Battlescars (16 page)

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Kayla?” Richard asked, shaking her out of her fog.

“Ummm…no. No, thank you. You’ve done exactly what I hired you to do, and I appreciate it very much.”

“You know, I’m always around to help you if something else comes up.”

“I know.” She gave him a grateful smile as he whisked all the papers and photographs into a folder. He closed it with a snap and handed it to her. She looked down at it – black, heavy paper, with his logo on the front in gold lettering. It looked so neat and professional, a contrast to the mess of a life it contained.

Richard held out a hand to shake. “Best of luck, Kayla.”

“Thank you.”

And with that Richard was gone, leaving her with the black folder full of secrets and revelations and surprises. Kayla knew that if she never looked at the pictures again, the images would still be with her. They weren’t sordid or shocking or even controversial in any way, but they had been enough to rock her world so hard that she felt disoriented, as though the emotional earthquake had left her without a solid center.

She headed home with thoughts of the past floating through her head. She just let them spin through her mind, not stopping to dwell on any of them, powerless to control the kaleidoscope of images and words and memories spinning around, the whole of her history swirling in her head.

That night, Kayla had a nightmare.

She dreamed of being in her old house and hearing the heavy footsteps on the front porch, the sound of shuffling steps that only a drunk can perfect, and she started to hide. She wasn’t sure where she would hide, only that she would have to find somewhere fast. Kayla hoped that once she was hidden away her father would just assume she was out for the evening, perhaps sleeping over at a friend’s house, and he would pass out on the couch without looking too hard for her.

But this time there was nowhere to hide. The room was four walls and nothing else, leaving her utterly exposed under the overhead lamp. She huddled in the back corner, waiting with her heart in her throat, but instead of her father, it was Dyson who opened the door.

He was drunk. He was so drunk that he was stumbling. Kayla saw this and the fear came roaring back, and when he opened his mouth and said her name the voice that came out of him was her father’s…

Kayla sat straight up in bed. She stifled a scream of horror, thinking that even in the grip of the dream that yelling out loud would bring down even more wrath. It took a long moment before she got her bearings: the dresser that was so familiar, the comforting bed, the poster on the wall, the light coming in from the street. It was her place, the one her father had never seen, and the one he would never set foot inside.

She lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Her father…and Dyson. Both men were on her mind, sparring for her attention.

She tried to focus on Dyson’s blue eyes and his gentle hands, and the way he had kissed her with his bruised mouth when she left him at the gym the night before. She tried to focus on how gentle he was with the animals at the shelter, and how chivalrous he had been with her when she drank one too many and came onto him.

But the moment she fell asleep, she sank into another dream. Her father was in the ring with Dyson. They were dancing around each other and though Dyson was the stronger and swifter of the two, her father was armed with the confidence of an alcoholic, and he was throwing punches with both hands wrapped around beer bottles. Dyson sidestepped and danced and ducked, but her father’s blows still rained down on Dyson. Blood splashed onto the floor.

Kayla called out to them, and when she did, only Dyson heard her. The moment he looked in her direction, her father went into a rage and knocked Dyson to the mat. He poured the beer that was left in the bottles over Dyson’s face, and he slammed the bottle onto the mat, shattering the end and leaving her father with a jagged-edged weapon.

“No!”

Kayla threw the covers back and rushed to the window, where she flung it open and leaned out, taking long gasps of fresh air. She let the wind touch her face until she felt wide awake, and she turned and slid down the wall. Tears slipped down her face, and it wasn’t long before Kayla had dissolved into a weeping, furious mess. She started to wail and slammed her fists into the floor beside her as she ranted at a man who wasn’t there. “You bastard! You son of a bitch! How dare you do this to me? How dare you do this to us? How dare you!”

The more she yelled, the more she wanted to yell. When the neighbors banged on the floor underneath her, she banged right back. Finally worn out and opting to avoid the confrontation, Kayla crawled back into bed and yanked the pillow over her head, where she screamed into the cotton.

When she was finally done, when all the anger was spent, she fell asleep one more time – amazingly, considering that ten minutes ago she had wished to never sleep again.

The nightmares didn’t stop.

S
he’s trying to get back at me, Dyson thought. She’s trying to show me how it feels.

Dyson had been trying to get in touch with Kayla all day, with no luck. He had spoken to her only once since the fight, when she had called early in the morning to see how he was feeling. But since then, nothing, and now she wasn’t answering her phone.

He was sure nothing was wrong between the two of them. They had talked about so much that night, and both of them had been honest in a way that was new and refreshing. The walls had been broken down and for Dyson, it felt like a wonderful revelation. He really could be himself with Kayla. He had proof that she would believe him when no one else did, and she would see the goodness in him and not just the brutality. Since talking to her, he felt as though perhaps he was honorable after all, and wasn’t just a poor excuse for the man he wanted to be.

But that wasn’t his concern right now. His concern was finding Kayla and figuring out why the hell she wasn’t answering her phone.

He tried to focus on the task at hand – sparring with Chester. They were practicing holds, and Chester managed to tangle Dyson up more often than usual. Dyson was starting to discover just how distracting Kayla could be, even in her absence. Chester pressed his advantage, taking the opportunity to pummel him to the ground and wrap Dyson up in a chokehold. The older man waited for Dyson to tap out, and let go just enough for Dyson to catch his breath.

“So what the fuck is up with you?” Chester demanded.

Dyson tried to look around but couldn’t. He didn’t want to have a conversation about this, but given that he was basically hog-tied by a guy who wasn’t going to let him go, he didn’t have much of a choice.

