Disarmed by Love Page 4

  “No need to apologize.”

  “Let’s take it down to the floor next. We’re going to do the Cat Stretch.” She explained to Dante the why and how and counted off the hold.

  What had even started the latest fight? She couldn’t remember, but it had been like dealing with another person, a mini-Sal. It scared the hell out of her, because before they got married Sal had been sweet, funny, spontaneous, and caring. Just like their son.

  Focus, Fiona.

  “You’re humming. You said you don’t hum.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You are and I can’t concentrate. What is that song? ‘Dirty Deeds’?”

  “Stop asking questions and arch your back.” Great, now she was humming. Could she break any more of her rules? She should have called in sick, taken a mental health day and gone to visit her best friend. Staying home with Dylan hadn’t been an option, and clearly, work wasn’t doing it for her either.

  “Fiona,” Dante called to her.

  She turned her head, her back still arched like a threatened cat.

  “How long do we hold this pose? You’ve counted to thirty four times now.”

  “Oh.” She released her muscles and sank back on her heels. “Sorry. Maybe we should skip to pranayama.”

  He sat on his delectably toned rump, legs bent in front of him and his arms wrapped around his knees. “How about we skip the workout and do something relaxing.”

  “This is relaxing,” she ground out.

  “Are you sure about that? Personally I’m feeling a little cooped up.” He smiled. “How about we blow this place?”

  He looked cool, calm, and relaxed without a single hand tremor or twitch. Still, guys like Dante were trained to hide their feelings. She looked to the door, determined the distance if she had to run.

  “Blow it up?” she asked. “Are you seriously suggesting we blow up the building?”

  “What? Why would I do that?”

  “You just suggested it. Is that how you normally relax?”

  He scrubbed a hand across his face. “No. I thought this yoga crap was supposed to relax you, but you’re strung tighter than a violin string wrapped around a mobster’s throat.”

  “I am not! I’m perfectly relaxed. The Dalai Lama could take lessons from me. I’m so relaxed I’m about to fall asleep. Look how relaxed I am? Completely! Relaxed!”

  “Really?” He glanced down.

  Fee followed his gaze to her hands, where her nails were sunk into the mat, leaving little half-moon cuts in the material. “I think we should reschedule. Does Monday work for you?”

  “Nope. Let’s go get a drink.” He stood and held out his hand. His eyes dared her to say no.

  “Dante, I’ve got work to do. I can’t leave.”

  “How much time did you book off for my session today?”

  “An hour and a half. Why?”

  He flipped his wrist over. “You still owe me an hour and ten minutes.”

  “Okay, but this isn’t working for either of us.”

  “Is the gym the only place I can learn this mumbo-jumbo stuff of yours?”

  She didn’t correct him on the difference between “mumbo-jumbo” and yoga. She’d dealt with enough skeptics to know, sometime seeing is the only way to believing.

  “Not all of it. Quiet spaces work best though. Why don’t we try outdoor yoga?”

  “How about a compromise?” He lifted one corner of his mouth. “A walk, followed by a drink with a view?”

  “Fine. Let’s go, but you’re buying.”

  Fiona grabbed her bag and looked down at her long tee and yoga pants.

  “Trust me. None of the guys hanging out at the O-Club are going to complain.”

  Fee laughed and shook her head. “Why should they? They see me like this all the time.”

  The walk didn’t take long, but the exercise and fresh air cleared her head. It also gave her a few minutes to study Dante. He wasn’t like most of the guys she worked with privately. Although, PTSD hit everyone differently.

  If that was even an issue for him, she didn’t know. So far, he’d been quiet about his life and experience in the navy. Not that she blamed him. Most members who’d seen time in the sandbox didn’t want to talk about their time there. They just wanted to be left alone, to get back to their normal lives and forget the sights, sounds, and smells of war.

  Who could blame them?

  Not her.

  Normally she wouldn’t agree to leave the gym, as it pushed their boundaries and blurred the lines. In the gym, they were in her territory, she was in charge, and the men she worked with knew not to mess with her. This? It felt like a date and she was pretty sure any lines that may have existed were erased the moment he’d bumped into her. Not that she planned to date Dante.

  But a little downtime together couldn’t hurt. Plus, she’d never know his story if she didn’t trust him just a little and knowing what he was going through would help her help him.

  Yep, go with that excuse.

  It was gorgeous out with the temp sitting around the mid eighties, clear blue skies, and a soft breeze from the Atlantic. Thankfully her yoga pants and t-shirt were lightweight. Dante hadn’t bothered to change either. Not that there was anything wrong with the shorts and dark burgundy t-shirt that went well with his olive skin and deep brown eyes. Although with the ball cap pulled low and the dark sunglasses he’s slipped on, she couldn’t see his eyes. All in all, it was a little sexy and mysterious rolled into one.

  They took seats by the railing giving them an unobstructed view of the water and the Pell Bridge, Jamestown, and Goat Island.

  “I don’t get it,” she said.

  “What?”

  “The name of the island. There were no goats. There’s a nice hotel and the foghorn, but no livestock.”

