Dylan

by Brittany Dreams

  I call IT, refusing to contact our own resident tech guy, so when Dylan comes into my office with the cat-got-the-canary smile, telling me IT called him to help me, I scowl.

  “I seriously think your face is going to fall off if you continue to do that.” He smirks and closes the door behind him. “Thought you were in Archives all day?” he says, looking me over.

  “I was.” I wasn’t. That is a lie I told everyone because I heard he was looking for me again. I know anybody else would have been willing and able to help him, so I made myself scarce.

  “Well Miss Thing if you hadn’t been trying to avoid me you would have known that the problems you’re experiencing are because you signed into a bad network. I have everybody’s running nicely.”

  Miss Thing. Since when am I Miss Thing?

  I narrow my eyes at him and decide not to engage in this foolishness today. I am in no mood.

  “Can you fix it?” I ask him with a fake smile. He looks at me like he knows something about me I don’t know.

  “I’ll fix it if I can get you to commit to helping me for a few hours later in the week.”

  “Why me? So you can continue to taunt me with stuff you know isn’t true?” I give him a pointed stare.

  “No. I think we’re all too busy for that, don’t you?”

  “Yes, we are…all of us are busy. Me in particular. Ask someone else.”

  “No…I want you,” he answers, and I really hate the way my body reacts when he says that.

  “Why me?”

  “Mac said I should ask you because you helped him with his files. To put everything on the database I want it done as smooth as possible.”

  Okay, that makes sense.

  “You look a little disappointed,” he notes with a slight tilt to his head. Those blue eyes of his sparkle.

  My frown deepens. “Why would I be disappointed?”

  He walks around to me and I’m aware of the closeness. It’s too close, so close I can smell the alluring hint of his aftershave. It’s musky and very masculine, just like him.

  “Maybe you wanted me to want you for other reasons.” He chuckles.

  “Oh my God, you are like two different people! What are you even saying to me right now?” I know what he’s saying to me but it’s the fact that he’s saying it and the fact that my cheeks are red, and I can feel a blush creeping into them.

  He smiles; you can tell this is a guy who’s used to getting what he wants, because he has no boundaries.

  To my horror he raises his hand and with his index finger he touches my cheek and traces over my skin in one distinct line.

  “If you want me to believe you really can’t stand me, try not to blush so much when I’m around.”

  My throat has gone dry, my body hot from the way he’s looking at me. Hot from the spark of chemistry that flickers inside me, making me feel like I’ve been standing too close to the sun.

  He’s standing too close to me. Instantly something I can’t quite explain comes over me. I don’t know what it is but I know I shouldn’t feel it for him.

  It scares me and angers me at the same time, because I’ve never met anybody I had such a strong reaction to. Like if he moves just a little closer and kisses me, I’d let him.

  The dimple in his left cheek deepens when he sees my reaction, but he moves away.

  “So, what’s your answer?”

  I shake my head because I’m angry at myself for dropping my guard and looking so transparent. Angry at myself for the reaction I have to him. “No, I’ll write down some guidance notes.”

  He laughs and moves away. I stand up quickly.

  “Where are you going? You’re supposed to help me.”

  “I won’t help you if you won’t help me,” he simply says.

  “That’s crazy! I said I would write guidance notes.”

  “You know that shit won’t work and will take me twice as long.” He gives me a smug smile. “Ohhh…I get it, my mistake. I seem to be far too young for you. I need to be at least twenty years older, gray hair, and the title of ‘doctor’ in front of my name instead of lieutenant. And write with a classy pen. Maybe you’ll help me then.”

  He smirks and leaves.

  I growl. I’ve had enough of this from him. He’s taken it too far now.

  Maybe I should have skipped today. Frustrated and feeling like I want to break something, I pick up my cup and launch it at the door.

  It was supposed to hit the door.

  It didn’t.

  It hit Dylan as he came back to continue his tirade.

  He needed stitches. The damn mug hit him on the bone of his brow and Dylan needed stitches.

  I feel so bad. I thought I felt horrid this morning, but that was nothing.

  Last night with Wade, even as I watched him leave hating me, was nothing in comparison to how I feel now.

  I’m sitting in the waiting room, waiting for Dylan to come out from seeing the doctor on call, who’s stitching him up.

  I’m probably the last person he’ll want to see when he gets out, but I’m here.

  I was the one who messaged Mac, even though I am certain the other women who came to his rescue must have contacted him too.

  When they heard the cursing then saw the blood pouring from his head I had no choice but to confess to what I’d done.

  I couldn’t have felt like more of a fool as I explained how I accidentally hit him with my coffee cup with him whining about how I’ve had it in for him from day one. And how can someone accidentally throw a cup at someone, so I must have meant it.

  As if I knew he was going to come back in the room.

  I’m sitting here very aware that this is now strike three and it’s serious. It’s assault.

  It could be classed as such and if it is I don’t know what I’ll do.

  I can’t see him taking it easy on me and I can imagine Mac being very disappointed in me. Very, very disappointed because I’ve been acting like a child since last week.

