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“Mommy!” Lu and Lair Bear shout in unison, yanking me off the Spiral Express. “Our turn!”
Without saying another word to Blu, I cross over to where they’re waiting to dig their tiny hands into the bucket of oats to feed the seemingly happy reindeer. As soon as I arrive, Cassie walks us through the process once more, wanting the girls along with myself, to be mindful of the animals that are friendly but likely still overwhelmed by the continuous changes in their new lives.
They’re not the only ones.
Between Slater’s training assignments coming in closer and closer together and his lack of being around for more than just a few moments here or there, I find myself wishing I had someone to pet my head, tell me I’m pretty, and offer me a handful of sticky treats to cope with the life overload thatI too can’t control.
I’ll happily take a bag of Skittles now.
Sour ones if you’ve got them.
Chapter 3
Slater
Department stores are not the best location for evasion tactics.
Foreitherparty.
Ducking and dodging sharp display corners while doing your best not to run face first into clothing racks or people crowding the aisles isn’t exactly the straight shot shit one would hope for in this scenario.
Then again…maybe weshouldconduct some sort of training exercise using these parameters.
I should have Angel Cake do a risk analysis regarding how many children go missing from these environments to see if advanced tactical preparation would be beneficial.
At the very fucking least, running courses on it could keep mehomefor longer.
Lord knows I’m not looking forward to being gone for six weeksimmediatelyafter Christmas.
Which I still need to tell her about.
Part of me is hoping that rescuing this kid will somehow cushion the blow with concrete proof about why me leaving to train others for so long is worth it.
Not thatsheneeds proof.
I think I do.
Hopping over another knocked down mannequin display doesn’t deter my focus from the target. Steadily sprinting after the individual – who’s surprisingly swift on his feet – leads us to the pair of sliding glass doors I predict he’s going to go out of. While being on the defense of the situation is where it all began, I know the only way to turn the tables in my favor is to stop.
Reassess.
Abandon following and reevaluate where he’sheading.
What’s hisendgame.
Whereis his endgame.
The attacker looks over his shoulders to see me slowing down and flashes me an arrogant smirk I look forward to punching away. “Too slow, Old Man!”
Around training with recruits, training with Kolby – an NHL fucking All Star – and having to keep up with twin preschoolers, I amfarfrom slow.
Hell, I can still outperform the majority of those I’m in charge of instructing.
It’s why the other numbers keep trying to have Seventeen convince me to come out of retirement.
And in spite of the relentless pressure he faces from them, he doesn’t push me to.
He respects that I’ve made a choice.
