Ally

Nothing was said before or during my second kickboxing session. Other than the occasional demand from Austin that I strike harder or kick higher.

He always stood a few feet away from me, those arms crossed over that chest as he observed me through another workout just as tough as the first, if not more so. To say it was intimidating was an understatement. I could feel those hazel eyes trailing their way over my body again and again.

And more times than not, I found myself fighting between the urge to push myself harder or abruptly stop my movements and quit all together.

But nearly thirty minutes in, that feeling from the first session returned. My arms itched to punch harder, I could extend my leg higher, and with each strike to the bag I felt a confidence I hadn't felt in a long time.

Like I was in complete and utter control.

And that addictive chemical igniting in my brain, that I knew was dopamine, surged through my veins and I found that I could care less about Austin's eyes on me.

I timed each thrust of my arm to each controlled breath I took through my nose. My torso jerked with each quick movement, and I tightened my core, channeling every ounce of strength I had.

"That's it," Austin encouraged, and from the corner of my eye, I saw him take a step forward. "Finish strong but keep that control. Thirty more seconds."

My body had a mind of its own as adrenaline took over my limbs, and when Austin called time, I found myself falling to the mat again just like the first session.

I could've sworn I heard Austin chuckle, but I was too busy drinking in large amounts of air for my greedy lungs. A second later, Austin placed my water bottle down beside me and I sat up, bringing the straw to my lips.

"Your form is much better than the first time," Austin complimented, and I quirked a brow. "We need to work on the timing of your kicks, and I would like to incorporate boxing pads in the next session or two."

I just nodded, not bothering to let the straw fall from my lips as my throat reveled in the cool water coating it. When Austin's eyes fell on me again, he stared at me for a long moment. And I averted my gaze anywhere but up at him.

"Why?"

My eyes snapped back up at him in that moment, and I furrowed my brows. I let the straw fall from my lips, parting them for a second before licking them. "Why," I repeated cautiously, and he just nodded.

"Why come back? What changed your mind?" His voice was calm, and there was no question in his words although the sentence was worded as one. His features remained neutral, no curiosity or confusion, and for a moment, I wondered whether he cared for an answer.

"You told me you expected to see me back here today," I reminded him, pushing myself to my feet.

His eyes narrowed slightly, but not to the point of a glare.

"I told you I expected to see you back, not that I demanded it of you."

I was more than slightly confused by this conversation, and the longer I stood there staring at Austin Moon while still trying to catch my breath, my confusion only continued to grow. I chewed at the inside of my lip, wondering how to answer his questions.

"Can't it just be that I decided it wasn't that bad and I wanted to take up kickboxing," I placed a hand on my hip. "Do you question all of your clients on what made them start?"

"Well considering you are tiny as shit, have no muscle anywhere on you, and couldn't seem any less interested in this Saturday, I figured you could at least enlighten me as to what changed your mind."

My head snapped back, and I glared, tightening my hand around my water bottle. "Okay asshat," I bit. "I just decided to give into my friends' nagging and see what it's all about. There is no rhyme or reason behind it, not that it's any of your business if there was."

My eyes wanted to widen at the response that fell from my lips before I could stop it. I hadn't been known for being the friendliest person over the last two years, but I had never been flat out rude to anyone – normally letting comments and people like Austin roll off my shoulders. And having worked in customer service over the past four years, I had encountered my fair share of them.

But to my surprise, Austin didn't do anything but blink.

"I'm asking because I expect you to give one hundred percent when you walk through those doors. It only gets harder from here." He looked me up and down once more. "And I'll demand all you have to give and then some."

His words caused my stomach to flip, and my body became hyperaware of his eyes taking me in.

We were silent for a moment, letting his words digest. And while they should have scared me enough to never return, I only felt determination creep up my spine as I leveled my gaze on him, head held high.

I couldn't make out if he didn't believe I could do this, or if he was simply just warning me of what he expected. But just as he expected me to return today, I would fulfill his expectations with each session after this one.

Because it wasn't just him that I had something to prove to, it was myself.

Nothing felt reachable for me since losing Dallas. The moment I lost him, I had lost sight of whatever future I had been working towards, and every day since had been a constant routine with no goal in sight.

