by Ronica Black
She clenched her water bottle and walked with purpose next to Dave.
Bodies around them pumped and pushed, grunted and strained as they tried their muscles. But she ignored them, too worked up over her inner turmoil. Leslie Carver waved as she walked by, almost touching her. It forced up another issue. Her own secret little problem. The real reason why she kept women at bay.
Worked up before she had even started, Sarah laid down on the bench press and lifted the bar of weights before Dave had a chance to spot her.
He scurried behind her, cursing as she pushed out rep after rep, determined to clear her mind. She couldn’t stop or the thoughts would catch up. Her workouts were all she had. Nothing else could chase her troubles away. So she pushed on, enjoying the strain, welcoming the pain.
“Jesus, Monroe. Easy,” Dave warned.
Sarah clenched her jaw and bent her knees, lifting her feet to place them flat on the bench. She needed more of an isolation on her chest, and the new position would do it. She gripped the bar again and squeezed, positioning just right for the next lift.
“You’ve had enough,” Dave said sternly.
“No, I haven’t, ” she replied. “One more set.”
“It’s too much, you’ve had enough.”
She squinted up at him and refused to submit. “Fine, I’ll do it without you.” With that she tensed her body and hoisted the bar up over her chest. She had to keep going, had to keep focused.
“Why are you so worked up today?” he questioned as she pumped out the first rep of her fifth set.
“No reason.”
Sarah groaned as the thoughts of Chandler invaded, regardless of her internal fight against them. As she pushed the bar up time and time again, she imagined pushing the thoughts away. But they still came. The way Chandler moved, the way she smelled, the way her hardheadedness had melted into an unbelievable burning passion. The bar weighed down on her, pushing her to fail, causing her arms to shake. She grunted in frustration rather than pain.
“Bullshit!” Dave grabbed the bar, lifting its weight from her trembling arms and bringing it to a clanking rest above her. “You’ve gone way overboard today. Don’t tell me it’s nothing.”
She sat up, the memory of the way Chandler’s skin tasted all too real and heating her damp skin.
“So?” Dave continued with irritation, tossing a towel at her. “You gonna tell me what’s going on or not?”
Sarah wiped her face with a weak hand and fought off the dizziness she was feeling from her hard workout as well as from her thoughts about Chandler. She tossed the towel back to Dave, hell bent on remaining strong. “I gained half a pound last week.”
Dave scoffed and adjusted the elastic waistband of his sweat shorts with obvious frustration. “You’re unbelievable.”
Sarah could tell he was upset at her refusal to give him a meaningful response, but to her relief, he didn’t pursue the matter and left her alone the rest of their workout, enabling them both to lift in peace.
By the time they’d finished, Sarah’s upper body trembled with the stress of going five sets on each and every lift. She stretched her taut muscles and resisted the urge to flinch in distress in front of Dave. He would only bite into her again about overdoing it. They headed slowly over to the treadmills, where they always finished their workouts. Sarah climbed on and set the pace at a brisk walk, which quickly led into a jog as Dave walked casually beside her.
“You know,” he began, his voice heavy with concern. “You can talk to me.”
“’Bout what?” She was a little surprised he was starting in again. But she remained focused on her running. She was getting in her groove now, all of it becoming one, her steps, her heart rate, her breathing. It felt good, somehow seeming to soothe the tightness in her muscles.
“Anything.” He wiped his face with his towel. “When I think of all the things you’ve helped me through…” His voice trailed off.
Sarah’s legs continued to melt into the treadmill as she listened to him. It was true, she had helped him through a lot. Problems with his wife, problems with his folks. She had always been there for him and she always would. And she suspected he would do the same for her if given the chance.
He seemed to study her for a moment, squirting a stream of water in his mouth. Swallowing it, he said. “So what’s going on? You only work out this hard when something’s eating you.”
