“I’m a physical person, Allie. I deal with everything I do physically. Before I left the agency, the FBI offered me that physical outlet. Now, I find other ways. I fuck. I lift weights. I plot when I’m running. And yes, I’ve used fighting as a tool to get out of my own head.”
Tyler said as much, but I’m not about to tell him what Tyler said about anything. As I told Tyler. Dash tells me about Dash.
“So it started after you left the FBI?” I ask cautiously.
“The fighting came before the agency. It’s how I learned that physicality could be what kept me sane.”
“How long before?”
“College. After my brother died, I needed an outlet for all the shit that drudged up in me.” He sits down on the edge of the tub. “When I’m running, my thought process is limited. I can’t think of anything but the pain of the run and my story. When I’m fighting, it’s all about the other fighter and me. There’s nothing else.”
Only there is. There’s pain and I suspect a whole lot of guilt for something I don’t understand. But to say that to him would in essence be me diving deeper than I’ve promised him I will do right now. Instead, I sit down next to him, unable to hold back what I know will be more of a challenge if I’m staring down at him rather than sitting beside him. “And the pain? There’s you, the fighter, and the pain, right?”
He glances over at me. “Yes. There’s the pain.”
I wait, hoping he’ll say more, but the more never comes. And while I’ve promised not to ask difficult questions, not yet at least, there is one I really need to know. “How often, Dash? How often do you need to fight?”
“I haven’t fought in years,” he says quickly. “It’s not a thing, Allie. Not for a long time. You don’t have to deal with me and that, as if it’s a part of our lives. It’s not.”
Not for a long time. Not until me. This confession stabs me in the heart and now I’m the one feeling guilty. I push off the tub and step in front of him, cupping his face. “Why last night?”
His hands settle on my hips, his blue eyes meeting mine. “Tyler didn’t make me fight. You didn’t make me fight, Allie. That was all me.”
“Because of me. Because I stir whatever I stir in you that drives you to it, and I drive you to drinking and fighting. Think about it. We’re just two messed up people, seeking solace in one another, but finding a new flavor of pain in each other.”
“You’re wrong,” he states simply. “That is not what you do for me. I hope like hell that’s not what I do for you.”
“Fighting is your drug, Dash,” I argue. “It’s an addiction and yet, you’d quit until I came into your life.” I try to push away from him.
He wraps his arm around my waist and catches me to him, standing as he does, one hand cupping my face, his voice low, raspy, affected. “You are my drug, Allie. You. I need you.”
My fingers curl on his chest, springy light brown hair teasing my fingers, and I wish I could just live in the moment, just enjoy what little time I have with Dash, but it’s just not that simple for me and him. “I’m not sure if me being your drug is good or bad.”
He cups my head and rests his forehead against mine. “Believe me, it’s good.”
“Then why last night?”
He eases back to look at me. “I was convinced I could fight you out of my system. Just to be clear, I was wrong.”
Which he tried to do because of whatever that was that happened between him and Tyler, but Tyler’s a bad topic right now, so I leave that alone. Instead, I try to take comfort in the fact most men try to fuck a woman from their system. He didn’t turn to another woman, but he didn’t turn to me, either. “Because I showed up,” I conclude.
His hand slides under my hair and tilts my face to his. “Oh no, cupcake. Don’t do that. Don’t reduce us to something so simplistic.”
“I thought you said not to overthink where this is going?”
“I did and you’re still doing it. I was never going to stay away from you, Allie, no matter what kind of beating I took last night. Don’t leave again.”
“I shouldn’t have left,” I say, and then stick to my promise to be vulnerable with him, after what I saw last night. “I was running, afraid of getting hurt. It’s a problem for me, the running thing. It’s something I do to protect myself and I don’t like how that looks on me. I’m working on it.”