Trish had been right – I needed something, someone to light a fire underneath my ass. And if it couldn't be me or those who had known me half my life, why not the person in front of me.

But with the reoccurring fear that nothing would change, that I would still be just as stuck as I had every other time I tried something new to pull me from the whole I dug after Dallas was placed in one, I felt my head fall.

Feelings of determination and hesitation fought against one another as I swallowed the knot that formed in my throat. Glancing down at my fingertips tapping against my thigh, I sighed. "Look, I don't have an answer for you," I admitted quietly. "But I do know that I need something, someone to push me. I need someone to expect something from me." I glanced back up at him, and he seemed to be studying me, his features softer than before. "So, trust I'll commit whatever I have to give to this."

His brows bent slightly, that natural frown of his deepening.

"Okay," he said with a single nod.

I gave him a soft smile. "I'll see you Wednesday."

"See you Wednesday."

/

"Hey, daddy."

"Hey, sweetheart! What's my girl doing?"

I grinned at my father's booming voice echoing from my phone. Plopping onto my sofa with a bowl of popcorn in one hand and the television remote in the other, I made sure to keep my phone steady between my ear and shoulder. Tucking my feet underneath my bottom, I placed the popcorn beside me and covered myself with my favorite throw.

It had been a long day helping Betty rearrange the shop, and I had decided I would treat myself to my favorite snack – salty popcorn coated in chocolate syrup.

"I just got home not too long ago, sitting down with some popcorn and to watch some Netflix. What are you up to, old man?" He laughed at my teasing, and I closed my eyes at the sound. His laugh never failed to put me into a good mood, no matter how long or bad of a day I had, had.

"Oh, just listening to your Madre go on about how the dog from next door got into her flower bed."

A small gasp escaped my lips. "Oh no, how did he get in?"

My father suddenly lowered the volume of his voice, and before he uttered a word, I was already smiling like a loon.

"I may or may not have accidently left the gate open". There was a pause. "And you better not tell her either! She'll sell my tickets to the Rockies' games."

I stifled my cackle, shaking my head at the man I called my father – the first love of my life and the only person in the world that could make my stomach cramp from endless laughter.

"Don't worry, your secret is safe with me," I mused, "and I'll get her off your back by bringing her some new flowers to plant from the shop whenever I come up next weekend."

"You're coming up next weekend! Oh, meraviglioso!"

His Italian accent instantly got thicker from excitement at the news, and my inner child relished in the comfort it brought.

My father, Lester Dawson, was nearly one hundred percent Italian, having been born and raised there, only leaving when joining their military at the age of eighteen. He served nearly five years and had been on his last tour in Iraq when he had met my mother, an American soldier.

And Penny Dawson, although she supported the last name Carson at the time, had hated him the moment my father had first spoken to her – something to do with an Italian insult that my father assumed my mother wouldn't be able to understand. But at some point, during that tour, the two had fallen for one another.

And after their last year of service was completed, they married; my father following her halfway across the world, away from everything he had ever known, to start a family with her in the States.

"I feel like I haven't seen you in forever."

The smile that had been aching my cheeks dropped at that, and I sighed. It had been a little over a month since I had made the hour drive down to Colorado Springs to see them, and that fact tugged at my heart strings.

They had moved nearly a year ago after my mother had been offered a job with pay neither of them could refuse. It took quite a bit of convincing on my part that I would be perfectly fine renting an apartment downtown; that I had Betty to look after me and the support of Trish and Cassidy. And once I threw in the thought of reapplying to college in Denver, they basically moved me themselves.

I still wasn't quite there yet though.

"I know, I'm sorry. I should visit you guys more," I admitted.

"No, honey. It's okay. The road works both ways. We should come visit you more."

I shook my head although he couldn't see me. It didn't matter if the road worked both ways, I was their daughter. They had done for me my entire life, the least I could do for them was make the occasional trip down to see them.

"Well, it doesn't matter, I'll be down next weekend."

"Can't wait, mi amore. How's everything been this week?"

