Rescue You

by Elysia Whisler

  “You hear that clanking sound?” Rhett smiled at her. “That’s the bar rattling in your hands. That’s good. Means you’re getting power into the lift.”

  Stanzi smiled and worked her arms in big circles. She was probably exhausted, but she said nothing.

  “Duke.” Rhett shook his head as the big guy failed the last rep of his last set. “This is medium percentage work. You shouldn’t be failing. As big as you are, you aren’t getting the power you need in the drive.”

  Duke racked his barbell. “I don’t know what’s going on, man.” He rubbed his lower back. “I’m just sore today.”

  Stanzi, who’d been watching intently, stepped in. “I think—” her voice came out soft but authoritative “—that your glutes aren’t firing correctly. I think your back is firing first. Do you want me to check?”

  Duke blinked for a few seconds. His hair, which was always perfectly combed on arrival, like a black-and-white film star’s, had a rumpled, sweaty look. “Um,” he said. “Yeah. Sure.”

  “Lie down.” Stanzi pointed at a spot on the floor long enough to accommodate Duke. “Facedown.”

  Duke stripped off his wrist wraps and, with raised eyebrows, obeyed.

  Stanzi kneeled down next to him and waved Rhett closer. Rhett kneeled down on Duke’s other side. The rest of the crew gathered in a curious circle. She pushed up Duke’s sweaty T-shirt, exposing his lower back. “Can I touch your glutes?”

  Duke laid his cheek against his crossed forearms. “You have to ask?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then yes, ma’am. Touch my glutes.”

  Stanzi spread the fingers of her left hand, placing her thumb on Duke’s right butt cheek and her pinky on the center of the back of his thigh. With her right hand, she placed her thumb and forefinger on Duke’s lower back, one on either side of his spine. “Duke,” she said, “when I say go, I want you to slowly raise your right leg toward the ceiling.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “Go.”

  Duke slowly raised his leg.

  Stanzi watched carefully, then said, “One more time.” Her eyes closed as Duke repeated the movement. Her eyes opened and locked into Rhett’s. “Did you see that?”

  “I think so.”

  “His back is firing before his glutes or hamstrings. That’s not good.” Stanzi ran a hand through her hair, making it stick up in places. “It can lead to a loss of power and low back pain. I want either the glutes or the hamstrings to fire first.”

  Rhett nodded. “Makes sense to me.”

  “Here.” Stanzi came around to Rhett’s side and took his hand. “You feel.” She positioned his fingers on Duke’s body, just as hers had been. Up close, that sweaty Larry Bird T-shirt smelled sweet; not like chemical perfumes, but something spicy and soothing at the same time, like a warm kitchen on a cold night.

  “Hey, Rhett.” James was smiling down at them. “You’re supposed to ask Duke if you can touch his butt first.”

  Doug snorted a laugh. “Can Rhett touch your butt, Duke? And can we watch?”

  “Shut up,” Duke laughed into his arms. “Just let the little redhead fix me. I don’t care who touches my butt.”

  “Duke—” Stanzi bit down on her lower lip, like she was trying to suppress a smile “—raise your left leg this time, slowly.”

  Rhett watched carefully. He was pretty sure he felt Duke’s spinal erectors bump under his fingertips before his butt or hamstrings. He made Duke repeat the movement three times. “Yeah,” he finally concluded. “Back’s firing first on this side, too.”

  “Duke, I’m going to squash your glutes,” Stanzi said. She pressed her hands over his generous butt cheek, like kneading bread dough. “I’m bringing the origin and insertion of the muscles close together.”

  “That’s her fancy way of saying she’s rubbing your butt, dude.” Doug chuckled, his big arms crossed and his chest shaking as he laughed.

  Stanzi broke a little smile and shook her head as she worked Duke’s other side.

  “I’m next,” Benita piped in.

  “Now I’m going to smack your ass,” Stanzi said, “to be blunt.”

  “I’m all yours.” Duke closed his eyes, like he was relaxed enough to sleep through the whole process.

  Stanzi wasn’t kidding. She slapped Duke’s rear, one side after the other, for about twenty seconds each cheek. When she was done, and the laughter had died down, she ran her test again. “Rhett,” she said, “check Duke’s left side. Close your eyes this time and go by feel.”

