by Harlow Stone
I’m not angry at Ryder. I’m not angry with my life at the moment. I’m angry because I had to share what I did with him, and regardless of the circumstances I hope he doesn’t view me in a different light. That thought alone pisses me off because normally I live life by the rule that I won’t give two fucks what other people think of me. Now, all I worry about is if he sees me as weak and helpless.
I lived for three days with someone viewing me as weak, and I never want to feel that way again. I don’t want someone to think they need to look after me. I don’t want Ryder to become some vigilante and get a wild hair avenging my attack and almost death.
I want a clean break from it all. I need a clean break from it all. I want to find the other person responsible, and as much as I once wished death upon that person, at the moment I’d settle for him to spend life in jail.
It’s funny how our perceptions change after people touch our lives in a positive manner. As pissed as I was at Ryder for his outburst and the words he said, I know at the heart of it he still lives his life to protect people.
I know at this moment, throwing punches with the gorgeous man in front of me, that people come into our lives for a reason, and there’s always a lesson to be learned, some sort of wisdom passed on. Be it good or bad.
I know even if things don’t work out with Ryder, I’ll forever be thankful for his help. If I find out he’s been hiding something from me, I’ll still say thank you and move on. Perhaps that’s what his lesson will be to me through the friendship we’ve had; learning to move on. Although I don’t believe I’ll ever fully recover from losing my family, I can move forward from the attack and hopefully prevent someone else being harmed in the process.
“Fuck,” I mutter when I catch a blow to the chest, courtesy of Denny.
The tall Viking of a man wipes the sweat off his brow before placing his gloved hands on his hips.
“Lost your head there for a minute.”
He’s not upset about it, judging by the smirk on his face.
“That I did,” I say as I scrub my hands over my face, silently scolding myself for once again letting thoughts of the past and thoughts of Ryder mess up my game.
“We’ve been at this long enough Elle. I’m not sure whether you need one of those protein boost smoothies over there, or a beer at O’Dooles. You pick.”
The smart decision would be the smoothie, but after today a beer sounds a hell of a lot better.
“Beer it is, big man. I need twenty for a shower first.”
Denny takes his gloves off and shoves them in his gym bag before slinging it over his shoulder.
“Me too. Meet you in the parking lot when I’m done.”
I grab my own gym bag and head toward the shower at the back of the room.
“Sounds good.”
* * *
I make my way down the stairs toward the exit. My shower was quick. I’m thankful it’s like my own and when I rented the room exclusively for myself, I stocked the shower and bathroom with some of my essentials.
I dressed in the same clothing I wore to the gym. High black boots, black tights, long black top and a plum scarf. All the rest of my armor is in place as I push the door open into the parking lot.
Denny is waiting beside a black suburban, which is parked a few spots down from my BMW.
“You want to walk down? It’s only a block away.”
I nod my head as I unlock my vehicle.
“Sure, just let me toss my bag in the truck then I’m good to go.”
I put my gym bag on the passenger seat and double check my messenger style purse.
Gun?
Check.
Nothing else really matters, so I lock up and fall into step beside Denny. The silence stretches, but it’s not uncomfortable. I sense Denny is not big on pointless conversation either and that pleases me.
“It shouldn’t be busy at this time of night, just let me know when you’re ready to leave and I’ll walk you back.”
“Thanks Denny.”
It’s a mild night, and I’m thankful that I put my bird’s nest in a giant messy knot on top of my head, allowing the small breeze to cool my neck after our workout. I’d feel better without the scarf, but my comfort is not the most important thing when venturing out in public.
Denny opens the door and allows me to enter first. My initial take on O’Dooles is ‘homey’. There are a lot of dark wood, worn in benches and a twenty-foot bar with padded black bar stools. The pub is long and narrow. The bar runs a good portion of the left side, and there are many booths and tables along the right. The end wall is made up of a small stage with a dance floor in front of it. All of it looks worn in. All of it makes me feel at ease.
This place almost reminds me of Frank’s back home, only the majority of the clientele here are dressed in camouflage. There are about a dozen men in here and I notice a flock of Gingers near an old jukebox at the back, and a few other stragglers near the bar.
Tits out, thong straps visible.
Classy, ladies. Classy.
Denny gestures to the bar but I angle my head toward the booth, not wanting my back to all of these unknown people.
He glances around before making his way over to a booth that’s about midway in the pub. I sit with my back facing the door, more interested in being able to see the patrons.
The booth is nice, dark burgundy leather and ebony stained wood. It’s warm enough to be inviting, and dark enough that I fit right in.
