Chapter Eleven - Ryder
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ryder
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Rachel whispers, eyeing Lyla through the rearview mirror as she plays with one of her dolls in the back seat.
“Trust me, you’ve made your thoughts on the matter crystal clear,” I say, shooting her a pointed look that she answers with a glare.
In the end, it was Lyla who settled the matter when she blatantly asked Rachel if she could do martial arts with Dominic.
Since Lyla had become so attached to the idea, Rachel had no choice but to relent.
She’s been giving me the cold shoulder since the appointment was scheduled, but I’ve been too exhausted to do much about it.
I’ve worked from home for the last three days, getting as much done as possible while off-site. Then, each night, I went to the base until the early hours of the morning to finish the rest of my work.
This has left very little time for other activities—namely, sleeping.
“This is going to be good for her,” I say. “She’s in a class with her best friend, getting energy out and learning to defend herself.”
I’m not under the impression that the local martial arts studio is going to teach my daughter world-class ninja skills that’ll give her the ability to take down men my size, but knowledge breeds confidence, and confidence is what my little girl needs.
We pull into the parking lot, and I help Lyla out of the car before crouching down with my back to her.
“Hop on, Tiger,” I tell her, and she locks her arms around my neck.
Her short legs can’t wrap around my body, so I use my arms to hold her there.
I smile at Rachel, who’s—no doubt intentionally—looking everywhere but at Lyla and me.
“Where’s Dom?” Lyla’s melodic voice is inches from my ear, and I can smell on her breath that she snuck a few gummy worms from the candy basket before we left.
Guess it’ll be our little secret.
“Meredith and Dominic said they’d meet us here,” Rachel answers.
We walk inside the lobby just as one of the classes lets out. Dozens of kids race through the lobby, gathering their belongings or finding their parents, and Meredith stands at the front counter talking to the young lady there.
I’ve taken more punches than I can count and even a bullet on one unfortunate occasion, but I’m still almost knocked flat on my ass when Dominic flings himself on my leg out of nowhere. He ignores my existence completely like I’m a ladder he’s getting ready to climb to get to Lyla.
“This is going to be the most fun ever!” he shouts.
Lyla squirms on my back, and I gently let her down.
“I’ll show you where to put your shoes!” He takes her by the hand, and they race through the lobby and out of our sight.
I look to Rachel, who watches Lyla and Dominic with wide eyes, and I know we’re thinking the same thing: Lyla just walked away from both of us in public without so much as looking back.
This is going to be good for her.
The lobby finally starts to clear, and Rachel and I walk to the front desk.
“There you guys are,” Meredith says as if we aren’t ten minutes early for the class. She looks to the woman at the counter, who I decide can’t be older than twenty-five.
“Elizabeth, these are Lyla’s parents.”
Elizabeth’s smile is warm. “It’s nice to meet you guys.
Welcome to Torres Martial Arts. In about five minutes, Mr. Torres will call the kids in and do some fun pre-class drills, and then the class will get started.
Feel free to take a seat in the waiting area, where you’ll be able to watch the whole class. ”
Elizabeth ties a white belt around Lyla’s waist, and she looks at it like it’s made out of those gummy worms she loves so much.
“Dominic! You know you’re not supposed to climb on the shoe rack. Get down from there,” Meredith calls before chasing after her son.
I steal a glance at where Rachel stands at my side, but she shares none of my optimism. Her brow is furrowed, her eyes unfocused, and her hands repeatedly pop her knuckles.
Rachel has voiced her hesitation from the beginning, but for the first time, I wonder if her reluctance has nothing to do with Lyla at all.
I wrap an arm around Rachel’s waist. The action is more instinct than thought, but when her hands relax at her sides, and her eyes regain focus, I know it’s worth it—even if it technically breaks her no-touching rule.
“What are you doing?” she asks, looking around like anyone in this busy lobby would care.
“Why don’t you want to be here?”
“I’ve told you a million times, it could be a trigger—”
“Maybe that’s true, too, but it’s not why you’re practically crawling out of your skin to get out of this place. What’s really going on?”
The tension returns, and I tighten my hold on her in response, like I can counteract whatever is driving her to stiffen up. Rachel doesn’t answer me and instead shakes her head.
“What is it?” I gently ask again.
She presses her lips together and swallows like something is clogging her throat and blocking her voice.