  “I’ll be damned,” Rhett said, once he ran the test twice, both with and without eyes open. “His butt fired first this time.”

  Stanzi gave a proud little smile. “Yes, it did. All right, Duke. You can get up.”

  He rose to his feet and looked down at her. “Is my face as red as my ass?”

  “It’s a little pink in the cheeks,” she said. “Seriously, though, I want you to work on activating your glutes every day. It can be as simple as squeezing your butt and holding for ten seconds, five times, a few times a day. Then do one cheek at a time. Glute bridges are good. You guys do those here?”

  Rhett nodded. “Oh, yeah. We do those.”

  “Do them slowly,” she told Duke. “Raise up slow and squeeze tight at the top.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” Duke’s ruddy cheeks calmed down, going from reddish to pink as he offered a sheepish smile.

  “Hey, you guys helped me all morning. Least I can do is return the favor.” Stanzi turned to Rhett. “Now you can check any of your clients, if you’re unsure what’s firing first.”

  “Yeah, Rhett.” Duke gave his shoulder a shove. “Where you been hiding her?” He turned to Stanzi. “He ought to pay you.”

  “You just got Duke’s butt all ready to guard POTUS, free of charge,” Benita added.

  The group laughed.

  Rhett gave her a thumbs-up. “Jump into Zoe’s workout. It’s just a short bodyweight metcon. We want to get your conditioning back up to speed.” Rhett knew everybody had their flavor, but nothing irritated him more than lifters who had no engine and skinnies who had no strength. Balance was always the key.

  “Guess I got a little weight to lose.” Stanzi smoothed her hands over her hips, stretching the Larry Bird shirt down to the top of her thighs, as though trying to hide her body.

  Rhett resisted the urge to pull it up again. “Don’t talk to me about the scale. That’s just a number. You keep working hard here and your body will change, all for the better. We’re looking for your body to be as strong as your spirit. Got me?”

  Surprise widened her bright blue eyes. Her lips parted, but nothing came out.

  Rhett lowered his voice and leaned down closer. “Just say yes.”

  The waver around her lips threatened a smile, but didn’t prove up. Just when he thought she might obey, Stanzi bit down on her lower lip, turned and walked off toward the circle of people gathered around Zoe.

  If she’d had enough hair, she would’ve tossed it.

  * * *

  By the time the workout was over, and Constance was covered in sweat from head to toe, Rhett had started another class. He was in a far corner of the gym, with about a dozen women, ranging in age and size. The only constant was the language—Rhett was teaching the class in Spanish. Constance didn’t understand all of the words, but she got the gist, mostly through body language. He had them all in a circle, with light kettlebells between their feet. She watched for a little while, mostly hidden by the cubbies where people stashed their stuff while they worked out. Rhett’s voice was strong without being brash, encouraging but forceful, and seemed to motivate the women without putting them off. A few of them hung on his every word, their body language obvious in how they felt about Coach Rhett. It was clear that he was a native speaker of both English and Spanish, his ease in either language like he’
d spoken both since he was a babbling infant.

  If she didn’t have clients booked, Constance would’ve considered going back in for a third workout, just to listen to Rhett coach in Spanish.

  She laughed at herself, and made to slip out unnoticed, but just as she turned away, Rhett looked over and caught her watching. He held up his hand in a wave. Constance waved back, then headed out into the cool air.

  On the drive home, she looked into the bright blue sky and drew a breath deep into her belly. She called Sunny, even though she didn’t normally talk on the phone while driving. “I just finished at the gym.”

  “Awesome! How’d it go?”

  “Great. I learned a lot of new stuff. I was in this lifting group with some pretty intimidating people.”

  “I can’t believe you’re lifting weights.” Sunny giggled. “But, at the same time, it totally makes sense. Did you see Rhett?”

  “Yes. He coached the class.”

  “Good. Good. And were you able to talk?”

  “You need to give me some time. This isn’t going to happen overnight.” Constance felt a zip of irritation. “I’m doing this carefully.”

  “Of course. I’m sorry.”

  “Listen. I didn’t tell you this before, but I’ve kind of already worked on Rhett’s leg. Before you even asked for my help. So, if you give me enough time, I’ll try to help him. But you have to be patient.”

