“I’m Staff Sergeant Morris,” he introduces himself and I respond with a salute. “You must be Specialist Daxton.” I nod. As he grabs a manila folder on the desk, I catch a glimpse of my picture clipped to it. At least that explains how he recognizes me.
“Yes, Sir. I am.” All tones of military formality return, though the vestiges of my shame remain.
“Sit,” he instructs and I listen. That’s something at which I excel—handing over control. It means I don’t have to deal with it.
“I have to apologize for what–”
“Do you do that a lot?” His curt words slice through my apology. At my confused look, he rests his elbows on the desk, steepling his fingers together.
“Have attacks?” I question.
“No, apologize for them?” When I don’t answer right away, the perplexity of his question still taking forever to sink in, he clears his throat. “Well, do you?”
“Yes, but . . .” The realization that I’m talking to a Staff Sergeant so causally makes me bite my tongue and back track. “Yes, Sir. I have them often enough to apologize for them.” My palms are sweating and if some of this tension doesn’t let up, I fear another attack will crush me.
“Is it something you feel you can control? The attacks?”
“No. Not at all, Sir.”
“Do you stutter all the time or only when the panic hits?”
I want to snap at him—which goes against everything that I’ve been trained to be. Being called out on my defects is not exactly what I signed up for today. But like a good soldier, I answer respectfully, “Just in an attack, Sir. I can’t help it.”
“Is that the only time you turn violent as well?” His eyes burn into me, judgeless and bordering on emotionless.
Scenes from the bar, knocking Ty on his ass, nearly breaking my father’s jaw—all bounce around in my scattered head. Shamefully, I admit, “Yes, Sir.” Feeling defeated, my words reflect the hollow emptiness burgeoning in my chest.
“Good,” he announces, shooting up from his chair. His approval of my list of screw ups does nothing to make me feel better about them. In fact, I find his whole approach to this conversation rather unorthodox. But, since I can’t exactly tell him that, I rise when he does and follow him out of the room.
He walks us through the main lobby where my attack happened, back through the main doors, over to a large gated area to the side of the one story building.
Amidst the chaos of howling and barking, tails wagging and tongues lolling, I see a young woman. She looks about the same age as me. “Heel,” a stern and in-control voice booms out from her tiny body, the complete opposite of what I expected.
On her command, the pack of dogs is at her side, in a straight line. “Sit,” she commands, and of course, they all do. “Stay,” she says to the dogs, before turning her attention to Staff Sergeant Morris and me.
“Specialist Daxton, I’d like to introduce you to Heather. She works here as part of the Wounded Warrior project. She’s their on-site canine trainer.”
“Nice to meet you.” Heather extends her hand, a bright smile playing across her young face.
“I’ll leave you two to figure everything out,” Morris declares, turning away from us. When he’s a step away, he spins back. “I expect to see you here weekly for the group sessions.” His ‘take no prisoners’ stare leaves me no room to question him. I hadn’t realized that weekly group sessions were part of the package, but since I’m staring at a line-up of dogs, one of which I’m sure is mine, I can’t exactly back out of the deal now.
“Come on.” Heather grabs my arm, pulling me into the kennel. “You ready to meet your new best friend?” Her enthusiasm borders on obnoxiousness, and if she wasn’t helping me out so much—and if I wasn’t so excited to receive a service dog—I’d have a hard time believing anyone could be that genuinely happy.
“Tonka,” she calls out. A chocolate lab with big floppy ears and bright blue eyes tilts his head to the side on hearing his name. “Come.” Heather snaps her fingers and Tonka quickly jogs to her side.
“Specialist Daxton, this is Tonka.” She holds her hand to the side, letting me step past her, next to Tonka. “And Tonka,” placing a hand on his head, he starts wagging his tail, but he keeps his attention on me, “this is Jacob.”
“Dax. It’s just Dax.” I correct, amazed by the stillness and calmness with which Tonka regards me.
“Okay then. Tonka, this is Dax. He’s yours now.”
