Page 6 of More Than a Hero (Baytown Heroes #12)

Pete stepped into the Baytown YMCA, the familiar scent of rubber mats, sweat, and faintly lingering chlorine from the pool wrapping around him.

The large facility buzzed with energy—basketballs thudding against the polished hardwood in the gym, sneakers squeaking against the floors, and the low hum of conversation from various members weaving through the air.

Just inside the lobby, a group of his boys hovered near the front desk, their energy barely contained as they shifted restlessly, checking their phones or bouncing on the balls of their feet.

"Sorry I'm a little late, guys," Pete called, lifting a hand in greeting as he strode toward them. He threw a nod to the man behind the registration desk before scanning his group, doing a quick headcount. One of the boys’ moms worked for the county, driving one of the buses.

She would drop the boys off and then, along with a friend, Richard, they would get them back to their apartment building at the end of their time.

"Everyone's here except Mike," Jalen reported, his voice carrying over the din. "He came with us but went to the bathroom?—"

"I'm here!" came a hurried voice. Mike jogged up, slightly out of breath, his sneakers skidding a bit on the tiled floor as he rejoined the group. At eleven, he and Darius were the youngest of the bunch, just barely making the age cutoff for Pete’s mentorship program.

Pete grinned. "Alright, guys… remember what we talked about last week?"

Caleb, one of the older boys at thirteen, straightened slightly. "Treat the equipment and the other people using the space with respect."

Pete nodded approvingly. "That’s right. We’re here to work, talk, and enjoy our time together.

What we’re not here to do is be a distraction or make the staff or members feel like they have to manage us.

Everyone in this building has paid for their membership, and they deserve to use the facilities without dealing with nonsense. Understood?"

A chorus of nods and murmured agreements followed, just as Richard jogged into the lobby, his face lined with urgency. "Sorry, sorry! One of the teachers couldn’t get her car to start, so I had to jump her."

A couple of the boys snickered, and Pete immediately caught the glint of mischief in their expressions. He exhaled, lifting his brows.

"Boys, cut it out. We may be near a locker room, but we’re not going to entertain locker room mentality."

That was all it took. Their smirks faded, and their postures adjusted slightly, shoulders squaring as they redirected their focus. Pete had worked hard to build a sense of discipline and respect in these young men—something too many of them weren’t naturally given in their daily environments.

With that, they moved into the main gym area, where the scent of perspiration mixed with the steady hum of treadmills and clanking machines.

Pete had found that starting with physical activity worked best. Some of these boys struggled in school, and their bodies brimmed with restless energy after sitting in classrooms all day.

Giving them a chance to move, exert themselves, and work through some of that tension helped them focus later when they sat down for homework.

By now, they knew the routine. They spread out, instinctively scanning for available equipment rather than monopolizing one area.

Pete had drilled into them the importance of gym etiquette—waiting their turn, using the machines properly, wiping them down after use, and not crowding out the paying members.

While Richard took a few of the boys to the side for a body-weight circuit, Pete observed as several others moved toward the free weights.

He stepped in to spot where needed, ensuring their forms were correct.

These kids ranged in age from eleven to thirteen, and many had never been in a structured fitness environment before Pete started working with them six months ago.

It had all started with Rasheem. Nearly a year ago, Pete had arrested a gang member who had begun running drugs.

On the fringes of that world was an eleven-year-old boy just hanging around.

Rasheem wasn’t in yet, but Pete knew the signs, and without intervention, it was only a matter of time before he got pulled into something he couldn’t get out of.

Pete had visited Rasheem, spoken to his mother, and found her more than willing for someone to take an interest in her son.

That had been the beginning. As Pete spent more time with Rasheem, he realized there had to be more boys like him—kids who needed guidance and someone to show them another path.

Richard Pendleton had been an easy recruit for another male role model. Pete had met him at an American Legion meeting and, upon learning he was a middle school teacher, floated the idea of starting a mentorship program. Richard jumped at it.

