Because I Can

by Lisa Renee Jones

  As I watch Jack and a group of officers investigate my break-in, I decide Dash was right about leaving the necklace out of tonight’s equation. I mean technically, it feels a bit like I’m the one who stole it, and the more that idea takes root, the more awkward and wrong it feels. I have to do something to return the necklace to the sender and pretty darn quickly.

  When all that can be done in the wee hours of the morning has been done, Jack gives us one last update, and then he’s gone. Dash loads my bags into his trunk and then helps me into the passenger side of the M4, kneeling beside me as he does. He reaches over me, his body warm, as he slides my belt into place. “I was already on my way to see you when you called.” His fingers brush my jaw. “And thank fuck I was. You have no idea how freaked out I was when your call dropped.”

  “And you have no idea how relieved I was to hear your voice.” I touch his face.

  A mix of heat and emotion pulses between us, seconds ticking by, but there’s nothing more to say. Not now. Not like this. Maybe not even tonight or should I say, this morning? There have been too many harsh words, too many words laden with booze, too many, so many.

  Dash pushes to his feet and seals me inside the car. A minute later, he slides into the car beside me and I’m still reeling from his words. He was on his way to me when I called. I guess on some level I knew this. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have made it to me so quickly after the phone call, but hearing him say it, hits me in a whole different way. Despite everything that happened tonight, first, he’s concerned I was really in danger tonight, and I wonder what he knows that I don’t know, but even more so, I needed Dash and he was here for me. For now, that’s where I want to root myself, where I want to root us and with good reason. My mind goes to him in that ring, allowing that man to beat on him, even daring him to hurt him. I squeeze my eyes shut with the visual, the horrible visual.

  Dash needs me, too, I think.

  He says he should never have left me tonight. I should never have left him.

  We are, without any doubt, two messed up people, both of us spiraling out of control, in our own way. The question becomes, do we land more gently together, or do we accelerate the inevitable crash and burn? I don’t know the answer, but he wasn’t better without me tonight and I wasn’t better without him either. I sink down lower into my seat, settling into the idea of what is right tonight, me here with Dash. The warm heat of the car and the lethargy of too much booze and not enough sleep are ever-present, but I fight the heaviness of my lashes, rotating to my side to face Dash.

  He glances over at me and catches my hand, and it feels like everything that was wrong is right. That’s the lie I tell myself, but it’s a good lie. One I’d like to pretend isn’t a lie for the rest of the night. Just tonight. That’s all I want. And I think it’s what Dash wants as well. Tomorrow is another day, one we will face with a bright light that will scorch us with the burn of reality. But that’s then. And this is now.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The calm beneath the storm is locked in a fragile silence.

  Dash and I don’t speak on the short ride to his apartment and not for a lack of words. I haven’t even asked him about the call with his sister, let alone, the ten other questions that come to my mind about Tyler, Allison, and of course, his fighting habit. But Dash knows we have to talk. Pushing him, and making that happen now, rather than later, could ultimately push him over the edge. And I’m not sure just how dangerous that edge might be, not after what I saw tonight.

  Once we arrive at the apartment, Dash doesn’t pull us to the front of the building, but enters the private garage. I can’t help but wonder if that has something to do with his bruised and abused face or maybe it’s just how bruised the two of us are together. Dash parks in a private space, kills the engine, and when I’m planning to exit my side of the vehicle to meet him, he’s already there, opening my door and helping me to my feet. His eye is swollen now, so very swollen, and while I have no doubt his body is all about pain and punishment, both of which he’d welcomed, it’s my heart that hurts, and it hurts for him. Tyler isn’t wrong when he says Dash is punishing himself. And what kind of pain must Dash feel, to want to do this to himself?

  “This is where you belong,” he says softly. “With me.”

  My aching heart races with this declaration made more impactful by the fact that I saw behind the veil tonight. I know his secret or at least part of his secret, and he still wants me with him. I also know that he doesn’t share his secrets with anyone, not intentionally, not even me. But he’s also not running away. In other words, Dash is far braver than I have been in my life. He faces his problems, even if he does so in a self-destructive way. But is it really more self-destructive than running and hiding?