  I’m supposed to be this sensible woman. Here I am, frequently losing my temper, exercising poor judgment, and just being rude.

  None of those are me. I can’t use the excuse of having a bad three years to justify everything. There’s going to come a point where I start to get on people’s nerves or where I start doing fucked up shit like this.

  I shouldn’t have thrown the cup. No normal person would just pick up a cup and throw it at the wall. Dylan just made me so mad at the time, I lost my head.

  The door opens and he steps out.

  When his gaze lands on me I stand quickly. He scowls, and I feel worse.

  * * *

  He has the stitches but also a little Band-Aid over the line. He still looks good even though the area is black and blue.

  “Dylan, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hit you. I swear I didn’t.”

  I didn’t think it was possible to feel worse but I do when he just glares at me and walks away in silence.

  Dylan

  I don’t think I’ve ever come across a chick that had it in for me like her. Never have I come across a woman that looks so harmless and has the ability to switch.

  She accused me of being two different people, but it’s her. One is the normal version she portrays as a doctor, usually a person of good standing. Then there is the crazy side that I’ve had the misfortune of running into three times now.

  Believe me, I’ve learned my lesson for sure. I won’t be going anywhere near the woman ever again.

  No matter what the hell she looks like.

  I’ll keep my distance far, far away.

  So she can apologize all she wants. I just keep walking.

  I leave to go home for the day. My head aches and there is no way I can go back to staring at computer screens with my head feeling like this.

  Later that night she came by the house and Mac ripped into her. He didn’t speak to her like she worked for him. It was more the case that he was disappointed in her.

  The last time I h
eard him go on that badly with anyone was with Luke after he’d been caught smoking pot behind the gym at school.

  That was so long ago, I don’t know how I remember it. It makes me take note that he probably does treat her more like his daughter than his mentee. And it’s the only reason why I decide I won’t be taking any sort of legal action like I know she fears I will.

  What I will do is keep a low profile for the next few days.

  I had my first physical therapy appointment that went well. It was just to meet me and do x-rays. I have to go back tomorrow for a further follow-up appointment to discuss the treatment plan.

  I got to the doctor’s office about ten minutes ago and was seen right away.

  “Lieutenant Taylor, I have a mixture of news for you,” Dr. French explains as I sit in the chair before him.

  Mixture of news? I don’t like the sound of that at all.

  “Okay, I’m all ears.”

  “Well, the culprit is a very delicate nerve. Most often everything heals up; when it doesn’t it presents itself like a version of sciatica but it’s not.”

  I knew I wasn’t going to like the sound of that.

  “What can I do?”

  “There’s two choices. The first is what I always recommend, which is the physical therapy as planned. In those sessions we’ll work on strengthening the muscles of your hip and leg. That is the best we can do. We’ll also give you medication for the nerve. It should continue to heal but it’s going to take time. Eventually you won’t feel the pain, like you do now, after periods of exertion. How long that will be is entirely out of my control. The other option is surgery. But you’ll most likely be in a wheelchair for the next ten to twelve months. The healing for that is going to be longer. I recommend that in more severe cases, or where the healing is taking longer than we generally anticipated.”

  I release a ragged sigh and shake my head. There’s no way I’m going with the second option.

  “I can’t do the second. My career…” I say, and as the words fall from my mouth I feel like it’s all already over. “With the first option, what are the chances of me returning to work in six months?”

  He brings his hands together and looks me over. “I can’t say much, Lieutenant Taylor. These sorts of instances are unpredictable. Anything to do with the nerves is unpredictable. All we can do is try the treatment and see what happens at the time. The problem is your leg has been left weakened from the bullet wound. The damage to the muscle is what we’re up against. It’s important we work with your body to heal the injury properly.”

  I nod, showing I understand because I know that part, but it’s not with understanding in the sense that I accept it.

  I’m not stupid.

  This is all me hoping here.

  It’s all me hoping for a damn miracle I might not get.

  Fuck.

  “Okay, thanks. I appreciate the info.”

  “No worries. So if you’re good to go I’d like to see you next week for three appointments. We’ll start with that and then minimize or increase the sessions if needed.”

  “Yes that sounds fine.” I planned to be at the hospital all week next week but I’ll arrange my days. My contract there is flexible so I’m there when I can be.

  I leave the office with a heavy heart and head to the park I used to go to when I needed to think.

  I just need a little break from everything and everyone.

  I need to think about what I’m doing and what I will do. It’s times like this when I would call Paul but I don’t think he needs me and my shit today.

  I don’t even know if I can deal. It’s like fighting a battle and you have no idea what the outcome will be.

  If I can’t go back to the Marines then there won’t be anything I can do about it.

  I was raging mad when I was first discharged but I actually do understand the truth of the situation.

  I’m injured and not fit for active duty. Not fit for work.

  That is the truth of the matter. It is what it is and I can’t change that.

  It’s just the first time in my life that I’ve felt so useless.

