Maybelle snorted, and then schooled her features and came around the counter. “Let me show you the collection of ceramic angels that just came in,” she told the couple as Gabe headed for the back room.

The door to the utility closet where Gabe had hung the punching bag was ajar, and he could see Andrew’s small fists encased in bulky boxing gloves pummeling the leather. Conflicting emotions warred within Gabe. He’d missed the boy’s afternoon visits, which had been curtailed by Angi after the incident at school.

And they hadn’t talked more about the situation or his thoughts on how to help Drew. He didn’t bring it up because what right did he have to intervene in her parenting choices? Hell, he had little experience with kids other than having been one. Plus, she was under enough pressure, and he didn’t want to add more to it. But the kid was still struggling, and if Gabe could help with that, he wanted to.

The urge to intervene didn’t make sense. The boy was simply one more complication that Gabe would have argued he didn’t want, but he couldn’t deny the connection he felt with Andrew. Different but no less important than his relationship with Angi.

A subject he hadn’t broached since they’d had the best sex of his life. He was too damn scared to take the risk of hearing her say it had been a mistake.

“Hey, Rocky,” he said as he pushed open the door. “I thought we talked about working with the bag after the shop closed. You’re scaring the customers.”

Andrew stopped moving and gave Gabe a mulish glare. “I needed to let off some steam.”

“Try push-ups,” Gabe suggested. “Or meditation.”

“I tried meditating like you said.” Andrew pushed a lock of hair out of his eyes with one oversize boxing glove. “It didn’t work. I just had all the same stupid thoughts running through my head.”

Gabe nodded. “We talked about that. The point of meditation is to quiet those thoughts. Notice them and let them run through. Your job is to let them come and watch them go.”

The kid looked doubtful. “Does that really work?”

“Surprisingly, yes,” Gabe told him. Another thing for which he could thank his gran. It had been a low point in his military career, when he was stationed in some godforsaken desert in a hostile country. He’d sent a letter to his grandma late one night when he couldn’t sleep, telling her how close he felt to the edge. When her next care package arrived, the box had included not only his favorite rice cereal treats but also a book on mindfulness and meditation.

Gabe hadn’t planned to read it, but the insomnia had been almost debilitating. He’d spent so much time working on his body, making it strong and powerful because he’d hated the weakness of his childhood. But he’d done nothing to shape his mind, and the emotions swirling around inside him had been dragging him down. The mindfulness practices and meditation he’d made a daily part of his life had helped calm his brain.