She doesn’t protest when I rub my thumb against her waist, so I don’t stop, and it reminds me of the day she told me she thought she was pregnant.
Back then, she’d held onto me like I could shield her from anything, and I wonder what exactly stops her from doing that now.
Likely the fact that we’re in the crowded lobby of a martial arts studio, but that’s beside the point.
“I don’t know what it is,” Rachel finally whispers. “The idea of being around people who are training in self-defense, it just… it brings it all back.”
“Brings what back?”
“The helplessness,” she admits, meeting my gaze for the first time. Those mesmerizing eyes carry exhaustion that I can practically feel radiating off of her.
I feel like an idiot for not putting it together sooner.
Lyla isn’t the only one who was traumatized by the factory night. Rachel has been able to use Lyla’s needs to mask her own.
“Is that why you asked about security the other night? Rachel, I’d be happy to—”
“No,” she shakes her head adamantly. “I don’t want security. I just hated that, when it mattered most, I couldn’t protect Lyla, or even myself for that matter.”
“Let me train you.”
“What?”
“I can train you, same as I did with Elli.”
“You trained Elli?” she asks, raising a skeptical brow. “Why?”
“She was tired of feeling helpless. Well, that and because Moreno told me to,” I admit, and my chest feels significantly lighter when she cracks a smile.
“I don’t know, Ryder. I’m not sure I’m ready to face that yet.”
“Dr. Danver wants Lyla to build confidence. Why shouldn’t you?”
Her voice drops to a barely audible volume. “There were so many of them when we were taken from the house. I’m not sure any level of training would’ve helped.”
I shift closer to her so no one overhears our conversation, but also because seeing her like this and not being close to her feels wrong.
“Maybe, maybe not. I can’t speak for back then. What I can do is promise that learning to protect yourself now will give you—and me—a lot more confidence if you should ever need it.”
She doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and I wonder if she, too, is prolonging this rare moment of intimacy. If it were up to me, we’d stay like this.
Of course, it isn’t up to me, and Rachel steps back, putting enough space between us to send the message that the moment is over.
“Okay,” she says, with a nod. “One session, and if I don’t like it, we stop. Deal?”
I nod. They’re not the best terms, but I’ll work with them.
Just as Elizabeth said, a tall man with cropped dark hair in a black uniform with the name Jacob Torres embroidered on it stands at the door and calls in the class.
The kids—about ten of them—rush into the room, but the teacher stays behind, greeting Lyla with a warm smile and a high five.
He gently coaxes her into class with the help of Dominic—who refuses to leave her side.
Rachel and Meredith find seats, and I trail behind them. I opt to stand against the back wall, which gives me a good view of the classroom and the lobby.
There’s another class for an older age group on a separate floor across the lobby, being run by a young woman with long blonde hair and a curly-haired brunette. The parents from both classes provide a comfortable buzz of small talk.
Unfortunately for me, Rachel and Meredith participate in this small talk.
Two moms sit near the girls, leaning in to introduce themselves as Carol and Amy.
“I’m Rachel.” She points to where Lyla stands with her arms folded. “Lyla’s mom. She’s trying class today for the first time.”
“Well, welcome!” Carol says. “I think you and your husband will be very pleased with the program. It’s really great.”
I pretend I can’t hear them.
“Oh, uh.” Rachel blanches, then cringes before settling on, “He’s actually just Lyla’s father. We aren’t together.”
Carol and Amy look at each other, then to Meredith. “You didn’t tell us you finally found someone to take your place.”
“What place?” Rachel asks.
The eye roll is evident in Meredith’s tone. “As the single mother, everyone tries to set up with Mr. Torres.”
She takes a moment to assess the man as he explains a roundhouse kick on a miniature punching bag to the kids. I wish I were at an angle that let me read her face. Since I’m not, I follow her gaze, trying to see what it is these women seem to find interesting about the instructor.
He has a muscular build and sharp features that make him look like the kind of guy I’d want to recruit for the family.
His dark features would objectively be considered traditionally appealing, but even I can tell that it isn’t just his appearance that these moms are fascinated with.
It’s the way he treats their kids. Everything about his tone and countenance is dedicated to making the class fun—having the kids repeat after him in silly voices or having them walk like animals as he lines them up for drills.
“I’m not sure he’s my type,” Rachel says.