"I know I have a huge influence over my students," Richard once told him. "But with twenty-five kids in each class, six periods a day, there’s only so much of me to go around."

Together, they’d worked with the middle school’s counselor to identify kids who would thrive in the program.

Pete had met with each of them and their parents or guardians, ensuring everyone was on board.

Once a week, the bus dropped them off at the YMCA, where Pete and Richard met with them.

The first half hour was all movement—lifting weights, running if the weather was nice, or shooting hoops on the outdoor court.

They headed to the locker room for quick showers.

Pete and Richard monitored the time, also ensuring the boys knew about personal hygiene.

Then came academics, where they reviewed homework.

The third part of their time together was spent in conversation—about life, about dreams, about anything the boys wanted to bring up.

They asked about Richard’s time in the military, about Pete’s work on the Drug Task Force, about what it meant to be a man who made a difference.

As the gym session and showers wrapped up, the boys gathered their bags, still buzzing with the energy of their workout as they filed toward the conference room for the next part of the afternoon.

That was when Pete heard a woman’s laugh.

It sounded so familiar that it made his chest tighten before he even turned around.

And sure enough, when he did, his hunch was right.

There was Angie, her bright yellow blouse flowing over a pair of light blue leggings.

Her thick hair, the color of sand on a sunny day, was pulled into a high ponytail, tied back with a multicolored bandanna.

Bracelets jingled with every step. She moved alongside a group of older adults, her steps slow to match their pace.

A warm smile lit her face as she spoke to the woman in scrubs beside her.

Without thinking, Pete called out, "Angie!"

She turned, surprise flashing across her face. For a second, Pete regretted the sudden ambush—he hadn’t meant to put her on the spot. But then, her gaze found his, and her smile widened, radiating warmth that rivaled even the vibrant colors she wore.

Angie was still smiling at Pete as she turned slightly, checking on one of the seniors she was assisting. The woman was steady on her feet, giving Angie a reassuring nod, but Angie still placed a gentle hand on her elbow before shifting her attention back to Pete.

Realizing she was clearly working, he hesitated. "I can see you're busy?—"

"Yes, but what a nice surprise to run into you here!"

The fluorescent lighting of the YMCA hallway cast a harsh light, but it still managed to create a golden glow around her, catching the wavy tendrils of blond hair that had slipped free from her ponytail.

They floated about her face like a halo, and her cheeks were slightly flushed.

Had she been exercising, too? He felt an odd twist in his stomach at the thought, imagining her moving through stretches, laughter in her eyes, and wishing he could have been close to her.

Determined not to waste this moment, he cleared his throat. "I owe you an apology. I didn’t get back to you about having dinner. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I… I…" The words faltered as his brain scrambled for an excuse. He sure as hell wasn’t about to admit he’d chickened out.

She waved a hand, her fingers moving gracefully through the air. "It’s fine, Pete."

"Ms. Angie," Carina, the woman in scrubs, interrupted. "Take your time. I'll get everyone settled in the van."

Grateful for the reprieve, he nodded at Carina, but Angie looked momentarily torn as she glanced at the group of seniors grinning at her with open curiosity. Her blush deepened. "Thank you, Carina. I'll be right out, I promise."

Carina simply waved her off and then, to Pete’s amusement, winked at him before ushering their group toward the front doors. Now that they were alone in the hallway, he breathed a little easier without an audience.

"I won’t keep you, Angie," he said, his voice softer now. "But I really would like to take you to dinner."

She cocked her head to the side, lifting her chin slightly to hold his gaze. She had an expression he couldn’t define, but her hesitation gave him pause. Finally, she said, “Please don’t feel that you need to extend an invitation?—”

“No,” he rushed to interrupt whatever she was getting ready to say. “I want to take you to dinner. I’m just embarrassed that I didn’t do this… ask you earlier.”

“Really?” Uncertainty still filled her eyes.

“Yes. That is, if you’re still interested,” he added.

She laughed gently. “Of course I am.”

