With a grumble, they set off, sprinting back and forth between the two walls with increasingly pleading looks that Tyler ignored until he saw their pace slow to a legitimate jog. He didn’t let himself smile this time, although he wanted to. These were good kids, with a lot of energy and a lot of drive. That was one thing he’d found since he moved here. These kids wanted to win at something, but even more, they wanted to be part of a team. It warmed a part of his heart that he hadn’t known existed.
He took the time to talk to each of them as they got ready to go home, crouching down to ask about siblings or parents, remind them about gear, ask how things were going. He’d learned, over the past few months, that when someone did particularly well in class, there was often something they needed to work out. Back in Detroit, his friends had been richer and he’d been the odd one out—here, he was learning that there were other people who acted just the way he had in high school.
It was James he talked to last, when nearly all the other boys had gone. James was smart, smarter than almost any of the others; Michael was the only one who rivaled him. But lately, the kid had lost focus. His endurance wasn’t what it had been, and he wasn’t as light on his feet. It would be easy to chalk that up to home life or normal teenage mood swings, but Tyler had a sinking feeling that he knew just what was going on.
He knew far, far too well.
“How you doing?” He sat on the bench next to James.
“Well.” James didn’t look over.
“You’ve been a little—”
“It’s fine.”
“Is it?” Tyler deliberately looked away. “Because it seems like maybe school hasn’t been going well, too.”
James said nothing, but his hands slowed as he put away his gear.
“And you’re too smart for that.”
“Maybe high school is bullshit.”
“Nah, high school is definitely bullshit.” Tyler gave him a grin. “No maybe about it.”
James smiled unwillingly.
“Just tell me, dude. If I went through your bag, what would I find?” Tyler looked over at him.
“What do you mean?”
“It means I’m guessing pot, but I don’t know. I pray to God not heroin.”
“Jesus, it’s pot, get off my case. Pot’s fine.”
“Maybe for some people.” Tyler lifted his shoulder. “Most people, really, except for one thing…”
“What’s that?” James stood, hoisting the bag over his shoulder.
“Take it from someone who knows: if you do drugs to get away from something…you’re never gonna stop using them.”
“What are you, a DARE commercial or something?”
“I used to be one of the top fighters in the world,” Tyler told him brutally. “Now I teach. You know why?”
“Drugs?” James clearly didn’t believe him.
“It wasn’t the drugs, it was why I took them. But trust me, they did nothing but help me on my way down.”
Now the kid paused, intrigued and not wanting to be. “So why’d you take them?”
“Because I thought winning tournaments would make all my problems go away, and when it didn’t, I had too much money and nothing in my life. Turns out if you don’t fill your life up the way you want, other things show up to fill the void—and they’re never the ones you would choose.”
“And you took pot and your whole life fell apart?” The kid was still staring at him like he was a white kid from the suburbs who didn’t get it.
“James.” Tyler stood up. “Please. Just listen for a second. Smoke pot, I don’t care. I’m not here to tell you any drug’s the devil. I can’t see inside your head, I don’t know what’s going on. But if it’s that you want to forget the world for a few minutes, that you like not caring about things anymore—”
“I don’t want to go to college,” James interrupted.
“Huh?”
“I’m supposed to want to go to college, right? I’m smart, I’m supposed to. I don’t want to.”
“Don’t you like fixing cars?”
“Yeah.” James looked at him warily.
“So be a mechanic. Enjoy your life.”
“Right.” James stared at him. “Okay. I can still come here, right?”
“As long as you want to train, you’ve got a spot.”
“Thanks.” James looked off into space, then pulled a bag out of his pocket and tossed it over. “Can you just…get rid of that? I know I’m going to want to…well, you know.”
“Sure.” Tyler watched him go and slid down along the wall until he thudded to the ground. Tipping his head back, he let his eyes drift closed.
To his surprise, he saw her. He thought back, trying to remember what Michael had said about his family. Two sisters. This one would be…Jasmine? Yes, Jasmine. He was pretty sure, anyway. Michael hadn’t, of course, mentioned that she was gorgeous. Being her brother, he was probably more concerned with her telling him off for skipping his homework.
She was the type of woman Tyler wouldn’t have had any time for even a year ago. He could remember shrugging as he saw pretty women walk past in old jeans or scrubs: well, if she’s not even going to make an effort… Not for the first time, he cringed at the memory of who he’d been. He couldn’t even remember the first thing about any of the women he’d slept with around then. It was a haze of short skirts and corset tops, too-high heels and lipstick.
And Jasmine…something about her was just too different for him to ignore. She was one of the first women he had seen who didn’t even seem to care what she looked like. Of course, she didn’t have to. Her hair was the kind of curly women paid hundreds of dollars to imitate, her grey eyes were just slightly tilted at the corners, and her pert little mouth shone a perfect pink against her warm brown skin. She was short, short enough that she would fit just perfectly under his arm if they were walking together, and her scrubs weren’t exactly flattering, but there was no hiding those curves.
