Rev (26 page)

Then there’s the other type. The real men. The kind that don’t say too much or care about winning people over, because they don’t seek approval. They walk into a room and they dominate it. It’s the way they stand, the way they take up the space around them, the way their very presence demands awe and deference. Dean was the embodiment of that type of man.

But there was something primal about him and it scared me. He had an edge. A dimension that both captivated me and scared me half to death. I was playing with fire—I knew that. But I couldn’t help but be drawn to it.

The coffee shop had an old clock in it, one of those antique wood ones that added whimsical charm. It struck 2:00 with a satisfying old-worldly ding and shocked me out of my protracted reflection.

Time to go

Dean said I should meet him back at the gym around 2:00. After a shower, he’d take me up to Wilmington to go shopping and get some clothes.

I knew it had to end. I knew the logical thing here was for us both to go back to where we belonged. But I was going to savor every moment I spent around him. Just being in his presence was a heady, exhilarating experience. I never wanted it to end.

When I walked through the door, the man at the front desk who’d been eyeballing me earlier was just staring at his magazine with an almost fearful fixation.

“Where’s Dean?” I asked.

He pointed without looking up.

Holy shit…

All the way across the wide expanse of the rubber floor, there was a huge steel rack. A long steel bar rested across it, five or six large plates fixed to either end. Thick metal chains hung from either end.

And there he is.

Dean stepped into the rack with a wide leather belt fastened around his impressively streamlined waist. He wore a tank top that strained as his back muscles bunched and he stepped under the bar and locked his body into position.

He grunted and lifted the massive weight off the rack, stepping back while it balanced on his upper back. The weight was so heavy, the bar was bending. His arms were so tense and pumped, I could see the veins running through them. The expansive cuts between his muscles grew even deeper as striations ran across the surface of his back, shoulders, and arms.  

Then, with one fluid motion of his body, he bent his knees, the weight bounced on his upper back, and he heaved hundreds and hundreds of pounds high up into the air until his arms were extended almost fully. I could see his face in the mirror, red with massive, determined effort. And with something else. There was rage in his eyes, some kind of power beyond just that single act of unfathomable energy.

He let the weight fall back down onto the rack. It crashed, the sound of metal on metal resounding through the gym.

I walked over to him. He was removing his belt, the veins in his shoulders and arms slowly retracting back from the surface of his skin until he was smooth and hard as marble again.

“Let me shower and we’ll go.”

I nodded.

That was it. Dean was primal—a stirring mix of passion, power, and provocation all wrapped up in the perfect package. He bewildered me. He scared me. He aroused me.

Dean Hunter was all I could think about.

Chapter 9

We drove up alongside the Cape Fear River. I’d decided, in spite of knowing better, to let her stay the weekend. She said she needed Saturday and Sunday—apparently it had something to do with sea turtles. I’d find out tomorrow. I’d told her I’d take her to Holden Beach for some hatching or whatever it was when they all crawled out into the ocean.

There goes my Saturday…

For a guy who avoided commitment, I sure was getting involved. Funny thing is, it didn’t feel so bad, though I was frustrated by my lack of self-control. Every hour that went by was like stacking up the chips for the final hand. At some point Roman would call, I’d have it all on the line, and we’d turn the cards over. Was I really willing to go all in? Was I really willing to take it to the river?

Speaking of rivers, this one was fucking beautiful. When I moved here after my father’s funeral, I went up in a helicopter with a buddy of mine. He was another of us Marine guys looking for a second life. He worked with some company that did tours over by Oak island or something—I hadn’t seen him since.

From up there, the river was magnificent. It twisted gently, a bright deep blue, through the wide expanse of rolling flat valleys. Major highways converged around that river valley, and you could see them twisting together where US 17, 76, and 421 carried across the Cape Fear Memorial Bridge.

The USS North Carolina commanded your attention whether from high in the air or—as we were now—passing over the bridge and into downtown Wilmington. That old beast of war was the first of the fast battleships constructed to fight in the Pacific during WWII. Now it sat tethered in a small inlet, a memorial to citizens of the state who risked their lives in wartime. That ship and I shared a small moment every time I passed into Wilmington—two discarded wartime relics trying to rediscover a sense of purpose.

I revved my ’79 Pontiac Firebird 400 WS6 into historic downtown Wilmington.