  “Used to be a goat pasture in the 1600s.”

  And now there were tourists. Either way it was a spectacular sight and Dante was right, was more relaxing then a smelly old gym.

  The waitress came over and took their orders and cranked open the umbrella at Dante’s request. Fiona started to ask her to leave it down as she craved the heat from the sun until Dante pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “Headache?”

  “Yeah, bright light bothers me sometimes.”

  She scooted her chair out a few inches. New Englanders lived for summer, then around July they lived for winter, or at least autumn with its cooler temps and lower humidity levels.

  “You want to talk about it?” Dante asked.

  “The weather?”

  “If that’s what’s bothering you, sure. Too gorgeous out for you?”

  She leaned her head back, letting the sun warm her face. “It’s perfect.”

  They sat in silence as the gulls cried overhead and she tried to forget why they were here instead of back at the gym doing her job. If her bosses found out that she couldn’t put her personal life aside, that she’d let it get in the way of work, she could kiss her program good-bye. After all, no one wanted to learn how to handle stress from someone who couldn’t handle her own life problems.

  What she needed to do was get this session—and herself—back on track.

  She lowered her head. Dante sat stone still across from her, not a muscle twitched. Either he was asleep or deep into planning his takeover of the world.

  “Why didn’t you want to work out today?”

  “Me?” He took a sip of his beer. “You’re the one who slipped into the Twilight Zone.”

  “You’re the one who said to skip the workout and go play.”

  “Because you seemed distracted.”

  “I think you’re projecting,” she countered.

  He glanced over to where the waitress was talking with the bartender. “You want something to eat? They do pretty good w
ings here.”

  “Now you’re re-directing. Tell me, what’s eating you?” Because she wasn’t the only one not fully present during their session. “Or don’t tell me. It’s your choice and I won’t think less of you either way.”

  He lifted his hands, which had been hidden beneath the table. They shook, the right more so than the left. The movement was slight and had he stuck his hands in his pockets or even grasped one with the other, she wouldn’t have noticed.

  “Does that happen often?”

  “Enough to land me on desk duty. I can’t control it any more than the other shit that happens to me.”

  “Do you mind telling me about the other things?” The more she knew, the more she could help. Or not.

  “Remember I said you counted to thirty four times?” At her nod, he looked away. “It may have been more or less. I zoned out.”

  “I noticed. Where did you go?”

  “No idea. One minute I’m there, fully present, paying attention and participating and then the next it’s like I lost a gap in the conversation.” He took another sip of his beer. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to flashback and attack thinking you’re an insurgent.”

  She stole a sip of his beer and smiled at his raised brows. It was the only thing she could see with his mirrored sunglasses. “Honestly, the thought hadn’t crossed my mind.”

  It was a lie, one she’d never admit to.

  “Will you try something for me?” She took the silence to mean yes and walked him through the focused breathing technique.

  “I better not inhale a fly.”

  “If you do, it’s just extra protein.”

  He waited a beat or two, a quirk of a smile suggested he might think she were nuts. Still, he slipped the sunglasses off, and closed his eyes. He really had lovely, lush, dark lashes. Shoulders thrown back, he took a deep breath, expanding his impressive chest. She watched it fall as the air rushed out. Still, a rather impressive display of manly perfection. She really should say something, but she let him continue through the steps. There were small signs of stress, like the frown between his eyebrows and the tight line of his mouth.

  “Not bad for starters, but it works better if you breathe in through your mouth, out through your nose.”

  He started over. By the time he’d reached the sixth breath his hands had stopped shaking.

  Dante held up his hands. Turned them around and lifted his gaze to hers. She still couldn’t see his eyes, but his stare went right through her.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Relaxed. Calm. In control.” He chose his words slowly, as if taking inventory. “That’s amazing. I didn’t expect to feel any difference, forget about getting my hands to stop shaking. How often do I need to do that?”

  “Twice a day is good, or if you’re feeling stressed. Try it over the weekend and then let me know Monday how it’s going.”

  “It helps the stress?” He finished off his beer and flagged the waitress down. “You didn’t answer earlier. Do you want something to eat? Unless you have somewhere else you need to be.”

  She hesitated. The navy was paying her to help him with his PTSD, not go on a date. But if she paid her own way, then technically it was just two people eating together and it wasn’t like she had to rush home. Dylan was with his dad and stepmom tonight. She let out a groan.

  “Is that a yes, no, I’m dying for a burger?”

  Fiona laughed. “Exactly.” She turned to the waitress and ordered the cheeseburger, fully loaded with fries. Tomorrow she could go back to eating healthy. Right now she wanted grease and salt and to not worry. She might even grab a pint of Ben & Jerry’s on the way home.

  Dante put in his order and slipped his glasses on. The sun had shifted behind them, but he still squinted.

  “I ran into my sisters today. I’ll be testing out your breathing technique on Sunday. Probably a lot.”

  Not sure what one had to do with another, but it seemed his thoughts bounced around. Thankfully she had a ten-year-old who did the same. “I run a yoga class tomorrow morning at BEND IT. You’re welcome to join us. It might help.”

