Free Last True Hero by Diana Gardin

my head fall into my hands. When I feel calm enough to rise, I pad barefoot, only wearing the boxer briefs I sleep in, across the hall to the bathroom where I take a piss and wash my face. My eyes are bloodshot when I glance at my reflection, and I realize that it’s going to take more than a rinse to wash away the stink of my demons.
    I pull on a pair of workout shorts and head to the garage, where Drake has a gym set up. I tape my hands and pull on a pair of boxing gloves.
    Then I proceed to pummel the shit out of a heavy bag, punching it as hard as I can until my breath comes in heavy gasps and sweat pours off my body.
    An hour on the bag, thirty minutes lifting free weights, and I’m good to go.
    I’ve never been a trusting person. Growing up in foster care after losing both your parents in a car accident at the age of seven will do that to a kid. But after what happened to me behind enemy lines in a continent where I had no friends, aside from the men I lost and the ones I couldn’t make it back to, that almost broke me. It leveled my body and murdered my spirit. I clawed my way out, but only a shell of the Dare I used to be returned from that hellhole.
    And the tiny amount of trust I’d built with the army?
    Gone.
    So I don’t know why I’ve decided to pursue Berkeley, a girl I’ve met a handful of times and been on one date with. Something about her just soothes my soul. And a soul like mine needs a salve.
    Somehow, I know I can’t trust her not to reach into my chest, pull out my heart, and crush it in her fists.
    But I can’t walk away.
    An hour later, I push open the door to See Food. Freshly showered but not shaved, I smile at the lady who I’ve gathered owns the place, and she comes rushing forward.
    “Table for one, sweet thing?”
    I give her a grin, nodding. “Thanks.”
    “I take it you’d like to sit in Berkeley’s section?”
    Nodding again, I wink at her. “Am I that transparent?”
    She tucks a strand of her short, black hair behind her ear and nods. “As a window.”
    She seats me and leaves, and I wait while my heart thumps forcefully against my ribs.
    I see her before she sees me, coming around the corner from the kitchen, her arms laden with plates for one of her tables. My eyes stay locked on her perfect form as she carefully maneuvers around the restaurant until she’s just five tables away. She still hasn’t seen me, so I have time to thank God for creating cutoff jean shorts that show me every delicious, curvy inch of Berkeley’s legs, and to marvel at the fact that I know what her full, strawberry-colored lips taste like.
    She smells like roses, but she tastes like tangy, sweet marmalade.
    When she finishes delivering her food, she turns to my table, to me, and freezes. Then she straightens, pulls the stunned look from her expression, and walks casually over to my table.
    I smile up at her. “Hey, Berkeley. How’s the shrimp today?”
    Her eyes narrow. “Fancy seeing you here, Dare.”
    I thought this would be difficult, but now I can see that it’s just gonna be fun. “I’m eating. Isn’t this still a restaurant?”
    She shifts, calling attention to her legs again, and my eyes betray me as they leave her face to trail over her body. Fuck , her See Food shirt today is a ribbed tank with a picture of a crab on the front. The tight fabric accentuates her generous rack, sitting high on her chest as if on display. I swallow.
    “Yeah, but why this restaurant?”
    “Because you’re here,” I say simply.
    Her lips part, but no words escape, and I turn my attention to my closed menu. “You already know what I want, right?”
    I’m aware this statement has two possible meanings, and I wonder which of them she’ll answer.
    She glances at the door to the kitchen, like she’s considering dumping my table onto someone else. But since the only other waitress I see running around is her boss, I doubt it’ll happen. Her gaze shifts back to mine, and I hold it, hoping she can