6. Callaway
6
CALLAWAY
I’m doing everything I can to fight the rage simmering through me. She’s out of her mind if she thought I would stand around and watch her lower herself to that fucker’s level.
I don’t have a clue what happened between her and the ex, nor do I care, but on the floor of a dirtbag’s space is no place for the knees of a woman. Ever.
I wouldn’t tolerate that with Navy either.
Where is the respect from these boys?
I think if I let myself look into what I’ve gathered from Dakota in the short time we’ve spent together, it’s that she’s been severely hurt.
I don’t know the extent of that pain, but it seems detrimental and likely to be the reason for her cold exterior. Her secret smile at the apartment leads me to believe that a soft heart lives in there somewhere.
I can tell Navy chose wisely in picking her as her best friend.
“Take a left at the stop sign; my apartment is around the corner.” Dakota cuts off my analyzing, catching me in my thoughts.
I have so many questions. But again, none of my business. I’m just intrigued by her.
“You got it.”
Since leaving the apartment, I’ve been silently observing her, hoping she doesn’t break. I’ve been around my fair share of women, and while I’d never consider being emotional a bad thing, I know it helps to process it with someone you care about.
Dakota and I don’t have that kind of relationship, so I can’t help but be a little nervous at the off chance I have to console her.
I can’t pinpoint it, but something about her stands out to me more than usual. It could be the fact that I know she’s my sister’s best friend and Navy cares about her immensely. But the other part of me feels strangely protective of her and wants to take away her pain.
I gathered everything I needed to know about Trevor and the damage he’s caused. Still, she doesn’t seem invested in him enough to let his dismissal and disinterest in her trigger her emotional lever this badly.
The woman I picked up from the DDS was hurting long before the phone call that shifted her afternoon.
Lucky for me, she looks surprisingly relaxed, despite the chapter she closed.
It’s apparent she’s far from enjoying my company, but a different side of her that you’d have to be intentional about noticing seems at peace. Maybe not necessarily with me, but by being one with the outdoors. The wind blows through her shiny hair, putting me in a stupor as I try not to let her catch me staring. I remind myself as we approach her apartment complex that I should offer to help her carry up her things .
“I can help you bring these boxes up. It’s no trouble at all.”
I love how unpredictable she seems. It’s the same feeling I get when I’m up at bat, the bases are loaded with two outs on the board, and I’m about to face whatever threatening pitch the opposing team is plotting. That’s the pivotal moment in a game. Connect with the pitch, and we’re golden; in the best case, the runner advances, and we get the runs-batted-in. The worst possibility is we miss the pitch and lose the potential runs we worked our asses off to get.
Losing isn't an option.
Kind of like leaving here without taking some of the load off her shoulders isn’t an option. No one should have to do difficult things like this alone.
“I think I can manage.”
Does she not realize these boxes combined likely weigh more than she does?
My Jeep rolls to a stop in front of her apartment building, a touch of silence occupying the space between us.
After unbuckling her seat belt, Dakota rushes to gather her things, notably ready to flee. At least, that’s what it seems like with the rate at which she’s gathering her purse and getting her keys into her hand. “Woman, let me help.”
That stops her mid-rush.
Before she can thank me, which I know is coming, I hurl myself out of the truck and circle the front towards her side. Quickly opening the passenger door, I stand back and wait for her to exit before circling to the tailgate to open the door and start unloading her boxes.
There’s not much.
“I said I can handle it, Callaway. You’ve already helped me enough. ”
“And I’m going to do it again. You have a tough time accepting help, Dakota?”
I can tell she’s not used to having anyone help her. Is Navy all she has?
Her head drops as she circles the side of the Jeep, meeting me where I deliver the boxes. “Just forget it.”
As I step close to her, I can’t help myself, her smell invading my space. I chose to do whatever I can to lighten up her mood without making her feel bad about being upset. I reach out to tap the bottom of her dropped chin gently enough to get her attention, causing her to lift her pretty face to lock with mine.
She needs to hear me when I say this, “Accepting help doesn’t make you weak; it makes you fucking strong.”
All the hurt she’s hiding floods to the surface. Yet, the tears hold back.
This firecracker is tougher than nails. It’s likely the result of trials that have knocked her down, giving her no choice but to fight.
She’s a woman with pain so thick I should be fleeing. Except all I find myself wanting to do is run towards her.
Dakota’s mood continues to dim as we carry the boxes to her apartment. I insisted on making sure the boxes were secure on her doormat after she reassured me she could do it on her own.
I’ve never been one to listen.
As we reach the final set of stairs on her floor, I pull out all the stops to bring out a smile I’m sure she purposefully keeps hidden. I’m not sure what to say to make her feel better, knowing it’s not my place, so I do what’s been done to me before and has always managed to make me laugh.
“Did you know the oldest cat ever to live was thirty-eight years and three days old? He was proudly named Cream Puff. The old pussy resembled a Pillsbury dough boy.”
Smack my ass and call me crazy, but she smiled.
Winner.
I think I even caught a chuckle.
That’s the first sign of personality, outside of hostility and hurt, I’ve seen from her yet, and it’s one for the books.
She’s beautiful. Her smile and all.
“You’re funny.” She says it like a statement, but it feels like a question. She wasn’t expecting me to have a sense of humor. I’m happy to prove her wrong.
“You seem surprised by that.”
I’m captivated as our eyes lock, standing less than two feet apart, as Dakota studies me thoughtfully.
“It’s refreshing.”
Why the fuck did I just feel butterflies? Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around?
Knowing that I provided her with a moment of refreshment kicks my ego up a notch. Hell yes.
But that’s not what catches me off guard; it’s her bright hazel eyes.
The color is similar to tones of moss with flecks of a whiskey amber hue and the brightest blue pigment speckled throughout, yet the shadow of her pain is visible. She’s a woman I can see who has so much good in her; she needs someone who cares enough to pull that goodness out of her. She needs someone to show her how to live despite the shit life throws her way and to accept the good things that do.
My wandering thoughts give her the chance to catch me staring. It’s not a feeling of lust; although the attraction is there, I’m choosing to ignore it. However, I have to admit, I see something really fucking beautiful in her as a person despite how reserved she is .
I feel her short intake of breath as her eyes lock in on the veins tightening in my neck, then slowly rise to my lips. As much as I’d love to entertain her admiration, I’m here to help her, and see that she makes it home safely.
Our silent moment lingers, the clearing of her throat interrupting our pause. “Thanks for the ride, Callaway. And for all the other stuff too.”
I flash her my cheesiest grin and walk backward from her door, careful not to fall and bust my ass. She’s teetering on the threshold of her door with amusement written across her perfectly tan skin.
“Anytime, angel. Don’t hesitate to ask if you need help with that truck.”
She nods before crouching down to lift a box and carry it inside.
Since I’m unable to help myself, I call out to her. “Dakota.”
She spins so quickly; you’d think I scared her. Her eyebrows shoot up in a question, silently asking why I stopped her.
“I hope today gets better.”
I’m darting down the stairs before she has a chance to respond.
She feels like the farthest thing from an inconvenience.