by Ann Collins
Kayla realized she was already making assumptions about him as though she knew him, or wanted to get to know him, and that rattled her. So she tossed her hair back and looked right into his eyes, daring him to tease her again.
“I’m so much better now that I have seen you,” he said.
“Empty flattery,” she observed, and looked at her watch. She didn’t have anywhere to be for the next few hours, but she wasn’t going to stand here chatting with him as other students funneled around them in the hallway. The women were looking at him with interest and the men were gazing at both of them with curiosity. She had had enough attention already as it was, and she didn’t want any more.
“Will all that flattery get you to go out with me?” he asked.
She blushed even harder, something she didn’t think was possible. At this rate her face was going to look sunburned. “Everyone heard what you said in there.”
“That means everyone already thinks I’m your boyfriend,” he pointed out.
“But you’re not.”
He shrugged. “Let them talk. Let them think what they want.”
She shook her head. He made it sound so easy, as though a little bit of embarrassment wasn’t a big deal. But Kayla had spent a long time cultivating the quiet persona that didn’t get noticed, and she wanted to keep it that way. Getting noticed had been a bad thing for her in the past, and she wasn’t going to start making waves now.
“I would appreciate it if you didn’t do that again,” she said, her tone cool and distant.
Dyson turned serious in an instant. “I didn’t mean to offend you,” he said, and the look in his eyes was both concern and puzzlement. He had no idea what was going through her head, and of course, why would he? And besides that, what had he really done wrong? He had just been a flirt, like most men were. Why punish him for doing what most women would welcome as a fun diversion? Kayla went from feeling defensive to feeling bad in no time.
“It’s okay,” she mumbled, and hitched her books up on her hip as she began to walk away. “I really need to get out of here.”
“Kayla,” he said, reaching out to put a hand on her arm.
She stopped dead in her tracks. The touch wasn’t too much, but it seemed to burn right through her clothes, right through her skin and to the center of her, where the tingle she had felt earlier in the classroom came back with a vengeance. Kayla was flooded with thoughts that were entirely inappropriate for the school setting – she felt heat and excitement all out of proportion to a simple touch.
She slowly backed away from him. Just one step, just enough to make him remove his hand.
“Listen, you’re a mystery to me,” Dyson said, his words rushed, as if he wanted to get it all out before she ran away from him. “I really like the way you handled yourself at the bar the other night, and even though you’re deliberately hard to get to know, I just…well, I just flat-out like you. I’m curious about you. I would like to be your friend and get to know you better.”
Kayla stared at him. Never in her life had a man been so blunt and honest without sounding crass. Never before had she talked to a man who spelled out exactly what he was thinking and feeling, without making her guess at his attitude or motivations. She was still blinking at him without saying a word when he went on.
“I know that you might not like to come to the fight. You didn’t seem to be interested, and you might not even be the kind of girl who likes that kind of thing. But if you don’t, then maybe you can tell me what you do like, and we can go from there?”
Despite herself, Kayla began to grin. This man was really something else! He was so honest that it made it impossible to be angry with him or to even cut him off. His attitude reminded her of a little boy who wanted to play with a new friend and couldn’t shut up once he finally got the chance.
“What’s so funny?” he asked, but he was grinning now, too.
Then Kayla remembered the things George had told her. Words like ‘dishonorable’ and ‘assault’ and ‘military’ went through her head. She remembered the way Dyson had sparred with his friend, bouncing on his feet, eager to land the next blow. She remembered the chivalrous way he had helped her at the bar, but she also remembered the scent of hard liquor on his breath.
Who the hell was this guy, anyway?
“I’m really too busy to date,” she said, and it was actually the truth. She had thrown herself into her schoolwork with such dedication that she had little time to spare. The time she did have was spent working, and that barely covered the bills. She had to keep her eye on the ball if she wanted to get out of college with little debt and the degree that she desperately needed in order to make something of herself.
“Too busy even for a Saturday afternoon walk?”
She shook her head, genuinely sorry to have to say no. But it wasn’t just that she was busy. She could have found the time, if she really tried. It was that she wasn’t sure about him. Her instincts said she was safe, but she also knew that sometimes, people’s instincts failed them, leading them in the wrong direction.
All she had to do was think about her mother to know that much.
She took a deep breath and started to apologize, but what came out of her mouth was something entirely different. “I volunteer at an animal shelter on Saturdays.”
“Yeah? What do you do there?”
Kayla smiled as she thought about the animals. “It’s a no-kill shelter on the east side. The animals all need help of some kind. Some of them were abandoned and neglected, and some were…well, they were abused. They need a second chance. I really like the feeling of making them feel secure.” She paused, thinking. “They weren’t secure or safe for so long. But now maybe they can be.”
Dyson was watching her. His gaze was gentle, and made her blush in a very different way than she had in the classroom. She forged on, already too deep to back out. “So if you want, maybe you could come and help me there. Maybe you could volunteer with me? They open at nine on Saturdays and I’m usually there all day.”
