by Dyan Brown
He finally slows but keeps checking me over for any signs I’ve been hit by a car on my mile-long walk home. My statements don’t fool him, though; he’s taken aback by my tone and frowns at me. Lord, this man reads me like a book.
I roll my eyes. “Fine, I’m not all right. My uncle and I had a big fight. No, I don’t want to talk about it—not now, not later. I’m just really mad right now. Can we please go to the gym so I can pretend the punching bag is my uncle’s face?”
His shoulders relax, and my smirk appears on his perfectly blushed lips. That beautiful smirk makes my anger dissolve, just like that. He says nothing but gives me an understanding nod and opens my door. I guess all men understand the need to fight. I just wish he were as care-providing and attentive with my sexual desires as he is with my fighting needs.
He knew not to talk on the way to the gym. I so love him for that. We go to the kickboxing club down the street from his dojo, and I walk straight to a bag. Grayson changes and then comes to hold the bag for me.
The more I pound the bag, the harder I pound the bag. I alternate sides as my knuckles scream in protest. If it weren’t for my gloves, I’m sure they’d be bloody. After what feels like hours, my body is soaked in sweat, my face is red hot, and my upper body is utterly spent.
I lean my head on the bag and press my knuckles into it. Grayson lets go, and my body sways an inch with the change in weight. A moment later, Grayson’s back at my side with a jumbo-sized bottle of water, condensation running down its sides. It looks so beautiful in my peripheral vision. I nod against the bag, and he unscrews the cap as I remove my gloves.
The icy water is such a glorious contrast to my body temperature. It freezes every inch of my insides on the way down. It’s wonderful—the best feeling I’ve had today.
“Better now?” he asks, speaking for the first time since we were in the parking lot.
It’s nice to have someone who can help you, support you, and yet still give you your space at the same time. Sahra’s face flits through my mind, and I brush it aside. I don’t need any more emotion than what I’m already dealing with right now.
“Some. Thank you.” I’m still gasping between words from the workout and long pulls on the water bottle. “I still don’t want to talk about it.”
“All right. Do you want to rest, run, or spot me on the bag?”
He seems slightly hurt that I still don’t want to talk. Or it’s just the fact that I assumed he’d ask about the fight and he wasn’t going to. Either way, he’s trying to sound chipper to help me, which is sweet. Still, less conversation is probably a good idea at this point. It tears at me not to share things with him. A lie by omission…
“I’ll head upstairs to the track. I don’t mind if you want to run with me, but I still want to jam out a little while longer.”
We normally talk, joke around, and cut up while running together. I’m not trying to be a bitch, even though I feel like it. I just don’t want to start talking, even slightly, about something I can’t open up about all the way. He’ll know I’m holding back.
“No, go run. Honestly, I really want to spar a little.” He’s trying for a half-smile even through a frown.
I gather my things, positive he’s watching my every move, and then head toward the stairs.
“Samantha?”
As I cross in front of him, he puts a hand out in front of my belly, blocking my path. My heart speeds up at the thought of his hand touching me. Just a quarter-inch closer, and he’d graze my stomach. My head is still hanging low, but I look up from the corner of my eye.
“I know what happened between you and your uncle is something you want to keep private, and that’s okay with me. Please don’t forget that whatever you need, I will try to give it to you. Fuck. I have to help you… in any way I can. Whatever the argument was about, I’m on your side. Please don’t forget that.” He grazes my damp shirt as his hand drops, and my belly quivers from the brush.
Holy fuck, I want him so bad, and getting angry has heightened all my emotions. Now he’s trying to go all perfect boyfriend on me?
I breathe deeply, trying to calm the surge of passion, frustration, and irritation now pulsing through different parts of my body. I bite my lip and give him a single nod.
“I will protect you. Whenever—however I can. You are everything to me; you know that, right?”
Well, doesn’t that just take a big ol’ bite out of my frustration? I sigh deeply, letting just how much he cares for me sink in.
