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She was afraid of something.
Or, more accurately, someone.
“Of course! For Gabriel, we have a partially filled children’s class ready for the grand opening. For you, we have several classes planned. But I am also available for private training classes,” I said, feeling Slash’s confused look on my profile, but ignoring it. I would tell him later.
“That would be great,” she said, looking slightly relieved. “How soon can I start those classes?” she asked, and there was no denying the hint of desperation in her voice.
“While we aren’t officially open to the public until the week after tomorrow, I can do private sessions as soon as paperwork is filled out. Tomorrow, even,” I offered.
“That would be perfect,” she said, taking the paperwork and filling it out across the room where Gabriel was striking karate poses in the mirrors, making me smile.
“Something going on there?” Slash asked, looking toward Clara.
“Seems like it,” I said, nodding.
It seemed like some new kind of trouble might be blowing into town soon.
But that was a problem to worry about another day.
That day, we were celebrating the studio being done, and the plans for our future.
Slash - 13 years
“What are you doing?” I asked, walking up behind Nyx who was standing in the window, looking at something outside.
“Trying to decide if I stop him or not,” she said, nodding her chin toward the side yard where our older son looked to be building some sort of obstacle course for him and his brother to ride over in their bikes.
“I mean, we have to give them props for having not only helmets, but elbow and knee guards on,” I reasoned.
We’d produced feral children.
Three of them, actually.
We’d only planned on two. Especially after finding the two we had doing shit like climbing onto the kitchen counters after using the drawers like stairs when they were all of five and three years old. Or peeing in the houseplants because they “looked thirsty.” Or cutting their own hair. Or coloring all over each other in permanent marker to give themselves tattoos.
They were a lot.
We were pretty sure we were done after them.
But then there was this night when we took a ride on my bike and fucked near the base of the Death Valley mountains.
Then, nine months later, there she was.
A daughter.
“Well, at least Shy isn’t out there,” I said, not seeing our daughter.
“Look up,” Nyx demanded, making my glance to the top of the playground equipment, where she somehow managed to get up and sit on the top of the monkey bars.
“Is she…” I started as she waved around toward the boys.
“Giving them instructions? Yep. Yep, she is.”
“I can’t decide if I’m impressed with her or concerned why a eleven and nine and a half year old are taking instructions from a six-year-old.”
“Are you kidding? That girl is going to take this world by storm,” Nyx said, proud of her little rebel.
She was the spitting image of her mother, too. Long, dark hair. Though Shy’s was usually knotty because she was always on the move, always rolling around and getting herself filthy and tangled. She had a soft, heart-shaped face with big, innocent-looking gray eyes that gave you a false sense of security around her.
