“We start with situational awareness. How to read your environment, how to deescalate a situation. And if that doesn’t work, how to defend yourself.”
“So it’s not fighting?”
“Not this program. I want to get a youth fighting program together and a proper strength training program, but this is the first iteration.”
I’m brimming with ideas on what I could do at the center. Situational awareness and de-escalation should be taught to all young men. This program is a trial run to see if I can build a proper youth offering at the center. There’s definitely the interest for it.
“What’s your background?”
Her eyes dart to my forearms, and she may not even be aware of it, but Lauren can’t keep her eyes off my muscles. And that makes me hot and hard in all the ways I shouldn’t be in a coffee shop in the middle of the day.
“I was a Navy SEAL, a trainer. I kept the Teams fit and their skills sharp.”
She sips her coffee. “So you think hanging out in a gym and learning to fight would be good for my son?”
“Just talk to him. Promise you’ll give him a chance. It’s better than hanging around town with nothing to do, believe me.”
I was that young man once. I wish there had been something like this when I was young, something to keep me out of trouble.
“I’ll speak to him.”
She sips her coffee, and for the first time, Lauren seems relaxed.
“So where are you from?”
Her phone rings, and she almost jumps out of her chair. She pulls the phone out, and her mouth forms a thin line.
“I’ve got to get this. I’ll talk to Kieren.”
Then she’s gone out of the cafe. I watch her through the window, striding across the atrium with her phone pressed to her ear, wondering who has got her so rattled and what I can do about it.
5
LAUREN
Idrop the car keys in the bowl on the kitchen counter and rub the tension out of the back of my neck.
Kieren’s voice carries from down the hall. Faint light filters through the bottom of the door, and before I open it, I know what I’m going to see.
I knock softly, and the stream of chatter stops abruptly.
“Come in.”
I push the door open, and the scent of teenage boy almost has me racing back to the kitchen. There are damp towels and sweaty socks that should be in the laundry basket and not on the floor.
But I steel myself against it and enter the room.
Kieran slouches in his gaming chair, eyes fixed on the wide computer screen that takes up his entire desk. He’s wearing a headset, and his fingers move rapidly over the controller.
The game is a military-style first-person shooter, and he’s obviously playing with friends. Friends from the last town we left behind.
A pang of guilt creeps into my chest. If we hadn’t moved so much, he might have friends who aren’t all online. If we hadn’t moved so much, he might have stuck with a sport and be outplaying that instead of inside playing video games every chance he gets.
I move to the side of the desk so I’m in his peripheral vision, and he slides one side of his headphones off.
“Can we talk?”
“Sure.”