  No, scratch that…

  I correct myself as I look across the park and see the beautiful young woman I used to see all the time. She’s chasing her one-year-old son as he runs after a dog. She always wanted a Labrador back in high school.

  She got one now.

  Allison looks the same as she always did. I’m about thirty feet away so I can see just enough to notice that she looks the same. Same long black hair, same smile, same graceful, swanlike shape.

  A man rushes up to her and picks up the boy and I notice something on her face that I never saw when she was with me.

  True happiness.

  That’s the only way I can describe the expression on her face, and it amplifies when he moves to kiss her.

  I stand up and as she steps away; our eyes lock for a few seconds. Just long enough for her to register that it’s me.

  She takes a step like she’s going to come over to me but I turn and walk away.

  It’s best to. I’m happy for her. It’s not that I’m hung up on the past and what we had and didn’t have.

  I just don’t want to feel worse than I already do.

  Mac went fishing with Chad so I have the place to myself for the rest of the weekend.

  I plan to be the hobo Marc accused me of, and do nothing. It’s Sunday night and I’m just going to sit in the living room and watch TV.

  I’ve chosen a Jackass marathon on MTV and Jonny Knoxville has definitely been able to blow my mind with his antics on the show.

  What interrupts me is the house phone ringing.

  I can’t remember the last time I heard a phone ring like that in a house because everyone has cell phones.

  At the hospital the phones ring in that digital sort of tone that makes it sound businesslike. But this is an old-fashioned ring like the phones back in the day.

  Mac hates his cell phone and favors his pager. Looks like he favors the house phone too.

  I get up to answer it. It’s in the hallway between the kitchen and the dining room.

  I answer and hear sobbing.

  “Hello?” I say, and narrow my gaze when the sobbing gets louder.

  “Mac, I’m so sorry to disturb you at this hour.”

  It’s Abby…

  I tense when I hear her voice, but the sobbing makes me cool off.

  “Mac, I’m sorry about the whole thing with Dylan. I really am. Please can you help me?” She continues to babble and I swear it sounds like she’s drunk.

  “Abby, Mac’s not here. This is Dylan.”

  “Oh no…I’m sorry, I’ll just go.”

  “No, wait,” I say quickly. I’m probably shooting myself in the foot for going back on my word to avoid her, but she said she needs help. “What’s going on?”

  “I think I drank too much. I don’t know where my car is and I lost my handbag. My purse was inside and my phone. I can’t remember the way home. I can barely stand up.” She starts crying again. “Yours was the only number I remember.”

  Great.

  “Where are you?”

  “In a phone box in a club.”

  “Abby can you be a little more specific than that? What’s the name of the club?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What can you see?”

  “Strippers.”

  I bring my hand to my head. This chick…she alone will be the death of me. There’s plenty of strip clubs in town. I know, having been a patron of most in my younger days.

  “Abby what are you doing in a strip club?”

  “I needed some water and the man at the door let me inside.”

  I wanted to ask if she couldn’t have gone anywhere else but think better of it.

  Clearly I am going to have to get her. I am going to have to go rescue her because I can’t leave her in a strip club.

  I think for a moment, and something comes to my mind.

/>   “Abby, can you see any logos anywhere? Like on the glasses or on the walls?”

  She sobs for a few seconds and then I hear a little gasp. “There’s a scorpion. Looks like my horoscope sign.”

  I sigh with relief. She’s at the Scorpio.

  “Okay, stay right there. I’ll come and get you.”

  “But you hate me,” she points out.

  “We’ll talk about that later.”

  “Okay.”

  She hangs up and I set the phone back on the receiver.

  At least coming home has been less than boring. This woman alone has been an adventure.

  I did hear something about Scorpios being quite adventurous.

  Never knew that was true until I met her.

  Four fucking hours later sees me back at Mac’s with her.

  I’ve had to hoist her over my shoulder caveman-style because she wouldn’t get out of the car, and demanded that I take her home.

  I would have loved to if she could remember where she lived.

  I swear I drove around the whole of Chicago trying to find her house. She had no memory and I had enough of playing the guessing game with her.

  She is completely wasted. Can’t remember how much she drank and can’t remember much else either.

  I need to sleep tonight so I’ve literally grabbed her kicking and screaming.

  “I want to go home! You can’t kidnap me. I have to work tomorrow.” I make the mistake of glancing out the corner of my eye at the smooth curve of her lush ass next to my face.

  We walk into the house and I close the door. Her legs don’t stop and neither does her fully rounded ass.

  She only stops twerking against my cheek when I set her down on the sofa.

  Because she’s been moving around like an animal her hair is all wild and messy like she’s been rolling in around in a barn, or…in bed.

  “I want to go home,” she wails, and those wild green eyes stare me down.

  She gets up to move and I rush to pin her down.

  “Jesus Christ woman, what the fuck is wrong with you?” I bellow. “I’ve traveled all corners of the earth, been to war, and I swear that you are strangest person I’ve ever met in my life, annoying as fuck. Sleep, or just stop for a few hours, sleep off whatever shit you had to drink, and I’ll take you home in the morning.”