Page 15 of Guardian

The very idea that we were involved with such a scary group was almost too much for me to handle. I couldn’t believe I trusted Sweet, yet it was a fact.

Before I could reach the door, I heard the loud engine of a truck in front of my house. Fear shook me as I thought Mitch’s adversaries had come for me. At least Jackson wasn’t home. He was with Sweet, who had promised to protect him no matter what.

I turned to run out the back door in order to avoid trouble, but the sound of my son’s laughter broke my stride. I hurried to the new front door, the one with all the locks and bolts it could hold, and opened it to see Jackson leaping down from the truck that sat on the biggest wheels I’d ever seen.

How anyone got inside it without a ladder I’d never know. I held my breath, praying that Jackson didn’t break a leg. He landed safely on his feet and came running to greet me. “MOM! Guess what? Sweet’s gonna teach you to fight. Me too!”

I frowned. His words didn’t make sense. Then, I remembered Jackson wanted a new video game that contained a lot of fighting.

“I don’t play video games, and you don’t have your new one yet, so Sweet will have to be disappointed,” I answered.

“Not video games, Mom! He’s gonna teach us to fight for real. You know, punching and kicking stuff, so Dad can’t hurt us anymore.”

I was instantly on the defensive. The hairs on my arms raised, and my back stiffened.

“Where do you get off thinking we need your help? Who asked you to teach us anything? What if I don’t want my little boy learning to fight? Who do you think you are?”

By this time, I was shoving my finger into Sweet’s hard chest. It probably felt like a butterfly fluttering against those muscles. He certainly didn’t show any reaction to it.

“Jackson is leaving out a whole lot of our conversation. He’s excited. I told him not to say anything until I talked to you, but he can’t seem to help himself.”

“I can’t believe you called me a little boy! I’m almost a man!” Jackson cut in.

“Then you should know to show some respect for your mother,” Sweet told him. “You’re living under her roof. She’s the one that provides your food and clothes. She has a right to decide what you’re taught and by who. She also deserves a better explanation of our discussion. We can’t just tell her what we plan to do. You need her permission, and this isn’t the way to get it.”

“You don’t have any plans,” I firmly stated. “Fighting is a way to get into trouble.”

“Can we go inside, please?” Sweet asked. “I doubt you want your neighbors in on your business. I know I don’t.”

“There’s nothing else to say. You can go. Jackson, go wash your hands. You can help me make supper,” I declared.

“Give me a minute to explain. Hear me out. I’ll leave quietly after that. You’re jumping to hasty conclusions again. I’m not planning on making a bully out of Jackson or recruiting him for the MC,” Sweet calmly announced.

I saw curtains move in nearby windows and realized he was right. The neighbors were watching. Still feeling defensive I proclaimed, “They wouldn’t be watching if you hadn’t brought Jackson home in that gigantic, loud monstrosity. I was coming to get him.”

“The game was over early. I figured you were busy, so I thought I’d save you some time. I borrowed the truck from another mentor. I apologize that my being nice is a problem for you. Would you rather I’d put him on the back of my bike?” he replied with a smug smile.

I winced. If he’d shown up with Jackson on his motorcycle I’d have freaked. I knew in my head that Jackson was old enough toride behind someone as experienced as Sweet on a motorcycle, but in my heart he was still a baby.

Sweet was being thoughtful, while I was being a bitch. “I give up. Come inside and explain yourself.”

Sweet began his explanation the moment we were fully inside the house. It was as if he was afraid he wouldn’t get the whole thing said before I asked him to leave. It was funny how the very idea of Sweet letting me call the shots made me feel powerful. No other man was confident enough to deal with that.

“I’m not offering to teach either of you to fight the way you do in a ring. It’s more about you learning self-defense techniques so that you’re not so vulnerable. Neither of you have the muscle power to take on an attacker in the way they’ll be fighting you. There are methods of defense that can serve you well enough to allow for escape. That’s my goal, not beating someone up just because you can.”

“I can find somewhere to take self-defense classes. Why are you offering?” I argued.

“Because I’m good at what I do. I’m available, and I give a shit. You have a need that I can fulfill. Are those good enough reasons?” he sarcastically asked.

I reached up to scratch my nose, encountering a small scab from the glass cuts, and was reminded of how easily Mitch had controlled me. I also remembered the helpless feeling of being unable to protect Jackson. Maybe, Sweet had a good idea.

“Fine, I’ll do it under one condition,” I gave in.

“Name it,” he snapped.

“I watch you show my son some moves for a couple of weeks, and if I approve your teaching methods, I’ll let you help me too.”

“Done. In two weeks, I’ll have you in Colt’s boxing gym. You can strengthen those slim arms and legs and learn some sneaky moves to save yourself,” Sweet smugly promised.

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