He sighed again and stared at the bag in his hands. He didn’t even remember everything he’d taken in those last few months. If someone handed it to him, he took it; if they recommended it, he tracked it down. At the time, he told people drunkenly he was living the dream. He usually had a gorgeous girl under each arm, a bottle of champagne somewhere, steaks and an apartment full of leather couches and widescreen TVs.
For the past few months, those memories had gradually shifted until he remembered the headaches, the way morning light was far too bright, the drag in his muscles, the ever-slowing reaction times. And he remembered the tournament.
He was never going to forget the tournament. He’d been too dumb even to worry about it. He’d sparred with Kevin back in the day and destroyed him—but Kevin had gotten good, and Tyler…Tyler had fallen off. He still remembered the split-second when he realized that something was wrong, that he wasn’t going to win. And that was all the time he’d had before he was staring up at the ceiling while the crowd roared.
His hands tightened around the bag. He hadn’t been kidding when he told James that outrunning his demons with drugs would lead nowhere. But what he should have said was that he understood just how tempting it was. He could forget everything, he could stop caring if he just took a moment to light up. If he did, he wouldn’t have to remember his coach screaming at him about what he was doing to himself and the potential he was throwing away. He wouldn’t have to remember how he’d said it was his life and he could do what he wanted, and he’d walked out and quit because he couldn’t take a single punch. One failure was all it took to show him how unsuited he was to all of it. All he’d ever had was luck: good reflexes and good luck. He fumbled in his pocket for a lighter…
And stopped, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. He forced himself to stand up, walk to the dumpster out back, and drop the bag into it, wincing at the smell. The cold air chilled him and he let it, standing still and shivering. Only when the bag was gone did he consider what he’d done and why.
It was because of her, the woman who had everything. Not that she’d say she had everything, he knew that. He even knew that it was cruel to accuse a woman who’d lost her father of having so much. But she cared about something. There were people she loved, and a future she wanted to protect.
For the first time in a long time, Tyler felt hope stir in his chest—hope for a better future, even if he didn’t have the first idea of what that looked like.
Chapter Three
Jasmine fumbled in her purse, counting the cash out carefully. She clasped it back carefully and buttoned her coat over her scrubs. It had been a particularly exhausting shift, the sort that reminded her just why she did this work—but left her so tired that she could not imagine going home to finish homework. And of course, Michael and Emma were going to need food, and lunches for school tomorrow. And their mother would need to be talked into taking her medicine.
If she thought about it all at once, she was going to cry. Jasmine walked quickly down the hallways. Right now, all she needed to do was get the medicine. That was manageable. In the hospital pharmacy, she smiled tiredly at her boss.
“Any plans for tonight?”
“Way too much paperwork to go through,” the woman confided. Her gaze, always uncomfortably shrewd, took in Jasmine’s shadowed eyes and the money clutched in one trembling hand. “You’re off to have dinner now, right?”
“Yes.”
“Good, good. And you were on the team helping that little girl who came in today, right?” The head nurse was one of the most well-informed people Jasmine had ever met. She tended to know just what was going on in every ward, and she always knew the projects her nurses were doing.
“Yes. She’s stable now, I checked before I left.” The little girl, who had come in with seizures and a high fever, was now sleeping angelically, and Jasmine had been heartened to see one of her favorite colleagues watching over her.
“You’ve been doing really well,” her boss said, as Jasmine stepped up to the counter. “I know you’ll be graduating soon. I’d love to have you stay on my team.”
“Thanks.” Tears pricked at Jasmine’s eyes. On good days, she told herself that she did this job because it was so stable for income in addition to really helping people out. On bad days, she told herself that anyone could get fired these days. She handed over her mother’s prescription slip and waited.
“That’ll be $55.84,” the pharmacist said cheerfully.
“No, that prescription is $40,” Jasmine protested. There was an edge of panic in her voice, and she tried to push it away. She didn’t have $55.84, not even if she walked home.
“It says here $55.84.” He lifted a shoulder helplessly. “Your insurance company may have changed coverage.”
“Hey, I’ve got this.” Jasmine’s boss pushed past her.
“You don’t have to do this.” Shame was burning in Jasmine’s cheeks.
“Jasmine—my nurses are some of the hardest working people I’ve ever met, and this hospital pays them next to nothing.”
“It’s in line with what other hospitals pay.”
“That doesn’t make it okay.” Her boss drew her aside. “Look. You’ve been picking up extra shifts, you’re exhausted, and you’re more than pulling your weight on this team. You get paid less than you’re worth, and I get paid more than I’m worth—and I’m single, I’ve got no one to spend money on. Let me do this, okay?”
Jasmine hesitated, her pride screaming at her. But at last her shoulders slumped. If she didn’t take this offer, she wouldn’t have the pills to bring back to her mother tonight. She nodded.
“Jasmine?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s going to be okay,” her boss said awkwardly.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean…I just feel like good things are going to happen for you.” The woman flushed. “Look. Go on, now. Get home, get some rest.”
Jasmine blinked, at a loss for what to say, and headed for the bus stop. It was cold, and she folded her arms and hunched her shoulders as she waited, eyes fixed on the bright red of her coat. She knew from experience that for about an hour after her shift, she had no energy to read textbooks or look over her homework, so she didn’t even try, expecting her mind to go entirely blank.