“I told you. It’s nothing.” Sarah refused to let his questioning trip her up. Like a soldier marching perfectly in line, she pressed on. She wasn’t in the mood to talk about anything, not even to Dave.
She kept running, feeling the seed of guilt growing in her stomach. While she usually kept most things inside, she did talk to Dave quite a bit. Rarely about anything serious, but they joked around and spoke of life in general. When she was quiet and driven, Dave worried, because he knew her better than most people and she trusted him more than she trusted anyone else. But how could she tell him about this? About her own private demons from her past? About the man who called himself her father who now lay dying? About the job she had always wanted but secretly feared she wouldn’t get? She couldn’t, there was no way. Dave would try to understand, but in no way could he help her battle the demons that were hers to fight alone. And he would be hurt that she hadn’t told him about the job. So she was stuck dealing on her own.
She pressed on with her run as Dave pressed on with his quest to get in her head.
“I’m not stupid, Sarah. I know something’s under your skin,” he announced, wiping his chin with his thick forearm. “Look, you’ve helped me out. You give good advice when I need it. And Nicky acts like we wouldn’t have a marriage if it wasn’t for you. She’s always asking me to invite you to dinner. I wish you’d come more often.”
Sarah reached up to check her pulse, loving the high from her steady jog, but hating the guilt she was feeling in regard to Dave.
“How about it?” Dave asked from his squeaking treadmill, now trying a different angle to reach her. “Dinner tomorrow night?”
“Can’t.” It was bullshit but she didn’t want to give in. She was afraid that if she did, her wall would come crumbling down and she would fall apart in front of him.
She pushed the down arrow key on the treadmill and slowed her pace to a fast walk. Her hand returned to her neck, and she forced herself to concentrate on her pulse.
Dave kept on. “You got other plans?”
Satisfied with her heart rate, she glanced over at him as her brain settled. His body was thick, solid with the bulk of muscle. He was far from cut, but beefy in his build with little visible fat. Sweat shimmered on his head where he kept his reddish hair shaved close to the scalp.
She took a squirt of warm water from her plastic bottle and returned it to the holder. In a gentler tone, she said, “I just can’t, okay?”
“If you’re seeing someone, you can tell me—”
She jerked her head and cut him off. “I’m not.” Dave knew she didn’t date. And when she had, with Danielle, she had kept it quiet. Danielle Turner had been a huge mistake and the negative feelings still stung, even though it had been a few months since their breakup.
The couple of times Dave had asked questions regarding her love life had won him the silent treatment. So why would he think she was seeing someone now? Was her attraction to Chandler that obvious? Frustrated to think she could be that transparent, she tensed her body.
“Okay, okay.” He sounded resigned. “But if you ever do get involved, I hope you’ll tell me. Even if it’s, you know…”
She listened to his sentence trail off and cocked her head, her curiosity awakened. “Even if it’s what?”
Dave appeared uncomfortable and almost embarrassed as he turned his head to face forward. His eyes focused on his water bottle as he said, “Another woman.”
Sarah almost laughed. Dave had never had the nerve, and she’d never given him the reason, to question her sexuality before. So why now, big guy? She obs
erved him in silence, taking note of the fear draining the color from his face. He must really be worried about her to bring up something so intensely personal and quite possibly upsetting to her.
“Thank you,” she managed, not sure what else to say. She knew Dave would never tell anyone about her private life, but she just wasn’t ready to get into it. She felt too emotional right now, her walls too weak. She had to remain strong, for her own survival.
They walked on in silence and as Sarah slowed her breathing and tried to relax, she wondered if she was being too guarded. Over the years it had become second nature. At first she’d retreated into herself knowing that her parents were always too drunk to care, and eventually it became a habit. She took care of herself. She never needed anyone else. Now she wasn’t sure how to be any other way.
But Dave’s hint at a female lover brought back more images.
Chandler writhing on the bed, calling out for her, begging for release.