I doubt she realizes the power of her words, the gravity of the idea of being entrusted in someone else’s care. Maybe she does. And maybe that’s why she says those specific words. It’s an odd mix of feelings swirling around my head as I kneel down to greet Tonka. On the one hand, I’m so broken that I need a dog to help me get through my day. But on the other, I’m here. No amount of screwed up can cancel out being alive.
“Hey, Tonk.” Ruffling the fur on top of his head, he leans into my touch. Just like when I was at the beach with Beck, I’m calmed by having something to do with my hands.
Heather reviews a few commands with me before making me try them out myself. Trained to perfection, Tonka performs every one of them. If dogs are capable of smiling, he’s wearing the most gigantic grin on his face as he sits proudly at my side, waiting for his treat.
Since Tonka is primarily coming home with me for emotional support—for my anxiety and anger—and not because I can’t walk or use my arms, our training session is a short one. Heather gives me a support line number to call after hours if there’s a problem and her own number here at the VA center for during the day. “We have weekly group meetings every Friday at ten. Since you two are just starting out, you need to be there for at least the first month.” She hands me the card. “Hopefully, you’ll like them enough to want to stick around after that.”
Chloe is waiting for us by her car. Tonka tenses and moves closer to me, his shoulder brushing up against my leg, letting me know he’s here for me in case this person running up to us is someone I don’t know.
“God, I hate seeing you like that,” she mumbles against my shirt, gripping me in a tight hug. There’s no point in apologizing. I know she’d never be mad at me anyway. Chloe follows me in squatting next to Tonka. “So this is the furball, huh?” Tonka doesn’t move a muscle. He locks eyes with Chloe, waiting for my command.
“Hold out your hand. Let him sniff you. His name’s Tonka.” She holds her hand steady, not afraid of him at all. “They said he’d be fine once he gets to know you, but he’d probably be cautious around new people for a while.”
Like everyone else who knows Chloe, Tonka warms up to her immediately. His tail wags wildly as he licks her face.
With the morning behind us, and my freak out forgotten, we pull away from the VA center. The hope of driving toward something that finally holds the promise of an easier tomorrow keeps a smile on my face the entire ride home.
On the drive, I text Beck, not wanting to fall through on the promise I’d made to get in touch with him today. Between knowing today was the day I was picking up Tonka, as well as the day I’d hopefully get to see Beck again, I have no clue how I got any sleep last night.
As I wait for him to respond, my nerves get the best of me. Chances are he’s simply going to ignore me, never respond, and just wait for me to fade into darkness so he never has to deal with me again. At least that’s what my worst thoughts are telling me.
But then again, a man who wants nothing to do with you ever again won’t do what Beck did to me the other night. That thought alone makes me have Chloe drop me off at his complex instead of ours. Shooting me a sideways look from the driver’s seat, Chloe makes a pouty face that I won’t even give her the slightest detail about “hot tattoo man.” But, without too much begging, she lets me out, telling me she’ll be out with Devon for the night.
As I walk up to his complex, Tonka in tow, I tell myself I’m not going to tiptoe around him and what he might be feeling about me until I know for sure.
And what I know now is that he wanted me to call him today. Yeah sure, stopping at his apartment isn’t the same thing, but he did tell me the address. That’s less stalkerish, right?
Standing in front of his door, I hear the television blasting and the sounds of a little girl screaming at the top of her lungs. Scratching my head, I could have sworn he said apartment 3B, but maybe I’m wrong. Figuring what the hell, I knock anyway, thinking that even if it isn’t his apartment, whoever answers might be able to tell me where he lives.
When the door cracks open, the ground shifts beneath my feet as everything I thought I knew about Beck comes crashing down around me.
“Vio–” The last of her name hangs on my tongue when I see Dax standing on the other side of the door. Shit! I curse at myself for not responding to his text from a few minutes ago. I meant to, I really did, but I would have needed a third hand to do so.