Instead, she saw him: blue eyes, chiseled jaw, perfectly muscled body. He was a jerk, she told herself. He was a pretty-boy who’d come here to teach boys to fight, because no matter what he said, he didn’t understand that none of the boys he taught had any leeway to mess up. There was one shot at success for the kids in Jasmine’s neighborhood. If they missed it because their teachers thought they were troublemakers, or because they got into a fight in school, there was no more chance for them to succeed. But this guy—Tyler, Michael had said, while he was pleading to be allowed to go back—just smiled with that full mouth and knew people would give him whatever he wanted.
Which was what made her so furious about the fact that she couldn’t stop thinking about him. Jasmine climbed onto the bus and paid her fare, choosing a seat near the door. She didn’t want to like this guy. She didn’t want to keep thinking about the gleam of humor in his eyes, about what she might say to make it appear again, or about how she wanted him to share his private joke with her.
It had been months since Jasmine had even been out with her friends, and that had been because they dragged her out with them after her boyfriend stopped calling her. Jasmine had been vaguely embarrassed about that—women weren’t supposed to be left, after all, and anyone looking at her chubby frame would surely know why he’d gone—but she hadn’t been brave enough to tell her friends that she didn’t really care. She hadn’t cared about any guy in about a year and a half.
This new stab of desire, sweet and seductive, set off a storm inside her. She was more aware of her body than she could remember being, feeling the slide of cloth over her skin. She’d spent a few minutes the other night studying her face in the mirror, admiring her eyes and her mouth before she remembered that there was no way in hell Tyler would be interested in her. And she didn’t want him to be, she told herself fiercely. That way, there was nothing good at all. She knew what it meant to get tangled up with guys who thought they were better than you, and she knew, too, that she had no time even for a really nice guy.
Her phone buzzed and she looked down to see a text from her boss: Also, you should use that money for something for YOU.
Jasmine felt her lips curve in genuine amusement. What would she use it for? A new dress she’d never wear? Nail polish she couldn’t use because she was always washing her hands? Hairdos she’d only have to tie back while she was at work?
I will. Better that her boss thought she’d taken the advice.
When her phone buzzed again, she was staring out the window, and she smiled as she checked it. Her smile died on her face, however, as she read the text from Emma:
Michael just got home and I think he was at the boxing place again.
Jasmine looked around herself, noting the streets, and then yanked the stop cord. She raced off the bus when it screeched to a stop, offering a hasty apology to the bus driver, and set off. She was close to the gym here. She wasn’t going to confront Michael yet. She was going to confront that pretty-boy bastard and tell him to stay away from her brother.
When she yanked open the door of the gym, she found it blessedly empty…almost. In one corner, a single bare bulb was on, and Tyler was unleashing a flurry of punches and kicks at a hanging bag. Jasmine felt her mouth drop open. He was shirtless, and she could see the interplay of muscles over his gorgeous back. A few tattoos stood out against his pale skin, and she found herself wondering what those symbols meant to him.
There was a tinge of exhaustion to his movements, as though he had been at this for some time. Jasmine hesitated. She knew, all too well, what someone looked like when they were furiously trying to forget something. A stab of pity twisted in her chest, telling her to leave Tyler alone with his pain. But then he danced sidewa
ys around the bag, and his eyes caught sight of her standing by the door. He froze.
And he smiled. It was a brilliant smile, eyes crinkling at the corners with pleasure.
It made her furious.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Jasmine demanded. She knew her voice carried across the room, but she started over to him anyway. She stabbed her finger in the air. “I told you I didn’t want Michael fighting.”
The smile died from his face.
“Has he been getting in fights at school?”
“Not that I know of, but it’s only a matter of time.”
“No,” the man snapped. “It isn’t. You seem to think I’m giving him all this aggression and anger, but the fact is, it’s just there. You’ve never been a teenage boy, you don’t understand. He’s angry—and he’s here because he’s found a place where he can get that out without sabotaging his whole life. Do you not see that?”
“Do you not see that I’m trying to keep him safe?”
“I see that!” His voice exploded to a yell. He made a conscious effort to pull himself together, closing his eyes for a second. “Look.” He said it through gritted teeth. “Your brother’s sixteen. That’s too young to be out on his own, but you can’t hope to send him away to college without even letting him test the waters. He wants to be a man, Jasmine. Not a boy. You have to let him make some choices for himself. You have to let go.”
“I can’t let go.” To her horror, she felt all the words she had pent up for years spill out of her. “If I let go, do you know what happens? Things fall apart! Michael drops out of school, Emma drops out of school, and our mother dies. I am trying to keep this family together and get at least two of us out of here!”
“And it’s killing you!” He was close now, much too close.
“What?”
“Its killing you.” He stared down at her. “Do you see that? You’re taking everyone else’s problems on your shoulders and it’s killing you, Jasmine. And call me crazy, but…” He shook his head, a disbelieving laugh on his lips. “But I don’t want that,” he finished.
Married to the Dragon Page 5