Battlescars (5 page)

Class was over forty minutes later. Though she still got some looks of interest as everyone prepared to leave, most of the students were already thinking of other things. Kayla neatly organized and packed up her notes and books before she followed Jasmine and headed for the crowd at the door. Patiently waiting to exit the classroom, Kayla asked Jasmine about her weekend plans and failed to notice that the now-well-rested student who’d napped through class had failed to hold the door, letting it fall closed before Kayla was through it. Jasmine, irritated at the guy’s lack of manners, pulled hard on the door and managed to bump Kayla’s arm in the process. Watching her notes spill from her folder, Kayla sighed as she and Jasmine bent to collect the papers.

When Kayla saw the black shoes step toward her, she knew exactly who had stopped to help her. She lifted her eyes to meet Dyson’s gaze and noticed Jasmine’s jaw hanging open. !

“Careful now,” he said, and gave Kayla and Jasmine the kind of smile that said if he were wearing a hat, he would tip it. “Don’t want to get these out of order.”

Jasmine grinned at Kayla, clearly charmed by Dyson. “Well look who it is,” she said. “Maintenance man to the rescue.” Jasmine leaned over close to Kayla and whispered, “Your boyfriend’s hot.”

Kayla blushed furiously and hoped that Dyson hadn’t over heard her friend.

“Bye now!” Jasmine trumpeted, and everyone turned to look in their direction. That meant everyone saw Kayla on her knees, her face flaming red with embarrassment, while Dyson stood over her with a cocky smile on his face.

“I would like to kill you,” Kayla said softly, and Jasmine laughed as she walked away. Kayla knew Jasmine would give it an hour and then blow her phone up with text messages, wondering who the dude was and how the hell did Kayla find him and did he have a brother she could steal and tell her more, please?

Finally Kayla looked up at Dyson. He offered his hand to help her up. She looked at it for a moment, noticing for the first time the tiny scars that marked his skin. It was a cut here, a cut there – the signs of a man who knew how to fix things, the mark of a man who worked with his hands. She rose to her feet and let go of his hand as soon as she was standing upright.

“Dyson,” she said, trying her best to sound formal. “How are you?”

He had changed out of the navy blue uniform and was now wearing what her mother would have called “street clothes.” He was dressed in comfortable jeans and a t-shirt that had seen better days, but was obviously well loved. He wore a thin gold chain around his neck. The scent of his cologne was just right, and somehow it surprised her: she hadn’t expected a man like Dyson to be wearing cologne that made him smell like some model out of a fashion magazine.

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.

T
he 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.