Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
IAN
I’m not usually this distracted at work.
Our receptionist, Nella, wouldn’t have to remind me about her upcoming vacation—I’d have already remembered when I wrote up the schedule for next week.
My Krav Maga class would have started right on time instead of two minutes late.
And Chris wouldn’t have to ask me the same question several times before it registers.
After all, as co-owner of Sleepy Hollow Fitness, it’s my responsibility to give it my full attention. Mistakes in a business like this can not only be financially costly, but someone could get hurt, as well.
If my focus slips while I’m teaching an advanced student how to perform an Eagle Strike, their opponent could end up with a broken nose or jaw.
Forgetting to double check the shower room for leaks and standing water could result in a client slipping and breaking a leg.
Not to mention, one of the first things I teach all my martial arts students is the importance of focus. So why am I letting myself be distracted?
“Are you okay, Ian?” Chris leans forward in his chair, eyeing me with concern. “If you’re not feeling well, we can save this for another time.”
“No, I’m fine.” I give him an apologetic smile. “My mind just wandered for a second.”
Thankfully, Chris isn’t just my business partner, but he’s also a good friend, so he waves it off. “No problem. I just wanted to talk about a few things; it shouldn’t take too long if you’ve got other things to catch up on.”
“I’ve got plenty of time,” I reassure him. “What’s up?”
Chris picks up his phone from the table between us and scrolls through it for a second. While he does, I glance around his small office, once again wondering how he manages to find anything in the clutter.
Our offices are the same size and layout—a desk and office chair, some bookcases, file cabinets, and two chairs with a coffee table that we typically use for meetings. But my office is immaculate, with only the bare minimum out on display. My laptop. A few notepads. An organizer filled with pens left behind by various vendors. The only decor on the walls are my certifications and diplomas.
But in Chris’s office… he has piles of stuff everywhere. The walls are crowded with photos of all the Ironmans and marathons and triathlons he’s done. Boxes are stacked all over the floor. Several hoodies hang from the back of the door, and three pairs of shoes lie in a pile next to his desk. It makes me a little itchy just looking at it.
Not that I’m fanatical about cleaning, but I like things to be neat. Orderly. Things just work better that way.
“Are you mentally cleaning my office again?” Chris raises his eyebrows at me, but his lips are twitching.
“No.” I smirk at him. “Just wondering how you find anything in this mess.”
“I have a system,” he retorts with a laugh. “I wouldn’t expect you to get it.”
“Sorry.” I probably shouldn’t be ragging on Chris when I’m the one screwing up today. “I’m sure you do. Anyway, what did you want to talk about?”
Typically, Chris and I will meet once a week to go over gym business—new hires, class schedules, expenses, stuff like that. But we’ll have impromptu meetings as well, whenever the situation demands.
Chris lifts his chin at me. “First, the self-defense classes. The last sign-up window ended yesterday, and we have twenty women wait-listed. Unless we have twenty withdrawals from our scheduled courses, which I highly doubt, we’re not going to be able to get them in until the next session.”
He pauses, frowning. “I hate to push them back to the winter session. Not just because it’s bad for business, but after the latest assault in Sleepy Hollow, women are feeling understandably anxious.”
My jaw clenches, and a heavy weight settles onto my chest. It’s not just the latest assault. It was Rose .
I manage a tense nod. “I know.” Chris doesn’t know I went out with Rose, only that I was on duty two nights ago when the assault happened. It’s not that I was avoiding telling him, but when I went on the date, I didn’t want to deal with the inevitable questions that would come along with it. And now… I’m not sure how I feel.
“I know your schedule is full up on classes,” he continues. “And I don’t want to intrude on your time at the station. I thought of asking Zane to teach another class, but he’s so busy with his own work. Do you think we should look into hiring another trainer?”
“No, I can do it.” The idea of twenty women wanting to learn self-defense but not being able to… it makes me think about Rose. What if she’d had the skills to defend herself? Could she have escaped? Avoided being so terribly injured?
Although Rose is so small, easily a foot shorter than me. And she’s slender, delicate even—I can’t envision her fighting back against a man my size. What if it made her attacker even angrier? And he hit her again? Used a weapon?
Shit.
This is why I’ve been so distracted. Memories keep sneaking up on me when I least expect them.
While I was prepping for my jiu-jitsu class, I remembered Rose crying, telling me I thought it was safe .
While I was working on the staff schedule, her bruised and bleeding face flashed in front of me again.
And all last night, I kept seeing her gorgeous hazel eyes looking up at me, glassy with tears, silently begging me to stay with her.
“Are you sure?” Chris stares at me, his gaze assessing. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to, Ian. You’re teaching plenty of classes already. I already feel guilty about that.”
“Don’t.” I push aside my thoughts about Rose to focus on the topic at hand. “You do the financial stuff, and you manage the staff. Of course I’m going to teach more classes. I can fit one more in, especially for this. If we schedule it first thing in the morning—” I pull out my phone and scroll through the calendar. “Thursday at seven A.M. I can fit it in then.”
His shoulders sag, and he leans across the coffee table to clap me on the shoulder. “That’s great. I’ll have Nella call the wait-listed women to let them know.”
Now that I’m looking at my phone, I can’t resist opening my messages to check for a reply from Rose. She’s supposed to get out of the hospital today, and I texted her earlier to see if she needed anything. But I haven’t gotten a response yet, which I hope means everything is okay, and not that something is wrong.
“One other thing,” Chris adds. “I had three more clients ask about a smoothie bar this morning. Apparently Erna Plimpton has been spearheading the call for it, and now she has all her friends joining in.”
