Though the desire to avoid this whole conversation is present, I push it away in favor of wanting to be honest. Lies and deceit will get you nowhere in the end, anyway. There’s something about Dylan that makes me think he feels the same way. “You want the truth?” I ask just to be sure, but it’s also more of a warning. Dylan nods as he takes another swig of his beer. “It’s not like a mid-life crisis or anything like that, but I guess you can say that I’m not really where I’d like to be right now.”
“How’s that?”
“You said it yourself earlier. I was supposed to be a world champion MMA fighter. And now,” I pause, swallowing back my beer, letting the difference between reality and what was supposed to be reality settle in. “I’m just a small business owner.”
“I wouldn’t say ‘just.’ Owning your own gym is a huge thing. Was it a lifelong goal?” Dylan leans back comfortably against the arm of the chair, tucking one leg under his body. Everything about his body language is relaxed and calm. Where I initially thought there was anger and angst, I’m now seeing interest and concern. It’s enough not only to put me at ease around him, but to trust him as well. That’s something I haven’t been able to do since before Austin.
“Not really. It was more of a what’s-the-best-option-now kind of thing.” Okay, fine. It’s an honest response, but not necessarily the whole story. The crooked look Dylan shoots me from across the sofa lets me know he’s thinking the same thing. “You really don’t know why I don’t fight anymore?”
Dylan shakes his head. He stretches his arm across the back of the sofa where my arm is resting. Gently, but surely, he squeezes my forearm. Our eyes meet and the soft golden flecks in his sapphire eyes let me know that I can tell him. “Even if you would have looked on Google, you wouldn’t have found anything.” My admission makes his hand freeze on my arm. The tender strokes stop as he keeps his eyes locked on mine.
Not giving him any time to ask for any clarification, I continue when his face softens and his hand returns to its movements. “My agent, who I paid a good deal of money, covered everything up.”
“What exactly did he cover up?” Dylan asks skeptically, but not fearfully.
“It was after a late night training session. My bike was parked in the back of the gym, but you had to walk down a short alley in order to get there. I still had my headphones in, so I was slow in reacting.” Having kicked myself so many times for that stupid error on my part, I’d like to say that I’m finally okay with it, but then I’d be lying. Mimicking his position, I fold a leg under my body and lean back on the arm of the sofa. After one last chug of my beer, I set the empty bottle down on a magazine on the coffee table.
“Reacting to what?” Dylan’s voice is different from a moment ago. There’s more tension there.
“Rachel’s asshole boyfriend. He’d gotten a little rough with her a few times. She kept telling me that everything was okay – you know, the standard excuses, but after she showed up at my apartment with a red welt on her face, I’d had enough. He wasn’t all that pleased when I showed up to his office to pay him a visit. Since he was some high powered sales exec he thought it made him look bad.” A flippant laugh slides out of my tightly clenched jaw. “As far as I’m concerned, he would have looked a lot worse if I was less restrained.”
“You lost your contract, didn’t you? After you beat him up?”
“I didn’t lay a finger on him. I’ve never used my strength anywhere outside of the gym or the octagon,” I clarify, giving him a pointed look. “Let’s just say I had a few choice words about what Iwoulddo if he ever came near Rachel again. I must’ve scared him enough, because for a few weeks he left her alone, lulled us both into a false sense of everything being over and done with. And when I wasn’t looking, he and a few of his friends took me out in that back alley behind the gym. All because I had my stupid headphones on and didn’t hear them.” Dylan squeezes my arm and silently prompts me to continue. This is heavy shit for a first date, but part of me is relieved to have it off my chest. “His friends pinned me down. Took three of them to do the job. Caleb, Rachel’s ex, got in one-too-many punches to my head. The final straw was when he slammed my skull against the concrete.”
Tracing my finger over the scar that starts at my temple and travels around the curve of my head, I turn slightly allowing him to see where it ends at the base of my neck. “They told me I wouldn’t be able to walk again, let alone fight. I didn’t want Rachel to have to deal with the fallout or to feel guilty over what had happened, so I covered it up.”
Dylan sits up straighter, runs a hand over his hard, scruff-covered jawline and shoots me a disbelieving look. “But what about the cops and all the legal stuff? You’re gonna tell me that everything just ‘went away’ simply because your agent waved his magic wand over it all.” Disbelief hangs all around us.