“Yes, Grayson. I know and thank you.” I untangle my earbuds nervously in my hands. “Maybe we can do something tomorrow night. A pre-homecoming celebration? Maybe that’ll help me relax and take my mind off things. See if Jay and Abby want to get together. Maybe a few of the other guys. Once y’all get done with the float, of course.”
It’s tradition for each of the sororities and fraternities to decorate a float for the parade. They normally pull all-nighters to finish, but Grayson’s house had been working on theirs for weeks. I don’t know if I’m fooling him or myself with the that’ll help me relax bit, but I have to try.
“Yeah, that sounds great. I can do that.” He smiles solemnly at me. I think he can see I’m trying, but is disappointed I still won’t let him in. “Have a good run, okay?”
He lifts my chin with his knuckle and gives me a small, lingering kiss, and I wonder if it’s supposed to comfort me or show everyone in the place that I’m his. I’ll admit, I find it a turn on when he’s slightly possessive of me. It makes me feel wanted, as if he thinks he could lose me.
I get to the base of the stairs, look back over my shoulder at him, and see that his iPhone is already in hand with furious tapping going on. A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth as I go up the stairs. His need to see me happy pulls at my heart. He’s such a good man. Although we haven’t said it to each other, I think he loves me as much as I do him.
Something almost divine has drawn us together since my first night here—even before that. I let my mind wander as I start at a mild pace around the track. My hard aggression is drained already; now I just need to think of how to fix this tiny little problem of being committed into an asylum.
I was surprised Cedrick didn’t show up on my way home or once I was home, but he’s said before I’m not his only job. I still don’t understand what he meant when he said, ‘Don’t do it.’ Maybe he meant not to throw his training in Carl’s face like I wanted to earlier. When I really need him, he will show, whether I want him to or not. But now…? I roll my eyes.
I need to think of a way to drift without Carl knowing about it, but how? How do I stop a gut feeling? Drug him? I shake my head. Maybe Cedrick can shed some light on my ‘little issue’ when he gets back from whatever he’s doing. I can’t help replaying the last few hours in my mind repeatedly.
By the time I finish my second mile, my anger has returned. I’ve never taken kindly to being threatened or bullied, though until I started training a few months ago, I wasn’t able to do anything about it other than get pissed off. Starting on my last mile, my thoughts drift back to Grayson.
Would he really side with me if he knew the whole truth about what I’m doing at night? Even if I could tell him, would he believe me, or would he drive me to the loony bin himself? His words roll around in my head. “I’m on your side.” As comforting as those words were twenty minutes ago, they start to irk me now.
It takes a lot of faith in someone to believe that something they’re doing, or planning on doing, is for the greater good. Especially when you’ve no hard proof of the validity of your path. I can’t say for sure that Grayson has that much faith in me, enough for him to just trust my word at my say-so and not question my sanity. Hell, I question my own sanity on a daily basis.
I walk my last lap to slow my heart rate, rehydrating as I go. When I get back downstairs, Grayson is in the sparring ring with a guy who dwarfs his own muscular frame. Thank God they’re both safely geared up. I walk over to the benches betwee
n the ring and the bags so I can watch his match.
As I sit, I start scanning the room for auras. It’s not a bad place to start looking to build an army, really. Everyone here is a fighter—or at least training to be. Most people, normal people, have a clear, hazy form around them when I try to see their aura. I’m sure they have color; I just never look deep enough to see it.
The gifted should stand out. I concentrate on one person at a time, focusing on their aura and then moving on to the next. Even though there are mostly men in here, I’m not the only female. There are three others who are here regularly.
The blonde currently running the track has a slight lavender to her aura, but I can only see it in glimpses as she passes around the track and then disappears again. I look to where she’ll come back into my view and concentrate so I can get a better look at her aura, biting my lip as I focus, trying to drown out the noise around me. Guys are always yelling in here; I usually don’t listen, but you can always hear them, even over the music blaring in my ears. Right now is no different, and I do my best to block out their banter.