Mrs. Plimpton. I barely stifle a sigh. The seventy-year-old woman has more energy than people twenty years younger than her, which is great except when she focuses it on us. Or adding a smoothie bar to the gym, as it is. “I don’t know, Chris. It’s not that I hate the idea. It could bring in more profits. But I worry about the licenses, supplies…”
“I know. I feel the same way. This place was supposed to be a low-key gym, none of the added frills to take away from the purpose.”
“True,” I agree. “But I don’t want to ignore something there’s a lot of demand for, either. I think it’s worth looking into, at least. See what the costs would be, potential profits, maybe a survey to gauge interest…”
Chris nods. “Okay. That sounds good. I can work on a survey, and I know a guy who runs a gym upstate; I think he just put one in. I’ll ask him how it’s going.”
“Okay.” I glance at the time. “I’ve got a class in fifteen. I’m going to head over to get set up.”
And maybe I’ll text Rose again. Just to see if she’s alright.
Except I get waylaid on the way to the karate studio, this time by one of our instructors and another good friend, Zane.
He has his gym bag slung over his shoulder, and his dark hair is slightly damp with sweat. He flashes me a quick grin as we approach each other in the hallway. “Ian. How’s it going?”
I meet his chin lift with one of my own. “Good. Just finish a class?”
“Yeah, intermediate self-defense.” He chuckles. “I think I’m going to have some bruises after that one.” His smile slides into something more serious. “After what happened the other night, a lot of the women said they were worried. Scared.”
“That’s what I was just talking to Chris about. Adding a new class. We had twenty waitlists for the upcoming sessions.”
“Shit.” His lips compress into a line. “I’m not sure I can do another one. With everything at Blade and Arrow, and Elle and I are supposed to go on our honeymoon next month…”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m going to take the extra class. And how’s Elle doing?”
His face brightens. “She’s great. I still can’t believe we’re actually married. And you know, now that I’m talking to you—she wanted me to invite you over for dinner. I meant to text you about it, but we had a last-minute job, and”—he shrugs—“here we are.”
Then his tone dips in warning. “I think she has this idea of setting you up with one of the women from her work. I told her you’re not looking to date?—”
“I did. Last week. With Rose.” I’m not sure why I’m telling him, but it comes out anyway.
“Rose?” His eyebrows jump up. “Who’s Rose?”
“Rosalyn. She’s an artist. Thea met her at the library and got this idea...”
Zane chuckles. “I know how that is.” A pause, and then his brow creases. “The artist? The one who was…”
“Yeah. That’s her. I was there the other night. On duty. When it happened.”
“Shit.” He bites out the low curse. “That fucking sucks, Ian. Is she okay?”
“I guess so. Sort of. She’s hurt, nothing life-threatening, but…” I trail off, not wanting to get into detail about Rose’s condition.
“I get it. Is there anything I can do?” His posture has shifted, now letting his former military background come through. “Do they know who did it?”
“The police think it was some druggie, just looking for money. Rose was in her studio late, he saw the lights, and took advantage. Her place didn’t have working cameras installed, so I’m not sure they’ll get anything.”
Zane holds my gaze. “We can get something installed for her. Free of charge. Especially since she’s your?—”
“We’re not dating,” I tell him quickly. “It was only one time. But she’s really sweet, and I hate that this happened to her. And she’s new in town, just moved here a couple of months ago, so she doesn’t really know many people.”
“And you feel protective of her?”
“Something like that. Just as a friend, you know?”
“Gotcha.” Zane gives me an if you say so look. “Well, we can get someone to her studio any time to install the cameras. Just tell me when.”
“Will do. Thanks.”
Down the hall, I notice one of my students entering the studio, and I realize I now only have five minutes before the start of class. “I’ve got to get going,” I tell Zane. “Class in five.”
“Sure thing. Text me about the security. And dinner.” He pauses to smirk at me. “And bring your friend , if she’s feeling up to it. We'd love to meet her.”
I’m mentally shaking my head as I walk into the studio. All these guys get engaged or married, and then they’re trying to fix everyone up. There’s nothing wrong with being single. Especially when you already tried the marriage thing and got burned badly.
It doesn’t stop me from worrying about Rose, though. I texted her three hours ago, and I still haven’t heard anything.
Maybe I should have stopped by the hospital before my first class, instead of texting. I’d told her I’d come by, but then I started having second thoughts as I stood in the shower this morning.
I’d already been to the hospital on Tuesday and again yesterday—Rose ended up having to stay an extra day after surgery because the surgeon wanted to watch for swelling—would a third day in a row give her the wrong idea? Would it imply a level of commitment I’m not ready for?
I convinced myself it would be better to take a step back, offering my help, texting her, but keeping my distance for a day or two.
I told myself a successful artist like Rose—I googled her, she’s won all sorts of awards, shown at world-renowned galleries—would have plenty of people lining up to help her.
But she never mentioned any of them. And I can’t stop thinking about how vulnerable she looked in the hospital. Tired, in pain, scared about her surgery, but she kept it together.
Dammit. I should have gone to see her this morning.
As my students start filling the room, I know I need to set this aside, at least for the next hour.
After that?
I could head home to clean up and take care of Baxter, and if Rose still hasn’t gotten back to me, I can stop by her apartment. She didn’t hesitate to tell me exactly where it was during one of our text conversations.
When she mentioned the distinctive bright blue two-family house near the park, I gently scolded her for telling me where she lived. But Rose’s response was that she just knew I was trustworthy, and I couldn’t argue with that.
Besides, friends know where each other live.
So I’ll stop by later. After all, it’s what a friend would do, isn’t it?