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I’m halfway down the sidewalk when I hear a deep voice behind me.
“Allie?”
I turn, recognizing the voice instantly, but seeing him standing here in front of me is an unexpected surprise. I’m sure a few birds are startled at my high-pitched squeal of delight as I run toward him, launching myself into his arms with the full trust that he’ll catch me.
“Oh, my God!” I exclaim. He spins us once with the momentum of my leap and then sets me on my feet, engulfing me in a big hug. Once upon a time, he was the same height I was, but now he’s easily a foot taller and twice as wide as I am. Still buried in the hug, I whisper into his chest, “TJ! Holy shit! What are you doing here?”
He sighs, patting my back, and sets me down on the sidewalk. “Long story, Allie-Gator. Wanna go to dinner and I’ll tell you all about it?”
“Of course!” I say with a laugh and a grin. He drops down in front of me, and like so many times before, I hop on piggy-back style.
“Do you need to lock up?” he asks.
I stare at him, thinking I’ll wake up and this will be a dream any second, but I shake my head. “No, the owner’s got another class going.”
Without another question, he gallops down the sidewalk, me laughing at his silly antics. Just like before. Just like always. Unceremoniously, he plops me in the seat of his truck, and we roar out of the lot.
Max
“Keep going, kids. Hold for eight, seven, six . . .” I say, when suddenly, the parking lot quiet is broken by a scream.
Screams aren’t really standard fare around here, not like the neighborhood back home. Around here, it’s all proper manners and nice neighbors, and my last class is usually just us and the crickets chirping as the sun goes down.
But I’ve got responsibilities and duties now, so I turn, instantly on alert and ready to protect my charges against whatever incoming assault may be going down.
I realize as I look out the gym’s open bay door that it’s more squeal than scream, a happy, exuberant sound. Hell, if this were an adult class with my normal assortment of death metal blaring, I probably wouldn’t have heard it at all. I scan the lot and see Allie running down the sidewalk toward a tall guy with a big smile on her face.
My brows knit together as I watch her jump into his arms, her legs wrapping around his torso and their arms encircling each other. One spin later, she’s back on solid ground but they’re still hugging it out.
They’re too far away for me to hear them, but she seems happy to see the guy, whoever he is. Even from here, I can see he’s a big motherfucker, not like Dalton and me, but a tall, broad guy who carries himself with a sense that he could take care of business.
I turn back to my students, who have decided that I’m done counting. They’re sitting on the ground, their squat positions given up. Kids . . . they’ll work their asses off on the fun stuff, but champions aren’t made of the fun stuff.
“All right, guys,” I announce, going over to the boxing timer on the wall and flipping the switches. “Good job. One more cycle and we’ll call it a night. Burpees, pushups, and sprawls. One minute each.”
They groan a bit but get to work. That’s the good thing about the youngsters . . . nearly endless energy. As the timer goes, I watch their burpees but hear laughter from behind me.
I turn, keeping an eye on the kids but watching as the guy deposits Allie into a truck and they go speeding out of the lot. It’s not until the kids are halfway through their one-minute sprawls that I put it together that he looked nothing like Dominick’s usual guys.
I’ve met Logan, and he’s even been hanging out in the gym with us a bit. He’s a monster of a guy, and I’ve seen another guy escorting Allie out sometimes too. And both of them, when they’re on chaperone detail, are respectfully distant, dressed in fancy clothes, and on guard as they give her coverage similar to the Secret Service.
Allie seemed comfortable, but something is uneasy in my gut. That guy just isn’t the usual, and it feels off for some reason.
Logan casually asked Dalton and me to keep an eye out for her, nothing official, but just a friendly request. Thing is . . . Logan isn’t going to just make a friendly request like that for no reason. I know who he works for, who Allie belongs to, and the fight game isn’t so far from its old Mafia roots that you don’t get to know a few names around the streets. This feels like something I should call about.