Dyson shook his head, as if he had sad news to deliver. “I’m allergic to cats.”
“Oh…well, it’s no big deal if you don’t want to,” Kayla sputtered, embarrassed that she’d made an offer, only to have it refused.
“But I really want to spend time with you, and it’s nothing that a little Benadryl can’t cure, right?”
Kayla shrugged, but she was smiling too. “If you’re sure you want to go through that.”
He nodded. “I’m sure.”
“Okay. Let me write down the address…”
“No need,” he said. “I know which one you are talking about.”
“Oh…okay.” Kayla wasn’t quite sure how to wrap the conversation up. She’d made her life so busy that she didn’t really do a whole lot of small talk.
Dyson reached out toward her, this time offering his hand for a shake. She took it. His palm was warm and strong against hers. He held her hand for one beat too long, then dropped it and stepped back.
“Until Saturday, then,” he said.
“Saturday,” she echoed.
She turned and walked away, holding her books tight to her chest. She could feel him watching her as she walked down the hallway, which was now completely empty. She hadn’t even noticed the world around her while they were talking. Was that a good thing?
At the end of the hallway she turned to look back at him. He was still standing there, still staring. He gave a wave, and then she ducked around the corner. Her heart was pounding.
But she was smiling, too.
Chapter Five
The sweat was pouring and his muscles were aching, but Dyson wouldn’t have it any other way. He bounced on the mat, his feet fast and light, his body tensed and ready. He curled his fingers inside the gloves and tossed his head back, eyeing Chester as the older man circled before him. They were taunting each other, gauging what the next move might be.
Chester was Dyson’s favorite sparring partner. He was thirty
years older than Dyson almost to the day, and he had plenty of gray in his hair to show for it. But he was also a total badass in the ring, and had proven his mettle the first day they had gone against each other. Dyson had made the mistake of calling him an “old man” and Chester had proceeded to wipe the floor with him. To say it was humbling was an understatement.
But now Dyson knew what he should have known then: that the art of boxing, mixed-martial arts fighting or anything else in the ring had nothing to do with age. It had everything to do with attitude and confidence, and that’s something Chester had in spades. Since the day Chester had schooled him so thoroughly, the two men had become friends, and they spent just as much time talking as they did trying to beat the shit out of each other.
Chester was one of the few people in the world who knew the whole story about what had happened in Iraq. He was only person who knew that Dyson still had nightmares. Chester had been through some pain of his own, things that made Dyson grateful for his happy childhood. The men had confided in each other, and over time their friendship had grown, based on the firm foundation of trust and affection. Chester could tell at a glance when something was weighing on Dyson’s mind.
Tonight was one of those nights. Chester could tell that Dyson was preoccupied and not quite ready to talk about it, so he punished him hard. Chester was giving Dyson every reason to take out all the frustration and anger in the ring, and Dyson knew it. He was giving as good as he got, pushing them both to the limit, going beyond sweat and pain to the occasional drop of blood. It was better than tears, Dyson thought as he swung again, this time connecting so hard that Chester stumbled backward before he caught himself.
“Oh, hell no, you did not,” Chester mumbled, and went at Dyson with a series of blows that drove him back, further and further, until he felt the ropes against his back. Dyson went low, trying to tackle and push, but Chester caught him with an uppercut on the way down.
Dyson’s head snapped back. He stumbled but there was nowhere for him to go but down. He hit the mat hard with his shoulder. The air rushed out of him in a whoosh, and when he tried to get up, Chester laid in on him. Dyson struggled with him, trying to get his legs up, but soon Chester had him pinned so hard that Dyson couldn’t breathe.
He slammed his hand down on the mat. Once, then a second time, then a third.
Chester let him go.
“Holy shit,” Dyson breathed, yanking out his mouthpiece and looking up at Chester. He was gratified to see the older man sitting down, breathing hard and looking more than a little worn out. At least he had given him a run for his money.
“Made you tap out,” Chester said. It was just a statement, not a brag, and Dyson grinned.
“My jaw hurts.”
“Good.”
Dyson let himself collapse to the floor. He lay there for a moment, listening to the sounds of the gym around them, concentrating on his breathing. As soon as his heart stopped racing, he sat up and looked at Chester.
“You were distracted,” Chester said.
“Was I?”
Chester shrugged. “Not the usual distracted, either.”
Dyson knew what he meant. The usual distraction was the nightmares and the flashbacks and all those terrible things that he had brought home with him from Iraq. This wasn’t anything at all like that. The truth was, he had been thinking about Kayla from the moment she walked away from him that morning, and there had been little else on his mind. He had even grinned to himself like a fool as he went into the drugstore and spent a few dollars he really couldn’t spare on the generic Benadryl. He couldn’t wait until Saturday.
“So who is she?” Chester asked.
“Who’s who?”
He was met with a wicked grin. “That’s what I thought.”
“What do you mean?”
“If she was just some piece of tail you would be telling me all about her by now. But she’s not, so you’re keeping things close to the vest. I get it, man.”