The last part rouses a laugh out of me. “I know it all sounds kind of crazy, and this next part is going to make it sound worse, but I was beaten so badly that I didn’t wake up for a few days and when I did, I couldn’t remember exactly what had happened. There was only one barely operational camera focused on that alley, so all we could surmise was that I had been jumped. By the time my memory came back, I worked it out with my publicist and my agent to leave it as was – MMA fighter jumped, left too injured to fight any more.”
“But what about Rachel? Did you at least tell her?” His tone is angry for her, for the lies he thinks I told.
“Of course I did. She helped me through rehab, cut my food for me when I couldn’t. She told me about my parents being dead and buried when I asked for them, my turned-to-mush brain having forgotten the memory of their joint funeral.” Pinching the bridge of my nose, I stare up at the textured ceiling. Focusing on the light brown water spot in the corner helps me remain in control of my rising emotions. Only the shifting on the couch next to me brings my attention away from its upward gaze.
He’s close, his leg less than an inch away from mine. The heat of his body radiates in pulses against mine, like the distorted waves of heat that rise from the asphalt on a hot summer day. It’s a physical thing, but ethereal and intangible. If I reach for it, for him, I’m certain my hand will simply slice through the mirage.
Dylan moves his arm from mine, placing a hand on each of my thighs, drawing my attention back to his face. “So, in the last two years, you buried your parents, defended your sister’s honor, and got beaten so badly you almost didn’t survive, had to be reminded of your tragic loss, moved away from your only home, started all over again,andopened what’s already a rather successful gym?” One side of his mouth pulls into a playfully lopsided grin. I’m thankful for it as the tension eases.
“Well, when you put it like that,” I laugh
“Put it like what? That’s exactly what happened.” His palms feel like melted silk against my legs; the texture of my jeans feels heavy and gritty against my own skin as he brushes his hand against them. “Don’t give me that look. It is. And to say you’re not where you want to be, well, that’s just, I don’t even know what to say about that. I’d be damn proud of where you’re at if I were you.”
I drop my hand on top of his. “I didn’t think I’d be alone.” A pregnant silence blooms between us before I add, “Since we’re into all the heavy stuff, which is real fun for a first date,” I slide that sarcastic remark in there smoothly, eliciting a laugh from both of us as I do. “I’m not a one-night stand kind of guy. Part of my plan was being married or at least settled down with someone by the time I was thirty. I want what my parents had – house, kids, maybe even a mini-van. People always saw Conner Michelson the MMA fighter. Rough and tough, big talker and all that shit. But at the end of the day, what good is it all if I had no one to share it with?”
Another bubble of silence threatens to consume us before a deep breath puffs out of my lungs. “That’s a lot to take in, huh?”
Dylan laughs and scrubs a hand over his face. “Yeah, I’ll say.” He stands from the couch and walks into the kitchen. Without even asking if I want another one, he grabs two beers from the fridge, twisting the caps off as he returns to his seat on the couch. As he hands me mine, our fingers brush together, the cold sweat on the outside of the bottle serves as the perfect contrast to the heat of our skin. “Thank you for telling me, for trusting me enough, I mean.”
“Guess it must be the whole starting over thing. Moving out here has made me a little more open about it all. Plus, in the few months Rachel and I have been in Elmira, I haven’t been out of the gym or my apartment all that much. You’re the first person I’ve really spent time with outside of Rachel and the construction workers.”
He serves me my words from earlier. “Oh, so I’m just the best of what’s around then?” Dylan jokes, shoving away from me, pretending as if I’ve just insulted him.
I tip back my beer, chugging down a mouthful. Shrugging casually as I scan over his body, I say, “You’ll have to prove it to me that you’re the best. You could just be the eh-okay of what’s around.” The air shifts, crackling under the attempt of my lame joke.
Dylan’s body language morphs. He becomes smoother and more angular all at the same time. His eyes widen and I swear I can see his pulse beating in his neck. The thick bulge of his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he swallows. My eyes travel up his neck, and stop on his lips. I’m jealous of them as his tongue slips out of his mouth and licks the full and plump lower lip.
My mouth goes dry and my pants get suddenly tight. My blood pounds so hard in my ears I can hear it, feel it flowing through my veins like the tsunami of desire I feel everywhere else in my body.