  “Getting out of dinner at my parents would help.”

  The waitress arrived with their food before Fiona could ask him about his family. She waited until they were settled and he’d dug into his burger. “I didn’t realize you were from Newport. It must be nice to be home.”

  “Providence and I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been home yet. My parents don’t even know I’m back.”

  She sat the burger down that she was about to take a bite out of and stared at him. How could anyone come home and not tell their family? Even all those years ago, when she’d moved away with Sal, her family was her anchor. Her lighthouse in the storm showing the way home.

  “Are they evil? Your sisters. Do they make you do all the chores and talk to mice when you’re home?”

  “They’re angels. Fallen, scary angels. Runs in the family.”

  She laughed at his description; pretty sure her own brother wouldn’t be nearly as creative. “Tell me about them, your family.” The more she knew about Dante and what made him tick, what his passions were, and what set off his buttons the better she could help. At least that was the story she was sticking with.

  “Officially there are four of us. George is the oldest and a chef with his own restaurant. Then me, Mateo is next and the pride of our parents because he’s some high-tech computer spy and works for the government at times. Tawny’s the baby. She’s an event planner. Her best friend, Cherry, has been around so long that’s she’s an honorary family member.”

  “Wait. Cherry and Tawny? Like as in Cherry Ryan and Tawny Torres?”

  “You know them?” There was an edge to his voice that made her proceed with caution.

  “Know of them. Most everyone in Rhode Island who doesn’t live under a rock has heard of your sisters. They’re pretty amazing, Dante.” The two had put on a fundraiser to rebuild their local community center after it had been ripped apart by a hurricane.

  He snorted. “Dios. Please don’t tell them that.”

  “Promise, my lips are sealed.” She crossed her heart and held up two fingers. “Your parents must be proud of all of you being so accomplished.”

  “They are.”

  He dug back into his food and she took a couple of bites from her burger. It didn’t sound like he came from a horrible or dysfunctional family. By the tone in his voice and the smile on his lips when he talked of his siblings, there was love, and more… he liked his family. So why didn’t he want to see them?

  Even when she and her brother Justin fought, and with only four years between them it was often, she couldn’t imagine not wanting to see him. And while she didn’t have a blood sister, she had one of the heart—Risa, who’d given her a brother-in-law and an adorable niece to love.

  When he’d finished his burger and wiped his hands and mouth he met her gaze. “They don’t know about my injuries or the extent of the damage and I’d like to keep it that way. They know I got hurt, but not that there were lasting effects. There’s no reason why they should worry. I’m fine. Maybe not one-hundred percent, but I’m alive.”

  “That’s the important point, your being alive.”

  Not everyone walked away thankful to have survived. And yet, she hurt for his family. The idea of her baby growing up someday, taking on a dangerous job and getting hurt was like a punch to the heart. Pressure built at the back of her eyes, burning and blurring her vision. If it had been Dylan, she wouldn’t have left his side until he was fully recovered and she got it, Dante didn’t want to worry his family.

  His fisted hands shook. He grimaced and looked away.

  “Dante, I’m guessing that’s a result of your injuries and you still don’t have to tell me, but don’t you think they’ll notice?”

  “That’s where you com
e in. I need you to teach me how to control it. Most of the time the effects are minimal, the shaking hands, zoning out, and inability to focus, but certain things like stress makes it worse.”

  Her heart broke with his words. The chances of him returning to his designated job in the navy or its civilian equivalent, even with her help, were slim. But she’d do everything she could to try. Yoga and focused breathing could help him deal with the symptoms, but it wouldn’t heal the damage done to him. Nor could it restore his identity and it was clear that Dante, like so many other people, equated job titles with who he was.

  The chef. The computer spy. The event planner… What was Dante? Not once had he ever mentioned his designator to her, but she’d asked around.

  EOD—Explosives Ordnance Disposal.

  Spec Ops. She’d met others of his kind, and it took a special breed of men to purposely play with things that went boom. Every one of them had been adrenaline junkies looking for the next big thrill, putting their lives on the line for kicks, and kept the rest of the population safe.

  No wonder he joked about being an instructor when they first met. Talk about a one-eighty from his regular world. Sure, he tried to make it sound like a normal gig. His eyes had said something else. They’d scoffed at the word, flashed with anger and disdain. She’d imagine to an EOD officer, that sitting around a desk or lecturing was about as boring as it got. He might have kept quiet about his previous assignment, but people talked. And she listened.

  He’d been a total badass, moving up the ranks quickly, taking risks and saving lives.

  Now it was her turn to help him. She took his hands in hers and leaned across the table.

  “Breathe, do it over and over again until you feel in control.”

  He went through the routine, slowly releasing his fists until there was only a slight tremor left. “Thanks.”

  “Come to my yoga class tomorrow.” It wasn’t part of the program, but she didn’t care. She still held his hands. Protocols be damned. “I’m not promising you a miracle cure. It’s going to take time for you to learn to control your body’s responses and the problems you described might never go away. But if you work with me, I’ll give it my best shot at helping you.”