Page 14 of Tameron

That hadn’t been the case, but it did lead to some resentful, anxious teenage years that took a long while to overcome. I was secure in my family now—secure with them and loved unconditionally—but there were tiny scars created by my own fears that still ached from time to time.

Maybe that was why I was the way I was. Crushing on someone like Tameron, knowing I’d never have a shot. I was fully content to be his friend because it made it easy to not be rejected. But I wasn’t a bitter man.Not really. I wanted to see people happy. I wanted to help them avoid feeling that dark, sinking sensation in their gut, like nothing was ever going to be okay.

I had no idea if Tameron would ever give me the benefit of the doubt, but I wasn’t going to lose hope. The little family Nash had put together was great, and even being on the fringes of that felt nice.

“Ayy,” Dax said loudly. I turned my attention back to him. ‘I’m going to bed. I’m exhausted and have to open the shop tomorrow.’ He stood and carefully eased Knives into my arms. ‘I like her.’

I smiled at him and held her close as I forced myself up. It was too early for bed for me, but the only thing I wanted right then was to curl up under my comforter, do a little kitten-supply shopping on my laptop, and maybe throw on an audiobook with a narrator that would put me to sleep.

I still had no word from Tameron, but after settling Knives under the covers with me, I took one more photo of the two of us and sent it, then added a little message at the end.

Goodnight, friend. Talk soon.

An hour and a half later, just as I started to feel sleep tugging at my edges, my phone buzzed. I glanced down at the screen, a smile crossing my face when I saw the name.

Goodnight. Kiss Knives for me, and see you at yoga next week.

CHAPTER FIVE

TAMERON

Knives.

He’d named the damn kitten Knives. Who named a cat that? Dayton Adams, that was who.

Okay, the little thing was absolutely adorable, and while I had no clue why Dayton sent me pics multiple times a day, I loved watching Knives come out of her shell. She’d attached herself to Dayton like an octopus, it seemed, because every single picture he sent me showed parts of him as well.

Half his face when she’d found a spot on his shoulder. His thick thighs when she’d found a spot on his lap. His biceps, when she’d curled up on his arm and had fallen asleep—and that man’s biceps were a work of art, especially for his age. I’d always been in excellent physical shape, but even I couldn’t match his fitness level.

Now granted, working out wasn’t as easy as it used to be. Before, I would’ve been able to do a five-mile run in full battle rattle, but those days were gone. Now, everything I did for exercise was low-impact. I could still do weights training—and I did, though usually with machines and not free weights, for safety reasons—but cardio was a challenge. Kinda dangerous to be running on a treadmill and get a sudden dizzy spell.

Which is where the yoga came in…and Dayton. As much as it pained me to admit it, he was an excellent teacher. His class had a gentle flow, making it easy to follow. Plus, I had no trouble understanding him and following his instructions, which hadn’t always been the case. My first yoga teacher had taught in a soft, sweet voice, which might’ve been great for relaxing but not so much for my ability to understand her.

I took my time in shavasana as the class ended, then slowly returned to the real world. My body felt great as I rolled up my yoga mat, fluid and relaxed. That should tide me over till the next class, three days from now.

Dayton made eye contact with me. Oh crap. Was he going to talk to me? Conversations with him always felt so awkward. I’d never had any issues with my social skills, and I had a reputation for being funny and witty, but with him, it was like my brain switched to different software. Old, slow software that made for stilted conversations and weird reactions.

I looked away as I hurried out of the room into the locker rooms, where I quickly grabbed my personal belongings from my locker and headed out. At least after a yoga class, I didn’t have to shower or be forced to change due to being sweaty or smelly.

In the lobby, I checked my phone out of habit. Oh, a message from Simon, my ASL teacher. I stopped and opened the message, my face falling as I read it. He’d failed me? He’d fuckingfailedme after I worked so hard on that assignment? He was such a dick.

“What’s with the face?”

I wasn’t even surprised when Dayton stepped up next to me. Instead of brushing him off—which I would have under normal circumstances—I showed him my phone. He read the message, then frowned. “You failed an ASL exam?”

“Yeah, and I worked really hard on it.”

“What was the assignment?”

“We had to do a five-minute talk about the importance of language to us, how we viewed language.”

His frown deepened. “That sounds rather abstract.”

“It was, so I wrote the whole thing out first and had Nash check it. I mean, he’s the only one out of all of us who has a college degree. He suggested some changes, which I made, and then I translated it into ASL and practiced for hours to get it right. I really thought I nailed it.”

His expression softened. “I’m sorry. That must be so frustrating.”

I dragged a hand through my hair, realizing, to my dismay, that it was a bit shaky. Apparently, I was even more emotional than I’d realized. “I don’t understand what I did wrong.”

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