Disarmed by Love Page 2

  She sat stunned. First, if the man was stressed, he wore it well. Second, while the doctor had referred her services, he hadn’t exactly been her biggest supporter in the past.

  “I can’t make you that kind of promise, Lieutenant—”

  “Dante, please.”

  “Why don’t we start with me telling you what yoga and meditation can do for you and then you can decide if it’s the right thing for you.”

  He sat quietly with a look of disdain.

  “Look, Dante, I know this is hard. What happened over there, not my business and I don’t need to know to help. You don’t have to tell me anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

  “It’s not that. Really what happened is not a big deal.” He formed a steeple with his fingers and rested his chin on the point. “I’m not exactly into sitting around and humming.”

  She sat on the edge of her desk. “Good to know and for the record, I’m not much of a hummer myself. What I do is teach you to breathe.”

  “Kind of got that down the minute I was born.”

  “Different kind of breathing. This kind of breathing-based meditation balances the autonomic nervous system.” At his raised brows, she held up a hand. “Basically, it forces you to focus on what your body is doing right at that moment. Sometimes we can multitask, and then there are other things that make our brains stop and concentrate on what is happening right at that moment.”

  “Okay, got it. If I’m focused on the breathing, my mind isn’t swirling around the crap that’s stressing me out.” He nodded.

  “It’s more than that. Yoga can help you sleep better, deal with depression, anxiety—”

  He held up a hand. “I’m not depressed or anxious.”

  “How’s your sleep?”

  “Like a baby,” he replied.

  She cocked her head and studied him. Faint smudges and slightly bloodshot eyes said a lot. “Oh yeah. Breast fed, bottle, or colicky?”

  The slow smile spreading could melt the polar ice caps. “I prefer the first.”

  “The second tends to sleep deeper and longer. Look,” she slid to her chair, “this program has helped others. Not going to guarantee it will do everything you’re hoping for, but what do you got to lose?”

  For several long moments Dante sat there, staring into her eyes. Anger flashed across his face. Before she could apologize for saying something that upset him, his dark scowl disappeared and he smiled. “Sure, let’s give it a try. It can’t be that hard and hey, if it gets me out of the classroom, that’s a plus right there.”

  Not quite the response she was hoping for, but at least he said yes. Of course the downside was he was now a client and off-limits in the terms of dating. It would be different if he were simply an instructor, or even one of her nighttime yoga students. But since the navy was paying her, and she was still proving herself and the program, there was no monkey business allowed.

  “Do you have a preference when we start?”

  “Don’t you have a set class time?”

  “Right now I’m only working with one other client and I find that one-on-one works best.”

  “I’ve got no complaints with not sharing you.”

  She smiled and looked down to her calendar. He wasn’t going to make sticking to her no-monkey-business plan very easy. “How about tomorrow at three?”

  Before he could answer, her phone rang. When she looked at caller ID and saw her son’s daycare, she excused herself. After a few tense moments on the call, Fee hung up and swore.

  “I hate to cut this short, but I have a slight emergency,” she said as she grabbed her purse and flew out the door.

  Chapter 2

  “Mrs. Shelton, you must be mistaken.” Fiona sat, stunned, across from her son’s daycare director. “Dylan isn’t a violent child. He’s never hit anyone before.”

  “Sadly, he has now.” She let out a deep sigh. “I do have to admit, the incident surprised me. Normally, Dylan is the sweetest boy here at the center. He’s polite, helpful, charming, and funny—”

  “I hear a ‘but’ coming.”

  “But everyone, even kids have a breaking point.”

  Fee sat back. “You’re implying my son is under some kind of stress? He’s ten. School is out for summer. What could he possibly be stressed over?”

  “Fiona,” her voice softened. “I’m not accusing you of being a bad mom. On the contrary, Dylan’s behavior up until now suggests exactly the opposite. He’s the picture-perfect kid for a happy, healthy home. Has anything changed recently?”

  “No.” Fee searched her brain trying to think of anything that would make sense. Nothing came to mind. He had a great school year, brought home solid grades, played drums in the band, and scored the most points for his lacrosse team. “Did he give a reason for punching the boy?”

  “He won’t say anything to me,” Ms. Shelton said.

  “I’ll talk to him. And I’m so sorry for this incident, and very thankful the other boy is okay.” Fee stood to leave and Ms. Shelton stopped her.

  “Before Dylan can come back to the center, he needs to apologize to Chris, the boy he assaulted.”

  Fee nodded and walked out of the office to find Dylan sitting in a chair next to the door, with his shoulders slumped and his head hanging down. Poor kid, he’d never been in trouble before. As Mrs. Shelton had noted, her son was a great child. Sure, he had his moments where he drove her crazy. What kid didn’t? Still, Dylan made her laugh more than he made her cry. Never in ten years, had she regretted becoming a mom. Marrying his father, yeah lots of regrets there.

  “Come on, slugger. Time to go home.”

  They drove home in silence until after they reached the sanctity of their apartment. Dylan made a beeline for his room to escape, but she snagged the back of his t-shirt.

  “Not so fast. We need to talk.”