I notice a waitress leaving a table near the back and put my hand up, signaling for service. Her eyes roam past me as if I didn’t just ask for a goddamn drink. She begins stomping toward the bar and goes to grab her tray off the top, moving her eyes back to my table. As soon as she notices my good looking companion, she adds a mighty sway to her bony ass (if that’s possible) and plasters a wide grin on her face.
She’s the only waitress I can see at the moment, so I’m not sure if her clothing is mandatory. Her top barely holds her fake tits in. It’s bright pink and matches her nails. Her black skirt is barely visible underneath the apron she has on and her bleached blonde hair completes the ensemble.
Maybe she’s a nice person, and I shouldn’t judge too quickly. Maybe she’s a single mother and this is the dress code for the establishment. Maybe she has no choice but to work here in order to put food in her children’s mouths.
I reign in my bitch factor a few notches and wait until she gets to our table. The whole ‘hips swaying, big smile’ act for Denny could be because he’s a very good tipper.
Miss skinny finally makes it to our table. She puts her tray under her arm and her hand on Denny’s shoulder.
“Hello stranger, long time no see.”
Denny visibly cringes and shrugs her hand off his shoulder.
“I’ll take an MGD, Elle?”
She looks offended he didn’t join in on her mild banter, and moves her eyes to mine.
“I’ll take the same.”
She jots them down on the notepad resting on her tray in case she forgets the complicated order, and turns her eyes back toward Denny.
“You haven’t been here in a while. Maybe we should get that drink sometime soon if you’re back in town.”
I watch as she runs her pointy fingernail down the sleeve of Denny’s shirt, jutting her pointy hip out in an effort to look enticing. It fails considerably seeing as not only is he sitting at the table with another woman, she should be inquiring about an extra meal or two, not a drink.
“I told you we weren’t having drinks Shannon. Not before, not now.”
She takes her hand off of his arm and cocks her head to the side.
“It’s Shawna!”
Denny leans back into his side of the booth and looks at her directly before speaking.
“I’ll be blunt. You’ve fucked Finn, Maverick and Hunter. They’re like my brothers, so no. We will not be having that drink anytime soon. But while you’re searching for your next victim, you can bring me mine.”
>
“You’re such a fucking asshole Denny Black. I don’t even know why I tried.”
Denny shakes his head.
“Neither do I.”
She stomps off toward the bar without looking back. I look over at Denny with a small smirk of my own. I take in his white Henley and massive form. Can’t blame that girl for trying.
“You know, as much as I enjoyed watching that encounter, I sure as fuck hope you didn’t just earn me spit in my beer.”
Denny leans his elbows down on the table.
“She doesn’t have the balls darlin’, and this is the usual around here with most of the waitresses.”
“Didn’t picture you as the type of man to turn a woman down.”
Denny looks back at me with piercing, serious eyes before he speaks in his usual low and deep voice.
“I like women Elle, most men do. But when those women have already spread their legs for half the men you work with, and the majority of this bar, well let’s just say they’re not my type.”
Two beers get slammed down on the table in front of us before Denny speaks up again.
“Keep ‘em comin’.”
She stomps off and I can’t help the small chuckle escaping my mouth. I take a long swig of my beer and relish the cool bubbles as they make their way down my throat. I may love my vino, but a cold beer after a long day is a thing of beauty.
I glance at Denny and notice him staring at me. It doesn’t make me uncomfortable, but I hate to be stared at, especially when I worry if one of the marks on my body has become noticeable. I adjust my scarf and clear my throat in preparation to speak.
“How long did you work for Brock before you came out here?”
Denny too takes a long pull from his beer before beginning to peel at the label. Not a sign of insecurity, but a sign he doesn’t want to reveal too much in what he has to say. His beautiful blue eyes glance up into mine.
“Brock and I basically started Fist together. He was more into it than I was. I enjoyed it, don’t get me wrong, but I knew I wanted something more. So, after about five years I made the trip east and hooked up with Callaghan.”
I nod my head, not sure which way I want this conversation to go. I sense that I could sit here in silence and Denny would be totally okay with that, but at the same time I crave to know him a little better.
Deciding the best way to get someone else to reveal something about themselves is to share a bit of your own history, I press on.
“Brock was an awesome teacher, and a good person. I’m glad I found him.”
Denny stares off into space for a few moments before agreeing.
“He’s a good friend, won’t steer you wrong. I have to say, I was surprised when he called me about you. Brock has never done one on one with women outside of the self-defense classes. Tell me, how did you get him to swing that one?”
