18. Jay
Chapter eighteen
Jay
M aybe Katy’s right. Maybe what I need is to speak to someone—for me. I squeeze my fingers into a fist inside the enormous glove and launch myself at the swinging bag. Without being able to pound the pavement the way I used to, boxing has become my exercise of choice. It helps me get back some of the strength and stamina I used to have, and it improves the cardio fitness I’ve lost over the last few months. I can do it without too much impact on my legs, too, and as a bonus, it’s a great way to work out the day’s frustrations.
It doesn’t stop me from thinking about her, though. Her silky blonde hair, her bottomless brown eyes, her plump, pink-painted lips, and the way they always turn up in the prettiest smile when she sees me. She’s stubborn as hell, but even when her eyes narrow in that way that tells me I’m being a prick, she’s beautiful, inside and out. It’s not even just her body anymore, it’s her heart, too. She’s digging herself deeper and deeper into my mind and soul, and I’m just a passenger, along for the ride. I’m powerless to stop her at this point. She’s everything I can’t have, and maybe that makes her even more enticing.
Do I want her because I can’t have her, or do I want her because she’s Katy ?
I launch another attack at the bag, pivoting on the ball of my right foot and crashing into it with my left. My right leg twinges as it takes all my weight, and I stumble out of the kick, grappling blindly at the bag for balance. Karma for letting my mind wander to forbidden fruit, I suppose.
“Whoa, buddy, I’ve got you.” A deep voice accompanies a large hand on my upper arm, and another hand grabs my waist, steadying me. “You got a license for that move?”
“Bum leg,” I explain bitterly. “Thought I could handle it. Apparently, I can’t.”
“Well, take it easy, yeah? I don’t need you breaking yourself in my gym.”
“Yeah,” I agree distantly. “I’m good.”
He leaves me after a moment, and I lean forward, fists on my thighs. My heart is racing and I’m drenched in sweat. Once my breathing starts to slow, I limp back to the locker room and pull my shower kit from my gym bag before finding an empty shower stall and stripping down.
I’m on my way out of the gym when the man from earlier calls me over. He’s on a bench by the door, a folder of paperwork in his hand and a pen behind his ear.
“What’s your story, bud?”
“My story?”
“Yeah. Bum leg. Those tats look military. You recently home?”
“Afghanistan. 2 PARA. Metal rod in my leg.”
The man swears quietly. A reaction I don’t think I’ll ever get used to. I know that to many, military service is something worthy of some kind of hero worship, but to me, it was my job. Something I wanted to do in lieu of any other aspirations, and something I loved doing. It just came to be a part of me.
“Thanks for your service. Let me waive your membership fee. It’s the least I can do.”
I’m not in the habit of accepting charity from people who look at me with pity the way this guy is, but this gym is well-located and exceedingly well-equipped, and it’s expensive as hell, despite the decent salary I’m getting at the casino. So, after a moment’s hesitation, I find myself agreeing.
“I’m Rob. You need anything, you come and find me.” He sticks out a hand, and I grasp it for a handshake.
“Jay. Thanks for not letting me eat mat.”
“Any time. See you soon.”
A little while later, I find myself at Katy’s door again. When I check the watch on my wrist, I notice I’ve been walking for almost an hour to get here. It’s no wonder there’s an ache from my toes to my hip, and a heavy, almost numb sensation whenever I take a step with my right foot. Katy opens the door with a steaming mug in her hand. Surprise quickly melts into a smile.
“Hi stranger,” she greets me, pushing up on her tiptoes to press a quick, friendly kiss to my cool cheek. Her lips are warm and soft, and my entire body stiffens when they meet my skin. We’ve touched before, of course; we’ve held hands, but this feels like another boundary broken down. It’s not how I imagined our first kiss—not that I’ve spent time imagining our first kiss. And not for the first time, I have to stop myself imagining how her lips might feel elsewhere on my body. “Did we have plans?”
“No, no,” I wave her off as she steps aside to invite me in. “I don’t even know how I got here, to be honest.”
Her smile drops and concern fills her eyes. I hate that she looks at me this way—like she’s worried about me. I wish she wouldn’t. I’m not worth it.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, I… yeah.” She tilts her head with pursed lips. “It’s fine, Princess. I’m fine.”
Her eyes narrow, like she doesn’t quite believe me, but she locks the door behind me with a quiet click and follows me through to the kitchen. I pull out one of her dining chairs and drop into it heavily, arresting my momentum at the last second when I hear the wood creak beneath me.
“Talk to me.” Katy pulls out a chair and sits opposite me, setting her mug between her hands on the table.
“There’s nothing to say, Princess. Really. I went to the gym, my leg hurt a bit, I left and then I was here.”
“But you don’t remember getting here? You’re limping.”
“It’s a pretty boring walk, to be honest.” A long one. I hadn’t even noticed I’d been limping, but now Katy has mentioned it, the ache in my hips yells a little louder, my overcompensation evident in the tightness of my muscles.
“Or you’re dissociating.”
“Don’t make out like I’m insane, Princess.” I pull her mug towards me and take a sip, before scrunching my face in disgust. It’s sweet and milky with only the faintest hint of coffee. I push it back to her.
“You’re not insane,” Katy insists calmly. She takes her cup back and drinks from it, pink-glossed lips leaving another stain around the rim. Not for the first time, I find myself imagining her on her knees and that pretty pink stain ringing my dick. “I never said that. It’s not true.”
“But you’re saying I’m dissociating.”
“I’m not saying that. There are different levels of dissociation, Jay. I’m not exactly qualified to diagnose anything like that and you know it. But I’ve seen it with my own eyes. It’s okay if you’re struggling to adjust. It’s okay if you’re not okay. It’s okay if you need some time, if you need to speak to someone, if you just need to scream into a void and be angry. The world sucks, Jay, and you saw the worst of it. You should feel however you need to about that.”
Her eyes are so deep, I can see lifetimes in them—galaxies, the whole universe, even. They’re soft and concerned, burning holes through my soul as she focuses on me. The way she looks at me makes me feel like I want to be someone. She looks at me like she sees me , not an injury, not a veteran, not some crazy guy who can’t figure out how to exist outside the army.
I want to look away, to tell her to stop making me feel this—feel anything—but I can’t. Because she’s making me feel all these things for her , and I’m helpless to resist. Because forbidden though it might be, I think there’s something growing between me and Katy Keller, and fuck if I don’t want to hold that hand resting on my wrist every day for the rest of my life.