  And I do run.

  I ran away from him earlier. In truth, I’ve run away from a lot in my life, too much, it seems. But that ends now and with that decision, and despite the fact that deep down, I know that Dash will eventually leave me bleeding and heartbroken, every reservation I’d had about staying with him until I leave in January, falls away.

  “I should never have left, Dash. I really, really wish I could turn back time and do this night over again.”

  “You’re not the one who messed this night up. I am. It’s all on me.”

  Tyler’s reference to Dash’s fighting habit since his brother’s death hits home in this moment. While I don’t know the details of that tragedy, in my core, I believe that Dash owning too much blame in his life is why he ever stepped into a fight ring. “We both made mistakes tonight,” I say. “I made mistakes tonight. I own those mistakes. Leaving was one of them.”

  His fingers flex on my hips, his eyes flickering with some emotion that I cannot name but I can feel the tug between us, the bond, growing in that moment. He needs to know that I want to be here. And I believe, too, that he needs to know that I’m not judging him. I hope that’s what he now knows, but I’m going to drive home the point, every chance I am gifted.

  “Let’s go upstairs,” he urges softly.

  “Yes,” I agree. “Yes, please.”

  Dash releases me and pops the trunk, removing my bags before we head to the elevator. Once we’re inside the main elevator, on the move, there’s this odd mix of comfort and discomfort between me and Dash that drives me nuts. I want us to be back to normal. I want this night to never have happened. But it did. Tyler ripped open the door to Dash’s torment tonight and welcomed me to step inside. Now, I’m there, living in a space Dash didn’t invite me to visit. And while he’s clearly not pushing me out of that space, we are in uncharted territory. We don’t know how to live together in this new reality.

  At Dash’s door, he sets my bags down, unlocks the door, and then pushes it open, motioning me forward. It’s a gentlemanly act, allowing my early entry, but it’s more than that right now. Everything between me and Dash is a question that leads to another question. Do I really want to be here? Am I going to live here? He grabs my bags again and now that his hands are occupied, I step in front of him, hands on his chest, and lean into him. With his hard chest beneath my hands, I push to my toes and kiss him. It’s a fast kiss, but it’s all me. I instigate it, I make it happen, and I do so with a message that is about commitment, me to him. I’m not here because I have to be, it’s a choice and I choose here and him. A message I follow up by walking inside the apartment. And maybe, just maybe, if we can work it out, my apartment as well as his for a few short months.

  Until I leave.

  Just the idea guts me, it really does, and it hits me that I quit my job here. I made sure that staying isn’t a financial option. But me in the middle of Tyler and Dash seems a problem as well. It’s a problem I’ll have to face and soon. Just not tonight.

  Tonight is all about me and Dash crashing into each other.

  And about me praying that crash doesn’t come with a burn. At least not an immediate burn.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Dash joins me inside the apartment and l
ifts his chin toward the bedroom.

  We head in that direction, but I’m not thinking about seduction. I’m thinking about how much he needs ice on that eye, and how much my gut tells me not to bring attention to it right now.

  Once we’re at the bedroom door, Dash flips on the light and then the fireplace. “I need to wash this night off of me,” he says. “I’ll put your bags in the closet.”

  He’s already walking away, leaving me to decide what I do next. It doesn’t feel like he’s telling me he needs to be alone. Not at all, but it does feel like another question, though I don’t really understand the context. But he needs me and I came here to be with him. And truly, maybe, I’m reading too much into everything. Maybe, just maybe, he assumed I’d follow him. If so, he’s right.

  That’s exactly what I do. I follow him.

  I’m in the hallway when the shower turns on. I arrive in the bathroom doorway as Dash tugs his shirt over his head, and does so with a grunt. I cringe at the sight of the dark bruises down his right side. His body is strong but I know now that so is his self-hate. Dash hates himself and that’s a brutal reality that cannot be denied. Not by me and not by him.

  I want to know why, but I’m all too aware of the fact that I won’t find that answer in a simple spoken word. That’s exactly why I don’t ask questions, and I don’t cross to him and offer lame comfort that will do nothing but drive him away. I’m all about washing the dirt of this night off and doing so with him, not without him, which is almost where this night had me landing. God, how I wish we could just wash it all away and leave us with nothing but my version of sunshine: lemon drops, dancing with Dash, hot sex, and the waffles his sister and my mother makes for us.