Sarah’s breath caught in her throat as the memory stirred her. Chandler was such a passionate lover, comfortable in her body as well as in the bedroom. Sarah had wanted the gorgeous tomboy the second she had turned around on the bike, all wild and free, strong willed and hardheaded. And the sex with her…
Sarah breathed out long and steady. The sex with her had been unbelievably hot, something she knew would be difficult to forget. But forget was what she had to do. She couldn’t risk seeing Chandler again; there were things about herself she couldn’t afford to expose, so there could be no repeat of their steamy encounter. Right now, she didn’t need the stress of having to maintain the persona women seemed to expect of her. And she’d discovered the hard way that if she revealed herself as anything less, there were ugly consequences.
Instantly anxiety and anger flooded her as she thought of Danielle.
“You aren’t who you make yourself out to be. You’re a fake, Sarah.”
She let the words echo in her mind. The breakup with Danielle had been nasty and heated, leaving her feeling more ashamed than ever. And broken.
Danielle was convinced that she knew it all. Her criticism and harsh words, however, had made Sarah think. Not just about her problem in regard to sex, but to all of it. The anxiety and anger she felt when she thought about the past. The distance she felt with other people around her. Her inability to express her feelings. She had an idea as to where they all stemmed from, but she could only deal with one thing at a time. And she was finally ready to start, scared by her own mind and the memories that lurked there. The appointment was set, waiting for her to take that first step with someone who could hopefully help.
Dave coughed next to her, alerting her that she should probably say something more to help ease the quiet thickness between them. But what could she say? She knew she should be able to voice her worries and concerns to him. But she had never been able to open up to him—or anyone else, for that matter—about deep personal issues. He knew it and most of the time he respected her privacy, but today he was homing in on her trepidations like a hound sniffing for blood. She held her ground, though, unable to trust. Even though Danielle had gotten close enough to know she had a problem, she didn’t know why. No one did.
“I’ll come to dinner another night,” she finally offered, hoping it would get him off her back.
“Yeah?”
She gave him a look letting him know she was serious and not to push it.
Dave smiled, pleased at himself. “I’ll let Nicky know. How about Friday?”
“Sure.” She kept walking, staring straight ahead. “Just make sure that damn bulldog of yours doesn’t try to hump my leg.”
Dave laughed, his relief evident in the way his eyes danced. She was joking around with him again, and she knew it made him relax. It was what she always did, hid her true problems with light humor or meaningless conversation. She suspected Dave appreciated it too most times. It was a way for him to unwind as well.
“Killer likes you,” he said, joking back.
“Yeah, well, Killer better knock it off if he knows what’s good for him.”
She inwardly cringed as she thought of the slobbering, bulky dog with the smashed face latching on to her leg, sliming her pants. Killer was one of the main reasons she didn’t have pets. They were messy and unpredictable, and she couldn’t imagine having to clean up after one in her apartment. She couldn’t even venture getting a fish.
Her home was her haven. Immaculately clean and organized, it was where she felt completely safe and in control. Instantly, Chandler’s words about control and how it probably played a big part in her life rang in her ears. Sarah shook her head. Chandler didn’t know just how right she had been.
Eventually, they headed off toward the locker rooms, their bodies glistening with warm sweat, their heart rates slowing down to a normal pace. They had finished their preshift workout and Sarah was looking forward to taking a hot shower and stepping into her clean, crisp uniform. She only hoped that work would help to ease the turmoil that still churned in her mind despite her heavy workout.
Unconsciously, she rubbed her tight, twitching bicep as several other DPS officers passed them by, heading into the gym.
“Houston, Monroe,” seasoned cop Bill Fletcher greeted with a nod.
A young rookie walked at his side, a cocky grin on his boyish face. He squeezed his fists, pumping his cut arms as he openly admired Sarah, seemingly convinced that she would show equal interest.
She caught his attempt at eye contact, but walked on unimpressed. Her lack of attention caused the young muscled man to turn slightly and call out.