I took in a breath, leaning back into my cushions as I removed my feet from underneath me and propped them on my coffee table.

"Oh, same old, same old. Well, except for the fact that Trish and Cassidy signed me up, without my knowledge, for kickboxing lessons three times a week at the new gym in town."

Loud laughter filled my ear, and it was only when it was at my expense that I would roll my eyes. I waited a moment for him to calm down, catch his breath, and before long, he was speaking.

"Seriously! That's the best thing I've heard in weeks. I'll have to text Trish and tell her that is her best one yet."

I let out a soft chuckle, playing with the ends of my hair. "Yeah, yeah, laugh at my misery."

"Oh, you know I'm not laughing at you, I'm laughing with you!"

I waited for just a moment.

"Well, I'm only laughing at you a little bit."

I snorted.

"What! The thought of you repeatedly punching something is hilarious."

I did nothing but shake my head. "Yeah, well, I'm actually not half bad. I can actually make the bag move."

"Wait! You've actually done a lesson!"

The grin that had been on my face returned, and although he couldn't see me, I nodded proudly. "Yep! Finished my second yesterday, and have another one in the morning, so ha, take that." There was a soft chuckle.

"That's amazing, honey. I'm proud of you. Did you enjoy it?"

It had been the first time I had been asked by someone who I knew wouldn't try and change my perspective on it in anyway, so I let out a soft breath. "I really do, dad. It's amazing how good I feel after only two sessions. At the first session, I wanted to wring their necks, but once we got into it, I felt amazing. Once my adrenaline starts pumping and I get warmed up, I feel like I can take on anything in the world."

My father remained quiet for a heartbeat.

"I'm so happy for you, sweetheart."

There was a heavy silence between us for a moment, and I knew. I knew that it had been so long since my father had heard me talk about anything that brought me even the slightest bit of joy. To hear my voice grow louder with excitement, and to have something take my time other than work and being alone in this apartment.

I knew they worried. Trish and Cassidy had admitted on more than one occasion that both my parents checked in with them periodically to see how I was dealing. To give them details about how I was feeling when they knew I wouldn't tell them.

And I knew it did my dad good to hear me talk about something I was growing to enjoy – maybe it would keep them from worrying so much.

"Thanks, daddy." My voice was soft with those words before I cleared my throat. "How's everything down there? Are you enjoying the new station?"

"Oh yes, the cases are much better, however the workload is a little heavier than I'm used to, but it's what I expected."

After retiring from the military, my father had stepped into the role of a police officer. It took years for him to work his way up the chain, and before he had left Littleton, he had only been a year away from being promoted from a detective to a Lieutenant.

Lucky for him, the Lieutenant for Colorado Springs had planned to retire this past New Year and with no one qualified enough for the role, my father happily stepped in to fill his shoes. It had only been a month since he had signed the papers, but I knew he hadn't truly stepped up to the plate until the past couple of weeks.

"You are enjoying it though, right?"

"Well, I'm not enjoying cleaning up the mess of cases. Some are cold, some on going, and everything in-between is just plain out unorganized, but other than that, it's been the best." There was a lengthy pause between them, and when he let out a long exhale, I felt concern bobble in my throat. "I actually seen Dallas' case the other day."

Every ounce of air left my lungs at that statement, and I gripped the arm of the sofa until my knuckles turned a ghostly white. My vision tunneled, and I forced a slow, deep breath through my nose before letting it out through parted lips.

"Oh," I croaked. Clenching my teeth together, I begged myself to be able to form a coherent sentence. "It isn't anywhere near that jurisdiction, why was it down there?"

"Sometimes cases are sent to other stations just to have another eye, that's all. I was just surprised I came across it, felt a little weird to be honest."

"But it was a car accident."

My statement was ragged, and I should've noticed the pain in my father's voice as he recalled the event of finding Dallas' case; but I just couldn't see past my own grief. I wanted to close everything that came with that night and lock it away forever. And somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew my father only brought it up because his own heart was hurting, too – Dallas was the son he never had; my parents had adored him.

"I know, honey. It's just stations swapping closed cases. I'm sorry, I don't know what I was thinking bringing that up. I just, seeing it, ya know."