  But it’s not that simple. It was never going to be simple at all.

  I reach for the zipper of my skirt. He reaches for his jeans. And together, we undress, watching each other as we do so, the absence of words, offering the freedom for us to live in the moment and each other. When the layers of clothing are gone, only our secrets between us, he catches my hand and walks me to him, the thickness of his erection at my hip. The heat of his hard body aligned with mine. The intensity of his stare, sheltered by hooded eyes. He doesn’t break the sanctuary of our silence. He doesn’t kiss me. He simply leads me into the shower where the steam has gathered and offered us a safe haven.

  Dash and I stand under the warm water, and just as he said, we let the water wash away the dirt of a dirty night. I grab the soap and drizzle it on his chest, but when I run my hand over the area, he flinches. My breath catches with his reaction, with the certainty that he is more badly beaten than I’d realized, and I’d already known he was not in good condition.

  Before I can stop myself, I break the silence. “Dash—”

  That’s all it takes. He captures my head and damp hair in his hand, an erotic pull that ensures I won’t ask a question, I won’t demand answers. But he demands, oh how he demands. His mouth crashes down over mine and he doesn’t just kiss me. He consumes me, breathes me in, owns me. I’m panting when he presses me against the wall. I’m gasping as he lifts my leg and presses the hard length of his cock against me. I’m clinging to him as he presses inside me and drives deep. For a few beats, we’re just there, our bodies joined, our breaths heavy, a mix of passion and emotion between us.

  One of his hands scoops my backside, arching my hips, and dragging him deeper. The other hand finds my breast, his fingers dragging over my nipple before he’s tugging on it with a pinching pain that clenches my sex. And then he’s thrusting into me, pumping hard and fast, his gaze raking over my bouncing breasts, a wild frenzy erupting between us. I hold onto him anywhere I can manage to touch him, as if I will never touch him again. And he touches me with just as much desperation. As if he feared he’d never touch me again.

  Urgency roars between us, hot with demand and need.

  Dash scoops my backside with powerful hands and lifts me. My legs instinctively wrap around his waist. He shifts me into the corner, anchors me, and then he’s driving into me. Over and over, sensations explode through me. In between his powerful thrusts, his mouth is on my mouth, his tongue against my tongue. Every emotion, good and bad, that this night has created, I feel in his touch, his kiss, the pump of our bodies. The build of pleasure is sharp and fierce and I try to push it back, to hold back, to make this last, but Dash is so incredibly hard, his face contorted in wicked passion, his muscles flexing with such beauty, and I just can’t. I shatter, my sex clenching around him, and Dash groans with the impact. He pumps against my spams, and throws his head back, quaking with his own release.

  When it’s over, we’re back to burying the storm in the silence. We shower together, soaping each other, touching each other, but we don’t speak. When the water runs cold and Dash turns it off, we end up in bed, in the dark, holding each other. I shut my eyes reminding myself that no matter how good this bed that is my bed with Dash feels, there will be a last night. And it won’t be that far away. I cannot lose perspective or I’ll be the one who ends up badly beaten, only my pain will be emotional, not physical.

  CHAPTER SIX

  I wake to rain pitter-pattering on the window pane, laying on my side, with Dash wrapped around me from behind. I have about thirty seconds to appreciate this cozy moment before I realize that the doorbell is ringing. “Dash?” I murmur. “Dash, the doorbell—”

  “Ignore it.”

  The prior night comes crashing back and I’m instantly thinking of Allison, Tyler, the police, and more. “What if it’s important?”

  “It’s my sister, Allie. I’m not talking to her this morning.”

  His cellphone starts ringing on the nightstand. He doesn’t move. And I can’t move because he’s holding onto me. Which isn’t going to work. I know he knows it’s not going to work.

  “I don’t know Bella well yet, Dash, but I know her well enough to know she’s not going to go away.”