“Hey, Monroe!” When she and Dave stopped walking, he continued. “Is that any relation to Marilyn?”
Sarah stiffened at once and felt Dave flinch beside her. She turned to face the rookie, who stood grinning, his light eyes glinting with mischief. His mentor stood at his side, looking more than a little nervous as Sarah approached. She respected Fletcher and as she walked up, she gave the rookie the benefit of the doubt. He didn’t know her, but he had no manners, something she needed to take care of. Her fellow officers knew that she would not tolerate any kind of sexual misconduct or harassment. Some had learned the hard way, but most had wised up the easy way.
“Did you say something to me?” she asked, stepping up into the rookie’s face, testing to see if he would continue with his rude behavior.
He merely smiled, his eyes traveling over her face and body with blatant approval. “I think you’re hotter than Marilyn,” he said, ignoring her warning tone. “Tough, sexy—”
Sarah knocked the wind from him, smashing him up against the wall, her forearm pressing against his throat. Around her, Dave and Fletcher spoke up, trying to get her to calm down and release him, but she couldn’t hear them. All she heard were the little bastard’s words, ringing in her ears. She couldn’t handle disrespect, not from anyone.
The rookie choked against her, flailing his arms wildly, trying to smack her away. She pressed him harder, her nose against his, her eyes boring hatred into him.
“Say you’re sorry,” she seethed. She felt Dave’s hands on her shoulders but she continued, her body rigid against the younger man’s.
The rookie looked at her with wide eyes. He tried to speak but he couldn’t. He could barely breathe with the pressure of her forearm. She eased up a little to allow him to voice his apology. Around them, a small crowd began to gather.
“Say it!” she demanded, slightly lunging at him once again, threatening the return of her restricting forearm.
“I…I’m sorry,” he stammered, his hand flying up to his neck, rubbing reassuringly.
“Don’t ever let me catch you talking to a female like that again,” she added, holding his eyes, stepping away from him.
The rookie slumped against the wall, his face red from the encounter and from obvious embarrassment. He looked around frantically and stalked off, shoving his way through the gathering men.
Sarah breathed her anger in and out, th
ick and heavy, as Fletcher bumped her shoulder to chase after his rookie.
“Get control of her, Houston,” he voiced, giving Dave a wary glance before he disappeared into the crowd.
Dave’s hand clenched down on her shoulder, making her muscles jump as she came treacherously close to reacting with violence once more. His small hazel eyes were round and serious, worry shining from them.
“Come on!” He tugged her along after him, yanked open the janitor’s closet, and shoved her inside. They stood alone in the darkness as he shut the door and pulled on the string of a bare bulb.
Stabbing a finger at her chest, he demanded, “What in God’s name was that?”
Sarah squinted against the harsh light. “Come on Dave, the guy was a—”
“No!” he yelled. Dave had never raised his voice at her, and it startled Sarah to silence. “Damn it, Monroe, this tough guy act of yours is going to get you fired!”
She felt her face heat with emotion as he spoke. She wasn’t upset at him, she was upset at the world. Everyone knew she didn’t take shit. Everyone but the rookie. Now he knew it too. So what was the problem?
“I’m telling you as your friend. You have got to get yourself under control.” A crooked vein throbbed in his neck. The freckles above his lips danced as he spoke. “This is serious shit, Sarah. People are starting to notice.” His hand gently squeezed her shoulder. “You have got to lighten up.”
Sarah bit back her anger and held his intense stare. She could see the reason in his eyes and she knew he would not be treating her this way unless something was not quite right. Yet she couldn’t see the problem. She wasn’t a loose cannon. There was always a good reason for any action she took. She never did anything she shouldn’t. Did she?
“I’m always under control,” she replied with calm, cool conviction.
“You call that control?” Dave spat. “You nearly took his head off!”
Upset that he was questioning her choices and behavior, she reacted defensively. “I knew exactly what I was doing.”