necessary.”
“So Brody did order it? But why?”
Travis shrugged. “My guess is he was learning. And I didn’t mind because I was learning too,” he replied.
“Learning that a beating hurts,” was her dry retort.
“Oh, I already knew that. But here’s something you don’t know. By letting someone go at you and not putting up much of a defense, you end up getting a lesson.”
“A lesson in how not to sob for your mommy?”
Her crude jest made him smile.
“Oh please. As if I’d ever do that. My ma would have used her spoon on me herself if she ever heard me begging her to save me. No, the lesson I’m talking about is more of a life experience. How else can you know what you can handle unless you push your limits? In a fight, especially one where you let your opponent have his way, you get to see how your body reacts to certain blows. Teach yourself how to brace for it. You get to see the exact motion they’re employing, and you can devise a counter. By experiencing it, I never forget it. Hence, I learn from it. It’s how I improve my skills.”
“Getting a black eye, fat lip, who knows how many bruises on your ribs, is improvement? I don’t buy it. No man lets himself get beaten to a pulp for any reason.”
“I do. And I’m glad I did because, while I don’t know what Brody spotted, I learned a few things.”
“Such as the taste of sand?” By insulting him, she hoped to fight his allure, an allure that multiplied the more she dabbed at the blood on his skin.
As she wiped the traces of battle from him, she couldn’t help but note the things she tried to ignore. The smoothness of his flesh. The firmness of his muscle. Even the smell of sweat didn’t bother her. On the contrary, she fought a temptation to lick his skin to taste the salt.
“Ma always said dirt might not taste good, but sometimes it did a boy good to get a mouthful of it, for the vitamins you know.” He said it with complete seriousness.
“Travis, you do realize your mother was just trying to make you feel better because someone beat the hell out of you.”
He winked at her. “Of course I know that. But guess what? It did me good. In the end, all those face rubs in the dirt made me determined to get stronger. You might find this hard to believe, but I used to be a runt of a cub. Shortest and scrawniest of my age group. So you can imagine what happened at school. One day, I decided that just because someone picks on me it doesn’t make me weak. I was just untrained. Not having a dad around, I didn’t get the same benefit the other boys did. I needed to create ways and scenarios where I could sponge some fatherly advice.”
His admission captivated her. How lonely for him growing up. She’d had two parents. Still did. They lived out on the east Canadian coast, in Halifax, Nova Scotia. She saw them a few times a year and spoke every other week to them on the phone. But Travis? He had only his mother, a woman who could cook up a storm but knew nothing about training a grizzly cub to become a predator, or a man.
“What about the other dads? Surely there were a few to help a kid out?”
“You have met my mother, right?” Asked with a wry query.
“Yeah.” Betty-Sue was a true matron and ferocious mama bear.
“I love Ma, but she scares the shit out of a lot of the men. None of them dared take me under their paw, lest they incur her wrath.”
“And yet she allowed you to get picked on as a kid? That doesn’t make sense.”
“She might seem scary—”
Jess arched a brow.
He laughed. “Okay really scary, but in her defense, she wanted to do her best by me, which meant letting me fight my own battles. When I’d come home a little banged up, she’d wipe off my wounds, feed me some freshly baked cookies, and say, ‘What did you learn this time?’ I’d tell her, and then she’d kiss my booboos better.”
He gave her a hopeful look.
She ducked her head. Must not give in. Ignore the big bear eyes. Ignore the
“So Brody did order it? But why?”
Travis shrugged. “My guess is he was learning. And I didn’t mind because I was learning too,” he replied.
“Learning that a beating hurts,” was her dry retort.
“Oh, I already knew that. But here’s something you don’t know. By letting someone go at you and not putting up much of a defense, you end up getting a lesson.”
“A lesson in how not to sob for your mommy?”
Her crude jest made him smile.
“Oh please. As if I’d ever do that. My ma would have used her spoon on me herself if she ever heard me begging her to save me. No, the lesson I’m talking about is more of a life experience. How else can you know what you can handle unless you push your limits? In a fight, especially one where you let your opponent have his way, you get to see how your body reacts to certain blows. Teach yourself how to brace for it. You get to see the exact motion they’re employing, and you can devise a counter. By experiencing it, I never forget it. Hence, I learn from it. It’s how I improve my skills.”
“Getting a black eye, fat lip, who knows how many bruises on your ribs, is improvement? I don’t buy it. No man lets himself get beaten to a pulp for any reason.”
“I do. And I’m glad I did because, while I don’t know what Brody spotted, I learned a few things.”
“Such as the taste of sand?” By insulting him, she hoped to fight his allure, an allure that multiplied the more she dabbed at the blood on his skin.
As she wiped the traces of battle from him, she couldn’t help but note the things she tried to ignore. The smoothness of his flesh. The firmness of his muscle. Even the smell of sweat didn’t bother her. On the contrary, she fought a temptation to lick his skin to taste the salt.
“Ma always said dirt might not taste good, but sometimes it did a boy good to get a mouthful of it, for the vitamins you know.” He said it with complete seriousness.
“Travis, you do realize your mother was just trying to make you feel better because someone beat the hell out of you.”
He winked at her. “Of course I know that. But guess what? It did me good. In the end, all those face rubs in the dirt made me determined to get stronger. You might find this hard to believe, but I used to be a runt of a cub. Shortest and scrawniest of my age group. So you can imagine what happened at school. One day, I decided that just because someone picks on me it doesn’t make me weak. I was just untrained. Not having a dad around, I didn’t get the same benefit the other boys did. I needed to create ways and scenarios where I could sponge some fatherly advice.”
His admission captivated her. How lonely for him growing up. She’d had two parents. Still did. They lived out on the east Canadian coast, in Halifax, Nova Scotia. She saw them a few times a year and spoke every other week to them on the phone. But Travis? He had only his mother, a woman who could cook up a storm but knew nothing about training a grizzly cub to become a predator, or a man.
“What about the other dads? Surely there were a few to help a kid out?”
“You have met my mother, right?” Asked with a wry query.
“Yeah.” Betty-Sue was a true matron and ferocious mama bear.
“I love Ma, but she scares the shit out of a lot of the men. None of them dared take me under their paw, lest they incur her wrath.”
“And yet she allowed you to get picked on as a kid? That doesn’t make sense.”
“She might seem scary—”
Jess arched a brow.
He laughed. “Okay really scary, but in her defense, she wanted to do her best by me, which meant letting me fight my own battles. When I’d come home a little banged up, she’d wipe off my wounds, feed me some freshly baked cookies, and say, ‘What did you learn this time?’ I’d tell her, and then she’d kiss my booboos better.”
He gave her a hopeful look.
She ducked her head. Must not give in. Ignore the big bear eyes. Ignore the
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