“I’m distracted,” Dyson growled, and tried to wiggle out of the hold. Chester simply applied more pressure and Dyson quit fighting.

“Damn it, Chester!”

“Damn yourself, man! You’ve got less than two weeks before this fight and you’re acting like a sissy over some girl. You’ve got to get your shit together, man. What’s going on with you?”

Dyson slammed his hand down on the mat three times, making a point of doing it as hard as he could. Chester finally let him go and Dyson sat up, taking deep breaths. His shoulders ached and his chest hurt from the lack of air. He glared at Chester for a moment, but the anger was no use – he knew his friend was right.

Chester obviously knew it too, because he just sat back and looked at Dyson, waiting for an explanation that was better than the one he had just given.

“She won’t return my calls,” Dyson said miserably.

Chester laughed.

That was the last thing Dyson expected to hear. “Really, man?”

Chester laughed harder. “Big bad Marine man, getting all torn up over a girl. You are really into this one, aren’t you? I’ve never seen you so distracted.”

Dyson shrugged. “I’ve never been with someone so distracting.”

“And to think that you would let her decide whether you should fight! I mean, what’s up with that? She’s not your wife, and she damn sure ain’t your mother.”

“I know that, man,” Dyson said, exasperated.

“Then what the hell’s going on? Are you actually thinking about not fighting?”

Dyson shook his head and rubbed his eyes. “No. I’m going to fight. She just doesn’t like it much, that’s all.”

“What’s the problem?”

What was the problem? Dyson could have started with a list of a dozen different problems, beginning and ending with a violent man who deserved to be called a ‘sperm donor’ instead of a father, but Dyson wanted to protect Kayla’s privacy. Her story belonged to her alone, and it was hers to share, not his. Dyson settled for an explanation that was true, but incomplete. “She’s the gentle type. She doesn’t like seeing me get beaten up.”

“Well, hell, who does?”

“All those people who buy tickets to watch the fights, for a start. You know what I mean, Chester. She saw me pretty beat up, and you and I both know that this next fight could be a lot worse.”

“That’s all the more reason to get up there and kick that guy’s ass. Come out of it as clean as you can, and then she won’t have too many cuts and bruises to tend to. But that’s not about to happen until you get over this distraction, or whatever the hell it is, and kick the shit out of me so you can kick the shit out of somebody else when it really counts. Like on fight night. Can you do that?”

Dyson listened to the lecture and rolled his eyes, but he was grinning, too. “Let’s go, old man.”

Chester dove for Dyson, his teeth gritted and his jaw set. “I’ll show you old man, you little bastard.”

For a while, Dyson was completely focused on evading and overpowering his best buddy, and he was able to forget about the phone sitting in the corner – the phone that was still stubbornly silent.

That night Dyson went to visit his mother again. This time she was looking out the window when he arrived, solemn and sad about something. Though she greeted Dyson with a big smile, he knew that whatever was on her mind would come out as soon as he asked her about it. One of the few good things about her condition right now was that she no longer had a filter. She would say anything that came to mind.

Dyson settled into the armchair next to Anne’s. “What’s wrong, Momma?”

She sighed and looked down at her old, wrinkled hands. “I miss your father.”

Dyson’s breath caught in his throat. She rarely talked about his father anymore, and Dyson thought that perhaps she rarely thought about him. Since she seemed to spend a lot of the time in her memories, before she’d even met Dyson’s father, he was never sure exactly what she remembered about the man who had been the love of her life. She seemed unusually lucid, this evening, though, and Dyson wasn’t sure if being closer to reality would be pleasant or troubling for the woman he loved so much.

“Do you know what happened?” he asked, gently trying to figure out exactly what she remembered.

“Of course I do,” she snapped, and then sighed. “I’m sorry, honey. I just…sometimes I get so confused, and the whole world seems to be wrong. He always made everything feel alright.”

Dyson’s hands started to shake. This was his mother, his mother in the here-and-now, not his mother from decades ago. He knew that these moments would be a gift, one he could expect less frequently as her disease progressed. It had been months since she’d been so clear, and he resolved to enjoy every moment of it.

“Talk to me, Momma,” he said, and she looked at him with eyes that were the same bright blue as his.

“Why don’t you talk to me, son,” she said, and he swallowed hard.

“I…I’ve missed you.”

She smiled. “But you’re here all the time.”

Dyson laughed. “I love seeing you.”

“And I love seeing you.” She put her hand on his knee and patted it. “I know things aren’t the same as they used to be. I know why I’m here, son. I know that you are doing all the right things. I just wish that I could do the right things for you…I wish I could be a better mother to you, rather than being an invalid and a burden to you.” Anne paused for a moment. “Dyson, you know that your father and I tried for many years to have children. We wanted to fill the house. After all those miscarriages, we’d just given up, and when I found out I was pregnant with you…well, I was so old that we worried that you wouldn’t be healthy. You were our miracle from the very start, Dyson. You’ll never know just how happy you made me and your father. We used to call you our blessing.”

Dyson realized then that if his mother could somehow give him a few moments of her in the here-and-now, he could give her the gift of using it. She needed to feel important and involved, and he could give her that feeling by sharing the news about what was going on in his life.

“I met a girl,” he said to her.

His mother leaned forward with excitement written all over her face. “Tell me about her.”

“Well, she’s…” Dyson chuckled. “She’s a firecracker, Momma. I really think she is. She’s kind and smart and sweet too. She volunteers at the animal shelter. She doesn’t like it when I fight and she doesn’t drink, and she is just…she’s good all over, I think.”