Page 71 of Dirty Beasts: Chance

She shakes her head against my chest. “I don’t know what to dreamof, Chance. What do I want for my life?”

“I don’t know. I can’t tell you that. Only you can decide that.”

“That’s just it, Chance. I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to know. Not right now. You can take time to figure it out.”

“What if you get sick of me?”

I laugh. “We’ve spent every moment of every day together since we met at the club, and I feel like I’m just starting to get to know you.”

She sighs. “I’ve been weighed down for so long, this feeling of freedom is…it’s almost disorienting. Like being unexpectedly weightless.”

“I know what you mean, sorta. When Rev and I got out of the Marines, we were so used to having our life ordered down to the minute that we didn’t know what to do with ourselves as civilians. It took time to come to grips with that.” I tip my head to the side. “Not the same, I know. But similar.”

She breathes out slowly. “I’m glad I met you, Chance Kapule.”

“I’m glad too.” I cup her hip.

“I want you,” she breathes. “But I’m not sure—”

“Not here,” I murmur back, feeling sleep stealing up through me and over me. “Not here, not now. I want you too, but that ain’t goin’ anywhere, mama. Tonight, we just hold each other.”

She nuzzles closer to me, throwing a soft, heavy thigh over mine, her hand on my belly, her breath slowing.

When I’m sure she’s asleep, I let myself drift off, too.

11Attempting Tenderness

Luis is gone by the time I wake up and dress. Chance is already out of bed, sitting shirtless and barefoot on the front porch steps sipping coffee and browsing on his phone. There’s more coffee in the pot, so I hunt down a mug and pour myself some, and then join him on the porch.

“Your girl is out for a run,” Chance informs me.

“I miss running.”

Chance barks a laugh. “Not me. I fuckin’hatedPT. Running sucks. I’ll pull iron all day long, but fuck me if I’ll ever run another goddamn mile. I can’t tell you how many fuckin’ miles I’ve run, marched, and rucked.”

“What do you mean by rucked?”

“Running is running, obviously. Marching is in formation, in cadence. Rucking is like hiking, but carrying fifty-some pounds of gear in a backpack, or a rucksack—therefore, rucking.”

“That doesn’t sound fun,” I say.

He bobs his head to the side. “Eh. I bitch about it, but you really get close to the guys in your squad on long rucks. When you share misery, it forges a bond.”

“Is combat the same way?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. “That’s a little different.” He sighs. “There’s no way to explain that bond. I’m not tryin’ to avoid answering. There’s just really no fuckin’ way to explain it to someone who hasn’t lived it.”

“I can sort of understand, in a very minor way. The Olympics tryouts and qualification rounds…you’re in very close proximity to the same people day in and day out. It’s why Kelly and I are so close. We lived together, trained together, partied together.”

At that moment, Kelly jogs up, dressed in very tight, very short workout shorts and a sports bra, earbuds in, checking her smart watch as she puffs to a stop. “Five miles in thirty-five minutes. Not too shabby,” she says, dragging her wrist across her forehead.

“Nice,” I tell her, extending my fist for a fist-bump. “You’ve gotten faster.”

Kelly nods, tapping her watch to stop the run and kill the music, then stretching out on the lawn. “Most mornings, Luis and I run together. He has court this morning, though.”

“He can run with that leg injury?” I ask.