“You know, USA Today named this the nation’s greatest riverwalk last year.” Saylor sat up and watched the scenery fly by through the window. “I always love coming down here,” she said with that eager, open tone that I was starting to get too attached to. “Well, for me it was down…Ace’s house is up further North and he would usually just drive right through to meet with Roman.”

I looked her over through the corner of my eye.

Fuck, she’s delicious.

“Yeah. They used to film a lot of movies and shows over here,” I noted. “Big time stuff, lot of jobs and tourism draw. They got rid of the financial incentives though. State managed to screw that one up.”

Saylor nodded. We were almost at the part of the riverwalk with all the shops and boutiques. I figured—what the hell else did I have to do—we could turn the shopping trip into something else.

“So, you ever been on the riverwalk?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“What! Really? How’s that? You live like half-an-hour north of here.”

Saylor turned, facing me with those wide-open eyes. “I know. I never had the opportunity given…”

“Yeah, I get it.” I looked her over from her bright, shining hair to the feminine curve between the swells of her hips and breasts. It boggled my mind how someone could have a girl like that and treat her like Ace did.

Fucking moron, that guy.

“I’ll park up ahead,” I told her. “Figure we can get you some stuff to wear for the weekend at one of those stores along the walk or whatever—I don’t know very much about all of that. But, listen, it looks like a nice night for a stroll.”

Saylor perked up. Enthusiasm was the defining mark of her personality, and for some reason it was driving me crazy. Why else would I be doing any of this?

“I can’t wait,” she exclaimed.

It was something in the way she got genuinely excited. She was open to the world and welcoming to every possibility in the most heartfelt way.

It was almost the opposite with me. I’d close-off at the slightest threat to my self-control and ordered approach to each and every day.

So, why’s she getting to me?

I couldn’t answer that, and I’m not sure I cared. If I wanted her, I’d have to have her.

The riverwalk stretched over a mile in front of us, seemingly endless and twisting sharply and suddenly as it weaved across the multifarious parts of the historic city.

“Just like life,” I mused out loud.

Saylor stood to my side, by the dry wood fence that marked the start of path across the weathered wood boards of the boardwalk.

“What do you mean?” She asked.

I shrugged, realizing too late I was talking out loud. “Just saying, you know, it doesn’t go straight across the bank of the river, or just a bit inland, or cut through just one part of town. It winds its way across all these different parts, twisting unexpectedly.”

Saylor gazed out over the river, which sparkled with the setting sun and the gentle descent of the summer dusk. “It is amazing, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“This place played such an important but immensely different role through so many different periods of history. It was a key port in the Civil War, launched battleships in WWII, and dozens of major movies were filmed here.”

“It still has the largest television production studio outside Los Angeles,” I added. “Not to mention, Roman’s legal gambling riverboats that never actually end up in international waters. But that’s legal fiction for you.”

Saylor smiled. “Well, that’s just it. That’s just my point. Nothing changes, it’s just one thing after another. Things build up, fade, but are always present in one way or another. Backdrops to famous movies and the USS North Carolina and the antebellum homes, and even all these microbrew places—it’s like seeing hundreds of years layered on top of each other, with the parts showing through.”

I’d never heard someone think about it like that. I paused to reflect and smiled. “Damn. Well, I mostly just came here for the beer, but let’s check it out.”

We started down towards the river marinas and the stretch of high-masted ships bobbing in the current. As the evening settled in, the night lights across the water and straight ahead into the distance brought a frenzied, energetic feel to the scene. In the morning, the wide banks of the river seemed almost sleepy, the town a proud but fading relic of American history. But then, at night it came alive. Innumerable lights glistening off the mirror-like spread of gentle water in yellow, white, orange, blue, red—every color imaginable.

As she scampered ahead of me, Saylor was the very picture of genuine excitement and buzzing enthusiasm. The way she ran from one side of the riverwalk, peering out over the bank across the water, and then back again towards the many shops and restaurants which formed at the other side of the old, weathered wood planks—it stirred something in me.

I worked out, got in the ring, drank… That’s about it. I hadn’t been enthusiastic about anything in years.

For good reason.

But her lively exuberance was starting to wear off on me. I was noticing things I’d been numb to for years.

Fuck, she’s beautiful.