The beer, going down rather well, is now empty. I push the bottle to the side of the table, signaling for another before I answer him.
“I swung that one after I left him with a bloody nose in the fetal position, holding his balls like they would’ve fallen off.”
A deep, boisterous laugh graces my ears. It’s a head thrown back, full on belly laugh. In this moment I realize I’m becoming obsessed with male laughter, or perhaps laughter in general seeing as I haven’t had a good laugh of my own in close to two years.
I can feel a small bit of wetness coating my eyes, not from anger, but from a happiness that still resides somewhere deep inside me. I look up to clear them and slowly bring my eyes back down to Denny’s. He’s staring at me, not like he was before, but with a small sadness in his eyes.
“Don’t get out much, do ya darlin’?”
I hear the mild slam of a bottle next to me and grab the fresh brew, taking a sip and contemplating what to say.
“I’m not much of a people person.”
I give him a small, pathetic smirk before returning to the bottle.
I’m good at that.
Denny’s wide torso leans forward and he rests his forearms on the table, leaning in closer as the music has gotten a little louder.
“Chicken caesar or a burger? It’s the only shit that’s worth eating here at this time of night, and I’m starving.”
Trying to lighten the mood, I crack a joke.
“Damn Denny, had I have known you were going to invite me to dinner I would’ve dressed my best, and maybe put in a little more effort than a ten minute scrub.”
This earns me a big toothy grin, and his teeth are perfect.
“Ten minute or five minute darlin’, I think you’re the cleanest woman in this hole.”
I return the grin.
“Or you could rephrase that, after your description of the women earlier I think I could accurately describe myself as the cleanest ‘hole’. And I’ll take a burger.”
This earns me another deep belly laugh before he flags down a younger girl cleaning tables. I’m assuming there’s no dress code since she’s casually dressed in black pants and a short sleeve black top (tits completely covered).
“Hey sweetheart, can we get two burgers.”
The sweet younger girl pulls a pad out of her apron. I’m guessing she’s maybe eighteen. Cute, long brown hair and very petite.
“Sure. Everything on them?”
Denny nods his head and gestures toward me.
“Everything but onions, and a side of gravy for the fries please.”
She nods and scurries her little body back through the kitchen door.
“She seems a little young to be working in here.”
“Ya, her father was the owner. He died on a mission overseas. She and her mother mostly look after the place. Callaghan knows them; he introduced us to this place. The regular waitresses are shit, but so long as the family running the place keeps the doors open, food will be on the tables.”
I lose myself in thought for a moment, knowing exactly how that young girl feels, losing someone so close to you.
“Want another?”
Denny’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts.
I eye my now two empty beer bottles on the table, knowing if I drink much more I won’t be able to drive home.
“I do, but first I need to ask how hard it’ll be to get a taxi back home?”
“They won’t get busy until after one in the morning around here. They’ll also mostly do town runs.”
“I take it you’ve had to use the service a time or two? Brock said you guys were most likely on a bender while you were off for the week. Do you all live around here?”
“No. Ryder is the farthest. I actually rented a place between here and there. About ten minutes out.”
That means he’s not even ten minutes from the little cove that Ryder and I live in.
“Well then, bring on the beer. Taxi it is.”
Chapter Twelve
“I’m impressed, didn’t expect you to pack back that plate, Elle.”
I wipe off the leftover gravy, and whatever else accumulated on my face on my napkin.
“I’m not about the salad, Denny Black.”
I’m about six beers in now. I’m not drunk, but definitely feeling good. I feel safe having a few, or many beers in public with Denny. I know already he wouldn’t let anything happen to me.
“Not salad?”
I shake my head in mock exasperation before continuing.
“Nope. How many women have you had to dinner who only ordered salad?”
Denny pauses to think for a moment.
“A lot,” he says so seriously I can’t help but laugh a bit, mostly due to the beer.
“Ha! Yes, and then she goes home and gorges on potato chips and ice cream, trying to make up for the lack of protein and carbohydrates in her meal. I’m not salad. I like it, but I’d rather just eat what I want to eat and not give two fucks what you think about me while I do it.”
Blue eyes stare back at mine.
One,
Two,
Three.
“You’re not salad.”
He gets it.
“I need to hit the lady’s.”
Denny sits, slightly stunned. Suddenly realizing that perhaps his previous encounters with women all failed because they couldn’t bring themselves to simply be themselves on a date. Not that I think Denny really dates, but I’m sure he doesn’t go home to a cold bed every night.