The change in Dax’s initially relaxed and calm demeanor is obvious. His back straightens and his fists clench at his side. Unable to say anything other than the first thing that comes to mind, I ask the dumbest question possible. “I thought you said you were going to call?” We both hear the accusation of my words, the guilt of being caught red-handed screaming out for attention.
A look of disgust washes over his face as he turns away from me. Pathetically, I call after him. “Wait, Dax. I can explain. It’s not what it looks like.”
A contemptuous sneer of laughter tumbles from his lips. “Oh, my God,” he rolls his eyes. “You did not just say that.”
“Listen, really, it’s not. Please let me explain.” It’s only when I take another step closer to him that I realize there’s a dog standing between us. Both Dax and I look down at him.
“Tonka. My service dog. Just picked him up this morning. Thought we could go for a walk on the beach.” With a flick of his wrist, he twists the leash around his hand once more, making his knuckles pale even more. “But I can see you’re busy. I won’t bother you.”
Feeling like an ass, I let him turn away this time. It’s only her voice that brings him back to me. “Uncle Beck!”
On her words, Dax turns around, quirks an eyebrow at me, a confused look pulling tightly across his face. “Uncle?”
The fluffy pink tutu bounces around her tiny waist as she jumps into my arms. “Dax, this is my niece, Violet.”
Stunned silence. That’s the only way to describe the feeling between us. The warm June air blows over us, ruffling Violet’s skirt, blowing locks of her dark brown hair across her face.
“Puppy!” she yells out, pulling to get out of my arms.
“Wait.” It’s no use, though. She’s already down on the ground, arms wrapped tightly around the dog’s neck. I know you’re not supposed to pet Seeing Eye dogs, but I know nothing about service dogs. Waiting on Dax’s cue, I let her continue to hug Tonka, figuring if he doesn’t stop her, then there’s nothing wrong with it.
Almost gargoyle-like, Tonka sits at Dax’s side, barely reacting to Violet as she squeezes him as hard as she can. Since she’s only four years old, I don’t fear for the dog’s safety, not too much anyway. Dax squats next to her, making her look even tinier next to his muscular frame. “He’s a good boy. Just let him get used to you,” he explains in a calm, gentle voice—one that’s very different from the one he just used with me mere seconds ago. “Scratch his ears, like this.” He demonstrates and Tonka’s body language changes. He relaxes and almost smiles as he pushes against Dax’s hand.
Violet holds out her hand for Tonka to sniff and he surprises all of us when he drenches her face in kisses. She laughs with delight until Dax calls Tonka off.
“I thought–” Dax begins.
“No, it’s okay. I can imagine what you thought. Let’s go for that walk and I’ll explain.”
In less than five minutes, I’ve got Violet’s shoes on and we’re all heading down to the beach. When we arrive, Tonka lays faithfully at Dax’s side. Violet flops down into the sand, fooling around with a bucket and shovel while Dax and I talk.
“You thought she was my daughter?” The question seems pointless. It’s the only misunderstanding I could see warranting the kind of reaction he gave me. Silently, he nods, keeping his eyes glued to the water crashing against the shore. “She’s my sister’s daughter. Social services took her away from Nikki when she was arrested for driving under the influence. The judge made her go to rehab, for the third time.”
Slowly, Dax shifts to face me. “I had no idea.”
“How could you? I didn’t tell you and we barely know each other.” The last part comes out harsher than I intend. I meant it more in a way that I’d like to get to know him, but it sounds defensive and mean. Needing to change the hurt look on his face, I back track. “I just mean, there’s a lot you don’t know. Let me explain.”
He nods again, biting his tongue. Pushing back any worries about him having an attack like he did the other day while we’re here with Violet, I share what I can about Nikki.
“I wasn’t talking to Nikki when she was arrested this time. I confronted her about her drugs and she wrote me off. Told me it was her life and she’d do what she wanted with it. She was right. It was her life, but I didn’t want Violet to witness it all. Then Nikki was in an accident when Violet was in the car. She was popping pills like candy. Child Protective Services took Violet when she was discharged from the hospital and Nikki originally fought me on my offer to take her. It took CPS these last two weeks to get everything situated, to get Nikki’s approval, but they called the other night and well, here she is.”
