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I follow him out, and watch him unlock the changing room door, having not thought about spectators to our blind, touchless fuck.
When I see my case, I quickly retrieve it and head straight for the exit.
“You’re gonna be alright,” he calls out from behind me. It wasn’t a question. “I know that your new life looks hard.”
Sighing and without turning, I say, “It looks shit.”
“Newshit.” His voice makes me jump because he’s right behind me. I deflate, knowing I have to brave my mother, sisters, a motel, and a whole new… lifestyle. I don’t know. I stiffen when his breath touches my ear. “A few years back, I was pretty depressed.”
I turn to face him, hovering by the door, having nearly bolted, so I don’t crush on him any harder. He looks fresh, with a mist of clean shower water still clinging to his skin. And his eyes, a shimmering blue again, roam my face caringly. Concerned, even.
“For my brother,” he goes on. “You remember. It was all over the District news for years. When they put Max away. I wasn’t in a good place, and I couldn’t stay out of my own head. And everyone thought I was nuts when I dropped out of law and started boxing.” He sweeps a piece of my half-damp hair over my shoulder, and I soften under his tender touch. “It was just recreationally at first. It was just for tension. But I was good.Reallygood. And my dad needed a distraction, too. You know he wasThe Legend. Not just of the District. He was champion in Sicily. In England.
“So, he started coaching me. With my dad engaged and both of us focused, everything got easier. My habits changed. I was outside running instead of in a dark lecture hall. I felt better. A big change, cold turkey from my old lifestyle.” He looks pensive—I’ve got intensely passionate Xander in this moment. “It can be a good thing, Kaya.”
I sigh. “We have a certain way we live.”
“Not anymore.”
My throat burns. “But it isn’t my choice! We have…habits. We have rituals and traditions. I do things a certain way. My hair. My nails. My— It might sound shallow, but it’s all I know. And what my dad knows iswork, gin with his juice, and cannabis with his air because he has chronic arthritis. He won’t cope in prison. He drinks. He smokes. He gambles. He’s old. Pull him from everything he knows, and he’llrot.”
Xander nods, his dark expressive brows tight in contemplation. When he goes to speak, I nearly silence him with my finger again, not wanting to hear bullshit lines of sympathy, but he doesn’t do that.
He knows better, and says, “You know, they studied habits in Vietnam vets. Not many people know this, but a massive percentage of them became heroin addicts while they were serving.”
“Xander, what does this—”
I stop talking when he cups the side of my neck in a way that suggests his hand needs to feel me one last time, but he doesn’t know where to put it. “Listen. It was easy to get. They did it as a unit. It waswhat they were usedto for years, but when they came back, most of them got sober with very few relapsing. That blew doctors’ minds. Like, what? That’s a damn addictive drug. But ya see,”—his thumb makes circles on my neck— “the addiction was connected to their way of life, to serving, to the other soldiers, and to Nam. New life. New environment. New habits.” He dips his head, blue eyes drilling into mine. And his lips are close, too, as he says, “Stay away from toxic people and places, Kaya. You have a new lifestyle. And I promise it’ll be easier than you think to adapt. And your dad will adapt, too.”
Tears swim in my eyes. “He’s… Idunno... soft.”
“No such thing”—his hand squeezes the curve of my throat with gentle authority— “We’re all built with the ultimate goal to survive.”
I like your brain, Xander.
His hand leaves my neck, a solemn gesture to end the conversation—endus. End whatever we were for twenty-four hours. I have to leave.
Nodding a goodbye, I turn and walk to the sliding glass doors, before saying to him, “I’ll see you.” I needed to say something. “It’s been real.”
“Yeah,” he agrees, that one word carrying meaning and significance that I don’t quite understand. “It really has.”
Then I notice his jeans are wet, the moisture from his undried legs seeping into the fabric as though he rushed to get dressed.
Wanting to catch me?
No.
I glance away. I’m overthinking it.
The automatic doors open, but he stops me, calling out, “Hey, Woman!”
I peer over my shoulder.
“Go get the world.”
I smile.
See ya, Xander.