The blonde should emerge from around the corner any second judging by her pace, so I narrow my eyes to pinpoint my vision on where she’ll be. I see her arm come around first, but just then I’m forced forward as a blow to my back knocks the air from my lungs and pushes me to the floor. The side of my head hits the glazed concrete floor with a bounce. Trying to re-inflate my lungs, I realize that whatever knocked me off the bench is still on top of me, and it’s heavy as hell.
There’s more yelling around me as I try to bring my eyes back into focus. I’m vaguely aware of an apologetic baritone voice rolling off me. As air floods into my lungs like a shockwave, I push up from the cold floor and try to turn on my side. Grayson is already there, gently gripping my arm to help.
When our eyes meet, I can’t believe what I’m seeing. Of its own volition, my mouth is flapping open and shut like a goldfish. I can hear him talking, but the sound is not computing. I can’t stop looking at him. He has the aura of a Divinely Touched! How is that even possible?
Grayson’s aura returns to normal, and I blink my eyes a few times to see if it was just me. I look at his mouth and try to concentrate on his words, but the music is drowning him out. A moment or two later, he removes my earbuds.
“Samantha? Can you hear me?” He puts a towel to my mouth and looks over my shoulder. “We need a medic. She’s bleeding.”
20
I’m what?
I finally notice the metallic taste in my mouth. I must have been biting the inside of my lip when I fell. I mildly notice the bulking, oversized man behind Grayson apologizing as if he’d broken a Fabergé egg. I shake my head at both of them.
“No. No, sweetie. I’m fine. It’s stopped. It’s just my lip.” I wave a hand, trying to dismiss the extremely prompt medic. I’m still in awe at what I saw in Grayson’s aura.
“Yeah, I don’t think so. I saw you fall and how hard you got hit. The medic will be checking you out.” He nods over his shoulder at the dark man wearing the white shirt with a red medical cross on his upper right peck. “Or you’re going to the hospital. Over my shoulder, if I have to.”
Well fuck.
“Fine. He can check me.” I roll my eyes and start to get up, but I am promptly pushed back down by both Grayson and the medic. Moving around to my side, Grayson lets the medic take his position in front of me.
While I begrudgingly comply with the medic’s directions to “look this way” or “look that way,” I’m trying to focus back on Grayson. No matter how hard I concentrate on him, I can’t get his aura to reappear. I’m beyond stunned and kicking myself for not ever trying harder to see it before. I mean, I’d tried, but just like now, I always got nothing. He always looked as colorless as steam.
What happened to make him glow so brilliantly? His aura was such a luminous, bright gold that he looked as if he could’ve been gazing down at me from atop Mount Olympus. If he’d had a white toga and laurel wreath on, I would’ve called him a demigod.
Once the M.E. clears me from having a concussion, Grayson announces we are very much done for the day. I go to the locker room, shower, and change. In a haze of confusion, I try to remember the Gift types and their colors.
The blonde was lavender—that’s the Artisans’ color, the creative ones. I have to remember to find her and strike up a conversation. I know I’ve seen her around campus before. Maybe around the art building? That would make sense.
I shake my head and bring my thoughts back to the Divinely Touched. Cicerones… their auras should be yellow orange for their intelligence and scientific minds. The Samaritans are soft blue for their intuition, and Drifters are royal blue for their clairvoyance and spiritual nature. There was a fifth.
I know there’s a fifth… What’s wrong with me? I knew these backward and forward yesterday.
When we’re back in the truck and I’ve waved off the literal fourth round of ‘Are you sure you’re okay’s, Grayson starts in on our plans for the pre-homecoming ‘day’ I seem to have prompted. Since he and the rest of the frat will be working on the float, it’ll leave Abby and me to ourselves for most of the afternoon.
Yay, an entire day with a girl I don’t know! Sounds super! I try my hardest to hide my eyes rolling at my internal sarcastic remark. I just end up sighing.
“What’s wrong, honey?”
“Nothing, I just don’t know how I’m supposed to entertain Abby all day. I don’t really know her, and… I’m boring.”
