CHAPTER TEN
Simon
Later that weekSimon sat in a booth at the bakery café he favored, studying a very nervous Darren.
The poor guy looked like he was trying to sink into the seat, making himself as small as possible. Shoulders slumped and head bowed, he twisted his hands in his lap and wouldn’t meet Simon’s gaze. Even his clothes looked like they were trying to disappear, the muted beige tones of the plain T-shirt almost blending with his pale skin.
The server chose that moment to arrive with their drinks, and Simon was grateful to have something to focus on. Darren seemed relieved, too, grasping his cup of steaming coffee between his palms like it was a lifeline.
The coffee was hot and fragrant, with just a hint of bitterness. Simon sighed with pleasure. It was his first cup of coffee for the day and well overdue. He’d left home early to do some errands before his arranged meeting with Darren, and caffeination hadn’t been high on his list of priorities. More important had been getting to the garage to pick up his newly repaired car. Then this meeting with Darren. Then getting home to Patrick.
“It’s good,” he said, indicating the coffee and smiling at Darren, trying to put the young guy at ease.
Darren nodded, still looking uncomfortable, but his lips turned up at the corners slightly and some of the tension left his eyes. Darren took another sip and put down his cup. “I guess we should talk about the boxing then?”
No small talk, straight to the chase.Simon put his own mug on the table. “Sure. So, have you done any boxing before?”
Darren shook his head, the bounce of his auburn curls emphasizing the action. “No.”
“What about fitness? Do you do any regular activity?”
This time Darren gave a small nod. “Running.” Simon took in his lean, lanky frame, what could be seen above the table anyway. If he’d had to guess, running would have been his assumption. Darren was slim, almost bordering on too thin, but he did have some musculature on his exposed biceps. His khaki shorts, visible when he’d entered the coffee shop, had given a glimpse of slim but defined calves. “Not every day, but I try to get out a few times a week.”
“That’s good. Aerobic fitness is important.” Simon thought for a moment. “We’ll start slow, just some basic moves and get you familiar with the sport.” He sipped the hot coffee as Darren nodded. “It would help if you told me your goal, exactly what it is you’re trying to achieve.”
“What do you mean? Goal? I just want to learn.” Darren’s cup rattled as he put it back on the saucer.
“Why boxing? Is it just for the fitness? To build strength? What are you looking to get out of it?”
Darren fidgeted with the sugar stirrer and mumbled toward his lap, “I want to be able to defend myself. Not be such a weakling.”
Somehow that revelation didn’t surprise Simon; he’d expected something was troubling the shy young man. He reached across and touched Darren’s pale hand where he twisted the stick, halting his movement. Darren wrenched his hand out from under Simon’s as he looked up and met his gaze.
“How about you tell me the reason you want to do boxing?”
Darren tilted his head and he raised his voice. “Ididtell you. I want to learn to stand up for myself.” Pinkness suffused his cheeks and he glanced down again, obviously embarrassed at his short outburst.
“Hey,” Simon said, and waited until he had Darren’s full attention again. “I guess I need to rephrase the question. Why do you want to be able to defend yourself?”
Simon had a feeling he wouldn’t like the answer but he knew he had to ask. He wanted Darren to reply with something generic like wanting to be stronger, wanting to enjoy knowing he could physically match anyone, a general interest in the skills. What he didn’t want to hear was the answer he got.
Darren’s voice was barely a whisper. “I don’t want to be a punching bag anymore.”
Oh, fuck!
Simon felt sick to his stomach. He didn’t know what to say, sure anything he said would be inadequate, but he spoke from the heart. “I’m so sorry, Darren. So sorry that someone would do something like that to you. Is it—”
“No!” Darren’s eyes were stricken. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“But—”
“Don’t ask me any more questions. Honestly, I’ve said too much already.” Darren’s voice was low and he looked around the interior of the café, which was full of families and small groups of students. From the fear in Darren’s eyes as his gaze darted around the room, you’d think they were surrounded by gang members in a dark alley, not enjoying a coffee in a bright and airy café. When he finally looked back at Simon, his eyes shone with wetness.
Simon reached across and put his hand over Darren’s again. This time Darren allowed the touch. “It’s okay. I won’t ask you anything else. You don’t have to say any more.”
Darren nodded, blinking back the tears. Simon passed him a napkin, and Darren swiped aggressively at his face. “Thank you,” he finally said.
“I just want you to know that I’m always here if you want to talk to someone. Or if you need somewhere safe to go. You can always come to me.”