  “I don’t feel so good,” Dylan whined.

  Instantly, all annoyance was gone and Fee felt her son’s forehead. Cool. She tilted his chin up to look at his coloring. His cheeks were flushed, but then again he was probably upset about the day’s events.

  “In what way?” she asked softly, after all, he was her baby.

  “I don’t know. Can’t I go lie down, Mom?” The whine had turned defiant.

  “Are you in pain?”

  He shook his head no.

  “Are you going to throw up?”

  This earned her an eye roll.

  “Are you dizzy? Do I need to rush you to the emergency room? Plan your wake?”

  “Nooo.”

  “Then I’m guessing you’re only trying to postpone our talk. Tell you what, how about you go to your room and take a nap. No music, TV, computer, games or even books. While you’re resting, I’ll make us some lunch and then we can talk. Maybe by then you’ll feel better.”

  “Mom! Why can’t I read my book?” At her raised brow, he turned and stomped down the short hallway. “That’s cruel and unusual punishment. Even prisoners get to read.”

  The last was said right before he slammed his door shut. Fee dropped into her cushy chair in the living room with her hands covering her face. Not sure if she should cry, scream or be proud. Maybe all three? Getting into a fight was the last thing she’d expect from her son. And rarely did she have to resort to taking away his beloved books. Usually, that only happened during the school year, when he’d rather read than do homework.

  Until now.

  Wrapping her head around the fight was like believing she could win the lottery: inconceivable.

  She loved being a mom, especially Dylan’s, but there were days she’d questioned her sanity and ability to handle life as a single parent. Overall, her son was a great kid, which is why the fight and his subsequent attitude left her stunned. Maybe it was a boy thing? A testosterone surge indicating puberty was coming? No, he was on
ly ten, which was way, way too young. Plus, she was way too young to have a teen or a preteen.

  Maybe it was time to call her mom.

  She exhaled and got up from her too comfy chair and headed into the kitchen. Food would help. Breakfast had been hours ago, and between her personal workout and the class workout, she was famished. Opening up the fridge, she pulled out the makings for Dylan’s favorite—grilled ham and cheese with salsa. They’d eat, then talk. And if he still wouldn’t open up, then she’d call in on the big guns: Grandma.

  A few minutes later, she opened Dylan’s door. He had his back to her.

  “Lunch is ready.”

  He didn’t respond, but his little shoulders pulled in tighter.

  “Okay, suit yourself. Guess, I’ll just have to eat both sandwiches and I made your favorite.” She closed the door behind her and sat at the small table.

  The apartment was nice, not what you’d call spacious and on the bottom level. It was within walking distance of Dylan’s school, a short drive to the base and best of all—in Dylan’s opinion—had an indoor pool; something they’d still yet to make use of. Fee had almost passed on the place, as it did take a huge chunk of her paycheck, but it had one other thing no other place nearby offered: Billy lived two levels up and was Dylan’s new best friend.

  Billy’s mom also worked from home and during the school year, she watched Dylan until Fee got home from work or while she taught night classes twice a week.

  Soft footsteps from the hallway caused Fee to look up. Her baby stood at the edge of the room, eyes downcast and his bottom lip quivered.

  Fee pushed the plate over to Dylan’s spot. “It’s still warm.”

  Her son slid into his chair and took a mouse-sized bite, refusing to make eye contact.

  “I was going to serve bread and water, but the folks from the Geneva Convention called and said even prisoners get their favorite meal before the execution.”

  Dylan looked up, his mouth hung open for a second and then he grinned and went back to his lunch. She finished her food and waited to see if he’d initiate the conversation. Dylan sat with little legs swinging back and forth as he dunked strips of his sandwich in salsa and ate. Apparently he was going with the ignore-it-and-she’ll-forget method.

  “We need to talk.”

  “Can’t I eat in peace?”

  Fee sighed. Clearly her son had been picking up bad habits from his grandfather. “Nope.”

  He nibbled the edges of his bread. “Mom, I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Too bad, kiddo. There are times in our lives where we have to do things, lot of things, whether we want to or not. This is one of them. Did Chris hit you first?”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Dylan shook his head.

  “So you hauled off and hit another person for no reason?”

  “He’s a bully and deserved it.” Dylan met her gaze long enough for her to see the shimmer of tears.

  As the shortest person always in her class, with a best friend who resembled a long-legged bird and spoke funny, Fiona had dealt with her share of bullies in school. Still, fist fighting wasn’t the answer.

  “Who was he picking on?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She raised her brow and gave him the Mom look. “Nice try. Details, now.”

  Dylan rubbed at his eye with his fisted hand. “Me. He always picks on me when the teachers aren’t around.”

  She made a mental note to call Mrs. Shelton as soon they finished talking to share that little tidbit.

  “Baby, why was he picking on you?”

  “Because he’s a butthead.”

  “Dylan Salvador Rossi, we don’t use that kind of language,” she scolded.

  “What? It’s not like I called him a wanker,” Dylan rolled his eyes, “which he is.”

  She was going to kill Risa. They’d been besties since the dawn of time, but Risa could out swear any sailor or trucker around and she often didn’t even realize the words were rolling off her tongue and falling on little ears.