Grayson chuckles at me as we pull into the apartment parking lot. “Boring, you are not.”
“Gee, thanks Yoda,” I joke.
He chuckles, pulling into the spot beside my walkway, and puts the truck into park, letting it idle. He unbuckles, turns in his seat to face me, and places his large, warm hand over mine. “You’ve had a rough day, Samantha. Why don’t you just rest? You girls can go to a spa or go shopping or something like that? You know, whatever girly stuff you don’t get to do with me.”
I give him a tight smile, still biting my lip, literally and figuratively. I think sometimes he forgets I don’t have wealthy parents, and that shopping and spa days don’t fit into a normal freshman’s budget. But I nod, trying to remember all the card games I know besides Uno.
Though I do rock at Uno…
Cutting the engine, he slides out of the truck and makes his way to my door. I don’t always let him open my door, but I know he likes doing that kind of stuff so this time I stay put. He holds a hand out to help me down. With little enthusiasm over having to be mobile once again, I grab my bag from the floorboard. Lacing our fingers together, I let him lead me as he closes the door with his other hand.
Walking toward the apartment, Grayson clears his throat. “Maybe April can go with you two. I know she’s not too happy about homecoming this year. Usually it’s a sorority/fraternity event, and I’m sure it all reminds her of getting kicked out of hers last year…” His voice trails off, lost in some memory.
“Why did she get kicked out, anyway? I keep meaning to ask you.”
“She didn’t tell you?”
I shake my head briefly. “No. All she said was something like, ‘Skinny-ass bitches can’t handle shit.’ I figured I’d leave it alone and ask you instead.”
Grayson scoffs at my mimicking. “Well, you know, it’s part of why I’m babysitting this year.” He leans against the stone corner of the building before the entryway to the apartment, and I nod for him to continue.
“April got pretty hammered at the sorority’s annual alumni gala last spring and ended up getting caught…” Clearing his throat again, Grayson shifts uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck as he sometimes does when he feels awkward. “Uh… servicing… an alumna’s husband.”
“Oh!” I grimace for April. “Wow. Eek! And yuck by the way! Wouldn’t the guy be, like, old?” My head jerks back at the thought.
“You know, I didn’t ask. It totally slipped my mind at th
e time, but I’ll be sure to go get the full deets for you ASAP.”
He says it jokingly, but I can tell he’s trying not to turn green all in the same breath.
“Awesome, thank you!” I wink at him, and we both end up giggling. I snuggle against his chest in the cool air as the light starts dying in the west. “I’ve had such a horrible day.”
“I know, baby.” He rubs my back gently. “I’m sorry.”
“Will you stay with me tonight?” Without waiting for an answer, I rush on. “Not to do anything. I just want to keep you with me,” I plead. “Please?” My voice cracks into a whisper on my last word.
I feel his chest rise, and then he lets out an exasperated sigh. “You know I can’t, Samantha.”
His words sting. I start to withdraw my hug, but he stops me, pulling my chin up. I can’t let myself look at him. He draws my waist in closer to his body, and my own body starts to buzz with the surge of energy that exists any time my body leans into his.
How can he not feel this? If he does, how does he resist it?
“Don’t make me feel bad about this. I want to be with you, but it’s just…” He never finishes this sentence. In the last three months, he hasn’t ever told me what led to his feelings of being so absolute about abstinence.
I suck it up. “No, it’s all right. Don’t worry about it. I know you have issues with it.” I finally look up at him after a breath. “But I really do wish you felt like you could tell me why. Nothing can be that bad. I want you to be able to tell me anything.”
Yes, I know how ironic that statement is.
He softly presses his lips to the center of my forehead and wraps his arms around me, sheltering me from the cool night air. The ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you’ is in every stretch of muscle that I’m folded into and every heavy breath that makes my cheek rise and fall as it sits on his chest. I guess we both have things we’re holding back from one another, but at least mine is for his protection. Is he holding back something for my protection, or his?