  His cellphone goes silent and starts to ring again almost instantly. He curses and rolls away from me, planting himself on his back, his arms to his side. I shift to face him and gasp at the sight of his swollen eye. “Oh my God, Dash. Your eye. It’s so bad.”

  “Which is why I can’t see my sister right now.”

  “Right,” I say, realization and understanding overtaking me. I shift to my knees, one of Dash’s T-shirts covering my body, my mind kicking into problem-solving mode. “Okay. Let’s think this through. She’s here so we can’t leave her outside the door. I can go and talk to her.”

  He sits up. “And tell her what? She’ll come up here to see me, Allie. And she’ll freak the fuck out.”

  His phone is ringing again. Mine will be next. I know this. He has to know this, too, and my mind races with a way to get us out of this. “Did you have a breakfast date with her today?”

  “No, but she randomly stops in.”

  “We could tell her we’re at my parent’s place and your phone was in the car and now my mother won’t stop talking. You could text her.”

  His jaw flexes. “I hate lying to her and she’ll just come by later.” He glances at me, and I can barely see his eye. “And this is going to take at least ten days to heal.”

  “Then we take this head-on. You were with me last night. Tell her you got in a fight, which is not a lie. Outside the bar, which technically is also true as well. You weren’t in the bar. And she won’t believe you were at the underground ring when you were with me.”

  “She’ll know, Allie. She knows enough to read between the lines and it won’t be okay to her.”

  “You have me by your side on this, Dash.” His phone is ringing again. “Tell her to come in. We’ll be down in ten minutes.”

  His lips press together but he grabs his phone and answers with, “Can’t a man sleep late?” Obviously, she says something in reply as he answers with, “Yeah, well, I’m feeling like shit. Let yourself in. We’ll be down in a minute.” He disconnects and looks at me. “I was going to have to deal with this
with her, but leave it to my sister to make me do it now.” He throws away the blanket and stands up. “And without a damn shower. I’m going to brush my teeth and wash my face.”

  His tone is cranky for sure, but I know he’s bruised, beaten, and hurting. And on some level, on perhaps a wildly evident level, I keep going back to Tyler being an asshole, but he wasn’t wrong when he said that Dash believes he deserves to be punished. Maybe this, what is happening this morning with his sister, is even a part of his punishment, something he feels he deserves, even if this part of the equation would be avoided if possible.

  Interesting though, people with bad habits, know how to hide them. The very fact that he’s not prepared to hide this from her, has me wondering if he really hasn’t fought in years, or if he somehow avoids his sister by design, at designated times?

  Dash stalks toward the bathroom. I’m still standing in the same spot when the alarm on the front door sounds, and Bella is officially in the apartment. This means I need to pull myself together and look presentable enough to be comfortable navigating a whole lot of potential sibling trouble. I rush after Dash, find him at the bathroom sink, and join him, to do exactly what he’s doing, brush my teeth.

  Once we’re both holding brushes, this becomes a shared, intimate, domestic moment, that does funny things to my belly. When our eyes meet in the mirror, there’s a punch of awareness between us. But there’s also his damaged face and the dread that is not only his, but mine, over Bella’s reaction.

  “She’s going to freak out,” I say softly.

  “I know,” he replies. “Believe me, I know.” The grimness of his tone tells me that, yes, this is punishment. But not the kind he welcomes.

  He pushes off the sink and exits to the hallway and the closets. I fight the urge to follow and press him to talk to me, recognizing that he’s a man of control that’s had control stripped away from him. We haven’t even faced this situation, and now, he’s facing me and Bella, in one swift hellish morning. He needs space to pull himself together. I grab one of my bags that’s thankfully already in the bathroom and start pulling out the items that I need to try to make my hair and face respectable. Since I cried hard last night, I’m all puffed up and I don’t want Bella to ask questions that only lead to lies. And my hair, my God my hair, is a mess. It dried naturally only a few hours ago, and it dried looking like I stuck my finger in a socket. It’s a disaster. Digging in to fix the mess I am, I grab my flat iron from my bag and plug it up. A few minutes later, I’ve tamed the mess on my head, used stringent pads, moisturizer, and applied a little makeup and lip gloss. At this point, I look tired, not hungover from tears. I think. I hope.