  “That may be so, still we don’t use those kinds of words.” She reached out and pulled her son into her lap. “Now tell me about the bullying.”

  It took a few moments for her son to comply. “He likes to push people around and say stuff. His dad’s an officer so he thinks he’s in charge of us. I got tired of it and told him to shut his face and when he didn’t I hit him.”

  “What was he saying, Dylan?” Chances were if he was picking on her son, Chris was picking on other kids and the more details she could give Mrs. Shelton, the better.

  “Just stuff, Mom.”

  She waited. She could wait all day.

  “Fine. He said if I had a dad, I’d know how to swim. All dads teach their kids to swim, but I didn’t have one and I had to stay with the babies when we went to the pool.”

  Fee sighed. Kids could be so cruel.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered as she hugged Dylan harder.

  It would be so easy to rant and rail that Chris was a terrible kid with terrible parents, but that wouldn’t be fair, and chances were, not true. Kids lashed out for many reasons. Still, she’d let Mrs. Shelton know about the taunts, not that it would ease her own guilty conscience. Dylan should have learned how to swim before now.

  She had promised him when they’d moved into the new apartment with the year-round pool two years ago, she’d teach him.

  If only she could get over her own fear first.

  Thanks to her ex-husband and his “horsing around” as he put it, she couldn’t stand to even put her big toe into a pool. It wasn’t fair to Dylan. The kid loved the water, and really, it was time to conquer this phobia.

  “Tell you what we’ll do. I’ll look into swim lessons for you. They usually have them during summer break at the base pool—”

  “Noooo. They’ll make me get in the group with the little kids. Then Chris and his buddies will make even more fun of me.” Tears overflowed from his big, brown eyes, breaking her heart.

  She kissed the top of his head. “Okay, chill. Let me ask around and see if we can find a private instructor. Maybe they could even come here to the apartment pool or we could go to the YMCA. Sound okay?” Fee leaned back to look her son in the eyes.

  Dylan nodded and slipped off her lap, giving her a tight hug. He turned to head to the living room and Fee grabbed the edge of his shirt.

  “Not so fast. We’re not done here. While I understand why you punched Chris, it doesn’t mean it was okay. We don’t solve our differences with our fists. So no TV, no video games and tomorrow you have to apologize to Chris.”

  “Mom. That’s not fair. He started it.”

  She crossed her arms. “Doesn’t matter. Mrs. Shelton said you had to apologize before you could come back.”

  “Fine. I don’t want to go back.”

  “You have to. You’re too young to stay home by yourself.”

  “I can stay with Billy and his mom.”

  “Billy’s mom is pregnant and doesn’t need two hyper ten-year-old boys running around all day. And tomorrow, she has a doctor appointment.”

  Dylan’s little bottom lip quivered and when that didn’t work, he worked up a good sneer. His eyes shot out daggers and his hands balled up into fists.

  Dear God, he looks like his dad. Which was not a comforting thought.

  “Dad wouldn’t make me go back or say I’m sorry.”

  And there it was, the jab she’d been dreading for months to be thrown at her. Ever since Sal had gotten remarried and started truly spending time with their son, she had counted the days until Dylan threw his dad’s lackadaisical parenting style in her face. Silly her, she had actually believed she might not hear those words until at least the preteen years.

  Oh well, such is life.

  “Clearly, I’m not Dad. And
if I hear another word from your mouth, Dylan Salvador Rossi, other than okay, you’ll go without your books too for the next week.”

  While her son had inherited his father’s looks, thankfully, he’d inherited her common sense. Dylan said okay, and then followed it with a slam of his door.

  It was days like these, rare that they may be, that she envied people who had a spouse. Someone whom they could share the weight of parenthood with.

  Not that she wanted to get married.

  Nope, been down that aisle before and well, eight years later she still had a nasty, bitter taste in her mouth. Kind of like eating sardines and dill pickles: bad choice and the memory haunted you forever.

  It would be nice if she could count on Dylan’s dad to back her on things like rules, bedtimes, eating healthy, and generally being a good person. But no. She’d given up on his help a long time ago. These days, she was simply grateful that he showed some interest in their child.

  If she didn’t want her ex-husband teaching her son to swim she better get hot on finding Dylan a swim coach. And pray Sal didn’t find out, or he’d insist on taking on the task. The last thing Fee needed was to be arrested, because that’s exactly what would happen the first time Sal held Dylan under the water like he did with her.

  * * * *

  Skip Thomlison dropped two binders on the desk in front of Dante and stood there staring down at him. Dante flipped open one, then the other, read the titles and shoved them toward the edge of the desk and Skip.

  “I prefer Clancy’s work,” Dante said.

  “They’re not for your enjoyment, Torres. Those are the classes you’re teaching. Read them, learn them, be prepared. There will be a test.”

  “Service Etiquette and Officer Uniforms and Written Communication: Grammar? Do I look like I give a shit about any of those topics?” He pushed the binders closer to the edge. “Forget it. Give me Leadership and Ethics.”

  Skip crossed his arms. “No can do, I promised it to Chin this round.”