A single tear escaped from the corner of my eye, falling at a fierce rate down my cheek at the weariness in my father's voice as he spoke to me about Dallas for the first time since the accident.

Not only had he lost someone he loved like a son, but I was also aware that he had watched his little girl go through the worst heartache a person could experience. And anytime that had been brought up, my father's happy, cheerful personality turned as dark as his eyes did at the remembrance of that time.

"I know, we both miss him." I took in a shaky breath, "and it's okay to talk to me about him. I know you and mom loved him, too. I'm glad you decided to tell me."

My voice remained low, and I prayed that he couldn't hear the sob stuck in my throat. I was glad my father felt comfortable enough to tell me, but that didn't make it hurt any less.

"Yeah." Another sigh. "I love you, sweetheart."

"I love you, dad."

As if my father could read my mind through technology, he bid me a goodnight, somehow knowing without me saying a word that I needed a moment to myself. And as soon as I heard the dial tone, I slowly placed the phone down on the sofa before clasping a hand over my mouth as the first sob escaped.

These were the days I hated. Days when I felt his absences like a missing limb, and any memory of him brought on phantom pain. It was days like this that I could only focus on the last time he held me; how I wished I knew then to hug him a little tighter and stay a little longer – that I would never hear his laugh or fall in love with him all over again at the sight of each smile that spread across those lips I had kissed a million times. He wasn't here with me to live out the life that we had been planning together since we were fifteen.

Another sob wracked my body, this one shifting me forward. My throat constricted, and tears began making their way down each cheek at a rapid rate. I clutched at my shirt fabric resting against my breastbone, stretching it forward as I folded in on myself back into the couch.

And I let myself cry.

I hadn't gone a week since the accident without crying, but this had been the first time in a while that I had completely lost it.

Images of that night kept replying on a loop; the party, the voicemail, the phone call from his sister the next morning to tell me that Dallas was found dead in his truck wrapped around a tree.

I remembered crawling into bed that night, anxious for the test I had the next morning, shooting Dallas a message letting him know I loved him and to text me whenever he made it home safe – but I never got that text.

With my arms encircling myself, I laid against the armchair, letting the tears run freely down my face without a care to wipe them away. Hiccups escaped my throat, one after the other as I stared at the television, watching previews of Netflix shows light up my dark living room.

Beside me, my phone rang, and I glanced down at the screen to see Trish's name. Sighing, I hit the power button, silencing it but not completely declining – if I done that, she would be barging through my apartment door within the next twenty minutes.

After nearly half an hour, I forced myself to my feet, turning off the television before making my way down the tiny corridor blindly. I pushed my way into my bedroom, kicking off my slippers before opening the drawer to my nightstand, pulling out a purple sweatshirt.

Across the front read 'Littleton High' in gold, bold lettering with a lion's head printed just below it.

My lip trembled as I slide into my bed, tucking the sweatshirt into my chest as I curled around it. I loaned for it to still smell like him, but the scent had faded with each passing day. But when I closed my eyes, I could still remember when Dallas slide this up and over his torso the moment I stepped out of the school building after the final bell.

It was our freshmen year.

The air had been cool with heavy cloud coverage that evening; autumn moving in at full speed, and with it being the first of October, it was only going to drop even lower once the sun set. Everyone around campus had been preparing for the first home game of the season, and although Dallas and I were just friends at the time, I had admitted to Dallas earlier that day that I didn't own any clothing with our school's colors.

Once last period ended, I found him waiting around in the parking lot, nearly missing the team's call time down at the field house just to ask me to wear his sweatshirt that night. I hadn't known until I turned it around that it had his last name and number printed on the back.

I ran my fingers over where his name was, feeling the wear and tear from over the years – I had worn it to every football game throughout our entire four years there, not missing one once Dallas asked me to be his girlfriend two weeks later.

This had been the only thing of his that Mr. and Mrs. Harrison didn't know I still had.

Fresh tears slipped onto my pillow, and I clutched the sweatshirt tighter, basking in the slight comfort it brought. And I fell asleep with wet cheeks and the memory of his smile brightening each time he spotted me wearing it.