Now it was his turn to express doubt. “Really?” He felt his ears burn at the sound of his less-than-suave attempt to secure a date with her.

“Yes. Why wouldn’t I? After all, I asked you first.”

“Okay.” He smiled. He almost said he would call to set up the time and place, then realized that would sound too much like the last time.

"Mr. Pete!" Rasheem’s voice rang out as he burst through a nearby doorway, grinning widely. "Are you going to help me with my math?"

Pete opened his mouth to respond, but Rasheem’s gaze swung to Angie, and the boy’s eyes widened comically. "Actually, come to think about it, I don’t have any math homework, so you can… um… don’t hurry on my account… um… you can keep talking… to… um… you know… her."

The boy turned on his heel and practically ran back into the room, and a moment later, the muffled sounds of snickering and whispered words filtered into the hallway. Pete chuckled, shaking his head.

"It seems like you’re working, too."

"And I have my youth group once a week."

She lifted a shoulder in an easy shrug. "I have my group of older folks one evening a week."

For a beat, they stood there, sharing something that felt just a little deeper than small talk. He reached behind his neck, rubbing at the tension there, wishing he could think of something smooth or clever to say. Instead, he said, "Good. That’s nice."

Angie laughed, her amusement bubbling over in a way that made his stomach tighten. Then, as if she sensed his discomfort, she reached out, her fingertips lightly pressing against his forearm. The warmth of her touch shot through him like a live wire.

"At least, since we now know that we have something happening on the same night each week, you can check your schedule and let me know if or when you’d?—"

“Do you trust me to call this time?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” she declared with surety. “Because now you know that I’ll be waiting by the phone.” She turned to walk toward the lobby.

"How about tomorrow?" The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them.

She stilled and turned back toward him, her smile wide. She blinked, her chin jerking back slightly. "Tomorrow?" she squeaked.

His heart fell. "Oh, it’s Friday night. You probably have plans."

"No, I don’t have any plans. And I would love to take you up on a dinner invitation for tomorrow night."

Relief flooded his body so fast he was surprised he remained standing. "That’s perfect, Angie. Good. Yeah, that’s perfect."

She laughed again, and he swore it was the best sound he’d ever heard. "Well, since we have a date, how about a time and place?"

He hadn’t even thought that far. It should be someplace nice. Maybe somewhere she could get a glass of wine. Wasn’t there a new Italian place in Baytown?

"Do you like barbecue?" she asked, breaking through his inner debate.

His head jerked slightly in surprise. "Absolutely."

"How about the barbecue place just outside Baytown on the highway? I’ve only been there once, but I really liked it. It’s Friday night, so it might get a little loud, but the food is good, and we can’t beat barbecue and beer."

His brain short-circuited. Barbecue and beer… perfect. She had just made this the easiest first date ever. He nodded. "Can I pick you up?"

She tilted her head slightly, considering.

"Tell you what, Pete. I think we’re going to have a great time.

But for a first date, I want to put you at ease.

I’ll meet you there, and if we have a good time, we’ll make more plans.

And if one of us doesn’t feel a connection, then we don’t have an awkward drive home. "

She leaned in just a fraction closer, her smile now giving her an impish look. "But I have a feeling we’ll have a fabulous time."

His heart thudded in response, a bead of sweat slipping down his back. He wanted to argue, to insist on picking her up, but her logic was sound. And right now, he’d agree to anything just to make sure he didn’t screw this up.

"Okay, how about six o’clock?"

"I’ll be there. And if something happens and you can’t make it, you’ve got my number."

Thinking quickly, he pulled out his phone, found her number, and texted her. "There. Now you have my number, too."

She squeezed his arm lightly, her smile still brightening the hallway. "I’ll see you tomorrow."

His chest felt lighter than it had in a long time.

With that, she turned and hurried toward the exit, and he watched her go. With the faster pace, a slight limp was still evident. He had no idea why, but all he could focus on was the fact that tomorrow night, she wouldn’t be walking away from him.

She’d be walking toward him. And he was determined that she wouldn’t regret saying yes.