Vicki Essex - In Her Corner

“After that, it got super weird. That office door was closed a lot when they were in there together, and we all had to pretend like we didn’t know what was going on.”

“And we didn’t!” Liz insisted. “They could’ve just been talking about private stuff.” Orville didn’t let up, though, and she made a noise of exasperation.

“Two or three weeks later, it stopped. Things got arctic between them. My best guess is that he dumped her, and Karla didn’t like that.”

Wayne took up the story. “She started showing up to work drunk. She picked fights with all of the other trainers, harassed the clients. Anything to get Kyle’s attention. One day, he takes her into the office, closes the door. I was standing right by the corner, and one of the blinds was half-open. I peeked in to see if they were...well.” His face turned pink. “But then, she, like, punches herself. Wham! And then she screams and comes out holding her face and saying that Kyle hit her.”

Bella flinched. “What?”

“’Course, I knew she was lying. We all did. You couldn’t make the guy kill a bug.” Wayne shook his head.

“Bitch be crazy,” Tito said, then glanced at Liz, who glared daggers at him. “What?”

Bella saw his point but balked. She glanced at Kyle. Belts and training didn’t amount to anything if you were caught off guard or you were emotional. Anything could happen. Though, Kyle was trained to fight, too. And if Karla had been in love with the guy...well, love did crazy things to people. It didn’t mean she’d been crazy.

But then, Wayne had seen what had happened. He had no reason to lie.

She hated the doubt that nagged her.

Orville picked up where Wayne had left off. “He fired her then and there and called the cops when she refused to leave. See, if he’d hit her, you’d think she would’ve said something to the police, but she didn’t. Anyway, we thought that was the end, but then she started calling every day. And she’d leave little gifts on the gym’s doorstep—flowers and cookies and stuffed animals with notes saying ‘I’m sorry’—”

“Guys, let’s not talk about this anymore, okay?” Liz massaged the flesh between her eyes.

Orville and Wayne both looked like they wanted to say more, but they sipped their drinks furtively.

“If you ask me, it was a matter of time and statistics,” Tito said. “Player’s gonna be played eventually.”

Bella’s gaze drifted back to Kyle. He was talking to a pretty brunette at the bar.

So. He’d had a relationship with a coworker that had ended badly. It explained why he was so prickly about her being friendly, she supposed.

Not that it excused his behavior.

He could rest assured that she wouldn’t get too friendly with him.

CHAPTER FOUR

BELLA GAVE IT a couple of days before she broached the subject of the Touchstone youth center’s request for self-defense classes to Kyle. She was still sore about their exchange on Friday, but she wasn’t about to let that interfere with her training. She had to remain professional.

She’d called Reta Schwartz, Neal’s friend at the youth center, and listened to her ideas for classes to offer the young people who frequented the center. The social worker wanted something fun and practical to help boost their confidence. The center didn’t have the space or equipment, so Bella said she’d ask Kyle if they could host the classes at Payette’s.

“It would be a great opportunity for everyone involved,” she told Kyle when she finally sat down with him. “We could do it in the evenings, right after the women’s boot camp class.”

He hesitated. “What kind of compensation are we talking?”

“Compensation? Kyle, this would be entirely pro bono. The center doesn’t have money to throw around.” He grimaced, and she continued, “You can write it off. Community outreach programs like this are vital to developing relationships with potential future clients, plus they’re a great PR opportunity.”

He pressed his palms together and rested his lips against them as if he might breathe patience into his cupped hands. “In theory, it sounds like a great idea, but as much as I’d love to take this on, we’re already suffering from declining memberships. If we start inviting random street kids into Payette’s, this place stops being a world-class MMA facility for serious fighters and turns into the local Y.”

“That won’t happen as long as the teaching standards are high. These kids will see that learning here is a privilege. We have to offer them something worth sticking around for, worth telling others about.”

Kyle rubbed his forehead. He looked so much older when he did that. “I’m not sure I can convince any of the guys to run this class. They’re busy enough....”

“I can take charge,” she volunteered, sensing his crumbling resistance. “If you’re not comfortable with that, I’m happy to take a co-teaching role, though if anyone leads this class, it should be you. We can put together a basic self-defense curriculum, mix it up with a few beginner Muay Thai and boxing lessons.”

He regarded her with interest. “You’re really into this.”

“My grandfather Fulvio used to drive around the streets and hand his card out to kids in tough neighborhoods. He wanted to keep them out of gangs, get them to channel their anger into something constructive. The ones that came usually stayed and made something of themselves. It was Fulvio’s way of doing something for the community. Plus, he got some of the most brilliant fighters off the streets.”

She didn’t mention that she thought this would be a good opportunity for her and Kyle to work together toward a common goal. As many times as she’d extended an olive branch, she’d also swatted him with it. She had to mend the rift between them if she was ever going to get that wrestling training she’d come here for.

“How’d they even afford the classes?” Kyle asked. “If they’re street kids, I mean.”

“Scholarships. Or he’d make them work their lessons off. He always figured something out. The money wasn’t that important to him. All he cared about was the boys.” She sat forward. “Kyle, if we want to get people to see that Payette’s isn’t just another gym, we need to reach out to them.”

Kyle nodded. “All right. Let’s do it. I’ll lead the classes, but I want you there, too.”

* * *

IT DIDN’T TAKE them long to put the hour-long class together. Reta had fifteen students signed up right away with a waiting list of ten more.

They started the class the following Wednesday. Six girls and nine boys ranging from age fourteen to twenty-two had signed up. Many of them didn’t have proper gym clothes. Kyle handed out Payette’s T-shirts to them as makeshift uniforms. In most cases, it was better than the clothes they had.

Bella watched as Kyle greeted everyone, speaking with the comfort and ease of someone used to interviews and large audiences. He joked around with the students, but his stance and the strong line of his back and shoulders told everyone he wasn’t going to tolerate bullshit or goofing off. She wondered where he’d been storing this charming, confident, easygoing version of himself.

She surveyed the students. Most of them looked eager to learn, listening raptly as Kyle recited the gym rules. Her eye caught on one girl huddled in the far left corner with her knees drawn up to her chin, picking at her cuticles, eyes darting around as if someone was going to steal the mat out from under her.

“What’s her story?” she asked Reta discreetly. The head of the youth program glanced over.

“That’s Shawnese. She’s...a special case.”

“Special how?”

Reta hesitated. “She has trust issues.”