Her Son's Hero. Vicki Essex

she simply could not accept Dom as an appropriate role model for Sean. He beat people up for a living. There was nothing about that she could respect.

      Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud thumping noise followed by a crash. She pounded up the stairs.

      “Sean, are you okay?” She burst into his room and stared at the carnage.

      A shelf she’d put up above the bed hung loosely from one bracket. Books and knickknacks were scattered everywhere, and the ceramic Winnie the Pooh reading lamp Sean had owned since he was a baby had been smashed to bits. Her son stood wide-eyed on the bed.

      “I didn’t do it!”

      Then Fiona saw the video clip playing on Sean’s computer. In it, a man in a gi performed a high kick, breaking a wood board with his shin. The title of the video: How To Do a Roundhouse Kick.

      Sean was smart. He had the internet, and even if she cut that off, she knew he’d just go to the library. He would learn whatever he wanted in whatever way he could, and there was no way to stop him short of tying him to the bed.

      So she had a choice: he could learn martial arts from a master in a controlled environment, or he could teach himself until he broke something else. Like his neck.

      Fiona sagged in defeat.

      Dom had won this round.

      CHAPTER FIVE

      “DON’T DO ANYTHING you’re not comfortable doing,” Fiona told her eager son as she walked him to the dojo the following Saturday. She’d had about three dozen misgivings since she’d informed Dom she would take him up on his offer. But she couldn’t change her mind now. No one was available to babysit. Sean had nowhere else to go. “And don’t be surprised if you don’t get things right away. Karate’s hard.”

      “I know that, Mom.” He rolled his eyes.

      “Be respectful toward Mr. Miwa, you hear? He’s allowing you to go to these classes and stay at the dojo all day for next to nothing, so if he asks you to help clean up or tells you to sit and be quiet, you do it.” She amended quickly, “But don’t do anything that feels wrong.”

      Sean stared at her, confused. “How do I know if something feels wrong?”

      “You just do.” She wished she had a more concrete answer.

      When they walked in, Dom was warming up, doing push-ups on his knuckles. Mako looked on. The dojo owner had changed into a gi, as well, presumably for the class he was about to teach.

      “Good morning, Fiona, Sean,” Dom called as he finished his reps.

      Sean toed his shoes off and quickly knelt at the edge of a mat. “Good morning, Sensei Miwa. Good morning, Sensei Payette.” He prostrated himself, and Fiona felt a strange mixture of pride and protectiveness. Was he supposed to act so humbly? What kind of self-confidence was kowtowing to people supposed to inspire?

      Mako made a little chuckling noise. “And I didn’t even have to show him. He’s good.”

      “He’s got internet access,” Fiona said wryly, and briefly told the two men about the incident with the shelf.

      “Already looking to do advanced lessons, I see.” Dom clapped Sean’s shoulder. “But as Sensei is fond of saying, the tree cannot grow until its roots are set.”

      Sean blinked up at him. “Huh?”

      “It means you can’t advance your knowledge until you have the basics down.”

      “Oh.” Sean’s forehead furrowed in thought. “I’m ready to learn.”

      “Here.” Mako handed him a white gi. “Get changed, and then I’ll walk you through the dojo etiquette.” He pointed to the change room in the back. The boy leaped to his feet.

      The karate master turned to Fiona. “Your son is in good hands here, Ms. MacAvery. Dominic is an excellent teacher, and I’m not too bad myself.”

      Fiona glanced uneasily between the men. It felt like the first day of school all over again, giving up her son to strangers. But Sean was ten now, not four. She had to trust he would be all right. “I’m right across the street if you need me. If he gets hurt, please let me know right away.”

      “He’ll be fine, Fiona,” Dom said. “Trust me.”

      SEAN PROVED TO BE an eager student and an adept learner. He knew exactly where to sit in the dojo when the beginner class came, greeted all the students with somewhat timid deference, but treated them with curiosity and respect. Dom was impressed.

      He wondered how long Sensei Miwa had been watching young Sean MacAvery, how much he’d known about the little boy and his mother before he’d suggested Dominic take him on as a pupil. Dom didn’t understand why it had been a requirement of his retraining; he’d thought he would be meditating or learning more advanced moves. Regardless, it made sense to give Sean this opportunity.

      When the beginners had all lined up, Mako introduced Sensei Dominic Payette as his most prized student and a gifted teacher. The novices, as young as eight and as old as eighteen, greeted Dom with the same precision and etiquette Sensei had drilled into him, but some of the boys clearly recognized him from the UFF.

      After Mako introduced their newest student, he paired Sean with Blake Anders, a seventeen-year-old from the advanced class who drove in from a neighboring town just so he could learn from Sensei Miwa. The young man was an exceptional martial artist and eager to share his skills with others. He was also patient and kind. He would be a good mentor to Sean, and Dom in turn would reward Blake by teaching him new skills.

      That was the way of the dojo: wisdom and skills were passed from student to student. Seniors would not disregard younger or less advanced students, and juniors were expected to respect and be grateful for anything their teachers passed on. It was an environment that had once been totally alien to Dom, who’d never known respect and honor.

      The class went through a warm-up and some basic exercises. Sean followed along as best he could, with Blake at his side correcting his posture and the placement of his feet. Dom noticed Sean didn’t need to be told twice what to do.

      As Dom followed along with the beginners’ class, he recalled the day Mako had caught him trying to steal his car. That had been the lowest point in Dom’s life. Who knew where he’d be today if the old man hadn’t stopped him?

      And stopped him he had. Before Dom even knew someone was there, he’d been thrown to the pavement with his arm pinned behind his back.

      “Tap out?” Mako had asked, a note of laughter vibrating through his words.

      “Get off me, man! I didn’t do anything!”

      “I asked you a question, boy. Tap out?” Mako pulled his arm snug against him, sending a sharp pain through his back.

      “Ow! Yes! I tap out! Stop!”

      The karate master let go and Dom scrambled to his feet, prepared to flee. But the dojo owner had scrutinized him with those fathomless eyes and smiled. With a firm grasp on his wrist that made Dom realize he wasn’t going anywhere without breaking a femur, the sensei had led him inside his dojo and offered him a cup of tea.

      And they’d talked. About why Dom was trying to steal his car; about why a young man like him was on the dangerous New Orleans streets in the middle of the night rather than safe at home.

      It had taken some time, but eventually Dom had poured his heart out to the dojo owner about his self-destructive father, the death of his mother, the destitution her illness had left them in.

      Mako offered him a path then: join the dojo and learn karate. Dom could take up a custodial position at the center, and Mako would pay him minimum wage and give him lessons for free.

      Dom had nothing else to look forward to, so he’d accepted. In time he’d climbed the ladder of belts, and eventually became involved