalked off. The second he climbed into his rental and sped off with a squeal, I turned to Kiley.
“You okay?”
She nodded, eyes red rimmed but no tears. Marcus had his arm around her, holding her close.
“And you?” I eyed him, appreciating the way he’d instantly sought to protect her. Again, good kid.
“Yes, sir. I’m fine. I just… what’s his deal?” He looked in the direction Carl had left, with a pinch between his thick brows, two angry spots of bright red coloring the light brown of his high cheekbones.
I brushed a hand through my hair, willing the fury bouncing around in my chest and just looking for an exit to calm.
“I’m not sure.” My eyes shifted to Ki. “You guys want to go? I’m sparring with Tristan, but I’ll be home in about an hour.”
Marcus’s gaze flicked to Kiley, then back to me. “Uh, if it’s okay, I think we’ll head to my house. My folks invited us for family dinner.”
It made no sense, but that landed like a punch to the kidney. “Of course. Have fun. I’ll see you by eleven?”
Kiley’s gaze found mine and she nodded, then returned to her shoes as Marcus led her away.
We’d have to deal with this. If Carl was coming around bothering her, we might need to do more than just tell him to go away. She’d assured me he hadn’t threatened her, that he hadn’t been aggressive, when he’d talked to her last week. It was the only reason I hadn’t hunted him down on the spot.
Everyone had drained out of the building, off to their Saturday afternoons and mercifully not expecting me to stick around and chat after that run-in with Carl. And Tristan would need an outlet as much as I did, which he confirmed with a curt nod when I walked back into the building. He wore sweats and a T-shirt, no shoes. I shucked the sneakers and socks I’d been wearing for class and raised my guard. I should’ve taped my wrists, should’ve grabbed my knee brace since our last time sparring had left me with a twinge I didn’t like, but I couldn’t be bothered.
“Ready?” I asked, knowing the man was practically always ready, but still needing the confirmation. The dip of his chin confirmed, and I moved.
Everything happened quickly—a jab to the ribs, an evasion, then a fairly dirty maneuver that left me on the ground. I let out my frustration in a growl, skipping up to standing and feeling particularly thankful I’d warmed up and stayed warm with the class this afternoon. Tristan was about as mild-mannered as any of us, but he was the close combat expert among us, too. Second only to the guy they’d hired at the unit and who provided full-time instruction to the best close-combat fighters in the world—including the men of EMU.
But Tris? He had it. And that patience, that usual calm, was slipping. He usually let me get out my angst before he took me out, but when he rolled me and pinned me a second time before I’d even made an attempt at him, I knew something major was happening.
“Wanna talk about it?” I gritted out as I returned to standing yet again.
“Aren’t we?” he asked, attacking the instant I settled into my stance.
I blocked, blocked again, took a swipe at him and locked my arms around his head andcrap.I’d been here before, thinking I had him, and he’d—yep.Ouch.We needed thicker mats in here. Even though I knew it’d hurt when I was a decade younger, I couldn’t help but feel the reality of getting older in these moments. Tristan was only a year or so younger, and both of us had kept up our level of fitness since leaving active duty, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel every bit like I was closer to thirty-nine than twenty-nine.
“You recall I am not your actual enemy, yes?” I said, doing my best not to wheeze.