“That’s . . . a lot to take in. It’s screwed up.”
Wiping a hand over my face, I let out an exhausted puff of air. “Yeah, and I sure as shit wasn’t ready to be a single parent to a four-year-old. This shit’s no joke.” A flippant laugh falls out.
“How’s she handling it?” Dax tips his chin at Violet, playing carefree in the sand before us. I soften to him even more than I already had when one of his first thoughts is about her.
“She’s really good with it actually. Thinks she’s on some kind of vacation. When I had her at the shop last night–”
Holding a hand up to stop me, Dax says, “Wait a second. You brought her to your shop at night?” His disbelief is evident.
“Well, what the hell else was I supposed to do?” I asked defensively. “Both Lexie and Ty were working and the shop was slammed. I couldn’t take the night off and those two are the only ones I’d trust with Violet anyway.”
“You have work tonight, too?”
“Yeah.” Already feeling like I’ve done something wrong, my agitation is growing.
“Leave her with me.” A simple, easy solution, but was it one I could really be okay with? Dax must see me struggling with my answer. He drops a hand to my arm, gripping it lightly. “I owe you for the other night. Besides, you can trust me. I promise.”
“Do you even know how to take care of a kid?” Arching a brow, I ask, careful not to assault his ego.
He shrugs. “What is there to it, really?”
I laugh. He really has no idea. “Listen, I’m not just going to hand her over to a perfect stranger.”
“Stranger?” he mocks. Pitching his voice lower, he leans seductively against my ear. “You had my dick in your mouth the other night. I’m hardly a stranger.” He pulls away from me, taking in the shocked expression on my face. “In all seriousness, I would never let anything happen to her.”
There’s honesty and integrity in his words. He’s sworn to protect our country, and I highly doubt he’d take this task any less seriously. With that realization, I agree and we walk back to my apartment so I can get ready for work.
Dax makes a quick trip home to get a few things for Tonka and when he comes back at seven-thirty, I’m ready to leave for the night.
“Thanks, man. I really appreciate it. The numbers are on the fridge. Call me if you need anything. I should be back by one.” Though I attempt to go over anything else he may ne
ed to know, like how to give her a bath, or comb her hair, or which stuffed animal she needs to be tucked into bed with, he pushes me to the door, assuring me everything will be fine.
He walks me to the door, but before he can close it, I turn back to add something else to the list of things Violet might need for the night. “I said we’ll be fine.” His hands grip my shoulders securely, reassuring me of what I already know. Sliding them slowly down my arms, Dax’s hands take on a more comforting feel. His fingers toy with the edge of my T-shirt, tracing the thick black lines of my tattooed biceps. A shiver of heat races over my skin, setting my body on fire.
Dax quickly looks over his shoulder, making sure Violet is still playing on the floor, not paying attention to us. He steps over the threshold, closing the door slightly, blocking us from her view should she look at us. His hand grips my neck, pulling me to him. In a rushed movement, his lips are on mine. They’re the perfect combination of demand and need, soft and hard, passion and fire. When his tongue sweeps into my mouth, I can’t help but groan. When he pulls back, he licks along the seam of my lips, planting kisses that promise there’s so much more to come on each corner, before retreating wordlessly back into my apartment.
With the door an inch away from being closed, he leans against the frame, opens it again and says, “You can trust me. I’ll see you later.” With a sexy-as-fuck smirk, he winks at me, closes the door and vanishes from my view. My lips feel like they’ve been seared and the erection pushing against my jeans is bordering on painful.
Can I really trust a man who makes me feel like this with just a kiss?
I honestly have no choice but to believe him.
And I do trust him. There’s something inherently good about Dax, something simple and kind. It calls out to everything I’ve grown up without. He’s wholesome and honorable—and those things go much deeper than him simply being a soldier. Dax is the antithesis of everything I appear to be, but he’s the completion of everything I want to be.
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