Dyson unlaced his glove and put his fingers to his jaw. “Damn, Chester. Remind me not to think about women when you’re around.”
“You gonna tell me or what?”
Dyson gave it a long bit of thought. Chester simply waited.
“She’s…she’s a strange bird,” Dyson finally said. “I met her at a bar the other night. She was being hit on by two guys who deserved a good beating, and I stepped in. Something about her was just so…intriguing, I guess.”
“Every woman at a bar is intriguing if you have enough liquor in you.”
“Yeah, but this one was different. She wasn’t the type of girl you find in a bar. She seemed to be so aloof and distant but at the same time, she wasn’t unfriendly…it was weird. A contradiction, you know?”
Chester nodded. “I think I do.”
“Then I saw her here at the gym…she does accounting for George. I turned around and there she was. She was watching me like I was something she couldn’t wait to eat, man. That threw me for a loop.”
Chester grinned. “Like you aren’t used to women hitting on you!”
“But she wasn’t! When she saw that I noticed her, she was suddenly cool as a cucumber straight from the fridge. She was all business. It was the weirdest thing. It just made me even more intrigued after the attitude at the bar. Then I saw her again at the school.”
“You’re running into this girl a lot.”
“I know! I saw her at the school while she was in a class. I didn’t think about the fact that she was a student there, because damn, you know how many students there are there? It would be like trying to find a needle in a haystack. But there she was.”
“And?”
“And I asked her out, and she said yes. Kinda. She wants me to meet her at the animal shelter that she volunteers at on Saturday.”
“Okay, so this is good. It’s not like you’re a green little teenager about to get laid for the first time.”
Dyson sighed and stretched out on the mat. “Maybe that’s it, Chester. I’m not going to get laid. She’s not the type. And strangely enough? I’m okay with that.”
Chester was quiet for a long time, and then his voice came over the mat, soft and slow. “Sounds like my little Dyson is growing up.”
Dyson stared at the lights above him. Why was he okay with that, anyway? He had become accustomed to one night stands with women he picked up in the bars, soft bodies that asked for nothing beyond pleasure from him. He was used to not getting close to anyone, and that was just the way he liked it. He knew that he seemed like a great catch on the surface, but what woman would want to deal with a man who was as fucked up as he was on the inside? He knew that the demons he fought every night would make life very difficult for any woman who wanted to truly get to know him.
But something about Kayla made him think that maybe he could get past that. Maybe it was the way she looked at him, the directness in her eyes. Or maybe it was the fact that she seemed so strong, strong enough to handle a man like him. Or maybe he was just tired of being alone, and it was time to open up to the right woman. The question he had to answer was whether or not Kayla was the right woman.
“I really like her,” he said simply, and Chester chuckled.
“Just don’t let her distract you too much. I’ll be forced to kick your ass again.”
Dyson laughed and playfully saluted. “Yes, sir.”
***
Later that evening, Dyson went to see his mother.
The residential care facility was clear across town, but his mother was deep enough in dementia to believe that she was back at her old childhood town in Georgia. He didn’t have the heart to tell her she was miles and miles away, and really, what good would it do anyway? She would only be more confused.
He went to see her at least once a week, and he was determined to keep that up. But every time he left, he felt the gnawing guilt that she was there with someone else instead of with him. Shouldn’t he be the one caring for her? Every time that thought came up, he reminded hi
mself of what her doctor had said – that at this point in her life she needed constant care and supervision, much like a little child would, and that Dyson would have to devote himself full-time to caring for her. That was something almost no one had the luxury of doing, and so that’s why there were so many people just like his mother in care facilities. Good, well-meaning people who wanted their family members with them often just couldn’t make it work.
Knowing the facts eased the guilt a bit, but it was always there, lurking around and waiting to rise up with a black mood at the worst moments.
Tonight, though, guilt was the last thing on his mind. The nurses smiled at him as he walked past. They knew him well, and so they never stopped him to ask where he was going. Few of the residents had visitors as regular as Dyson, and the nurses were always happy to fetch fresh water for the flowers Dyson replaced once a week, without fail. He gave them a bright smile and asked how she’d been.
“Oh, Miss Anne’s been just fine. She just asked about you a minute ago, and we told her that you were sure to be here, as usual.”
Dyson thanked the nurse as he turned into the room at the end of the hallway.
His mother looked up. She recognized him immediately – a true blessing in the midst of the dementia that had taken over most of her memories. She sometimes didn’t even recognize the same nurse who cared for her every day, and sometimes she got confused about her own name. But when she saw Dyson, the reaction was always the same: She knew her boy. Her broad smile warmed his heart. She was wearing a cotton duster, one that had small mother-of-pearl buttons along the front, and her favorite shoes, the slippers that were so worn they were starting to fray along the seams. She had her favorite quilt over her shoulders, one she had made herself during healthier days. Dyson’s mother even smelled the same at every visit, like lilacs and fresh soap.
But her eyes were a little vacant, her hands a little uncertain, and that was the reminder that she wasn’t quite who she appeared to be. Not anymore.