  “Are you serious?” Sunny’s voice was somewhere in the range of giddy.

  “When am I not serious?”

  “Good point.”

  “And I’m doing this for him, just so you know. Not for you. I like him and I want to help him.” Constance glanced at the clock. She had exactly an hour to get home, shower, eat lunch and prep the room downstairs for the human clients scheduled for the day. All easy-peasy spa massages. “Anyway. Change of subject. You’re staying away from Janice’s dogs, right?”

  The pause at Sunny’s end was a hair too long. “Yes. The detective and I have a deal. I’m not going over there, and I’m doing things lawfully. He’ll help me if I help him.”

  Constance thought back to the day she’d worked Detective Callahan’s neck. Like all men in power positions, he wasn’t completely honest and he struggled with his own demons. But he seemed like a good guy, and probably had Rhett’s best interests at heart. “Okay. Just give me some time. And don’t do anything stupid.”

  “Who?” Sunny’s voice went sweet as sugar. “Me?”

  eleven

  Sunny parked in a thin grove of trees a ways down from 13 White Fern Road. She’d made one pass, initially, then driven back around and settled her gaze on the house with a set of binoculars. Everything was old, dried up and rotting. Unlike the sparse neighbors, there wasn’t a single holiday decoration in sight. There weren’t a million cars in the driveway, as if all the family relatives had converged for Thanksgiving Day. The only life around the place was the black dog, out near the faded red barn. Even with the binoculars, she couldn’t see much more than his head, due to the height of the grass around him.

  Might as well get a little closer. She tossed her binoculars in the passenger seat and drove up to the house. She made no attempt to hide herself, even though that old car was parked out front. She’d just made her way in the direction of the dog when the front door of the house opened and a stout woman stepped out onto the rotting porch.

  “Who’re you?” she barked.

  “Good afternoon, ma’am.” Sunny cleared her throat. “I’m from the county. Just coming to assess the property.”

  The woman wrapped her brown knit sweater tight around her lumpy chest. She narrowed her eyes beneath her wiry gray hair, which looked to have been set with old-fashioned curlers. “You been here before? Driving a—” she pointed her nose at Sunny’s truck “—dumpy old van?”

  A dumpy old van?

  Cici.

  Sunny strode a little closer, wishing she had a clipboard or something else official looking. She hadn’t decided on the county assessor angle until the moment it came out of her mouth. “That must’ve been my associate.”

  The old lady’s face relaxed a little but the deep wrinkles in her cheeks were permanent. “I’ll be watching,” she said. “Don’t you go near the dog, neither.”

  Sunny glanced in the direction of the barn. The dog had sat up, exposing skinny shoulders with brown patches. He looked more mutt and less rottweiler at a closer distance. He gave a sharp bark, followed by another.

  “Actually—” Sunny patted herself “—I’ve forgotten the forms I need. I’ll be back later in the week. Maybe you can make sure the dog’s put inside?”

  “The dog don’t go inside.”

  “Ever?” Sunny drew the chilly air into her lungs. “It’s cold.”

  “He got a coat.” She drew a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of her brown polyester pants, knocked one out and lit it with a plastic red lighter.

  “He seems like a nice dog.”

  The dog kept barking.

  “He was my grandson’s. He don’t live here no more. Don’t know why I didn’t take him to the pound. Still might. Shaddap!” A stream of cigarette smoke escaped her thin, cracked lips.

  “Oh, I could give him a ride.” The words slipped out before Sunny could stop herself. “I could take him to the shelter for you. Save you the trip.”

  The woman’s eyes narrowed inside the curl of her cigarette smoke. “Like I said. Don’t go near my dog.”

  “Okay.” Don’t do or say anything suspicious, thought Sunny. Keep your head straight. “Well. You have a nice day. I’ll be back.” Sunny turned slowly, like the old woman was a snake who might strike if she moved too quickly, and made her way back to her truck. The old bat watched her drive away, cigarette between her fingers and free arm smashed around her thick waist.

  Oh, Sunny thought, I’ll be back.

  * * *

  The traffic light was clearly broken. Sunny tapped her fingers on the steering wheel and sighed. This is what you get when you leave your kitchen to your sister and go scouting for abused dogs on Thanksgiving Day.

  “Five minutes,” Sunny muttered. “I’ve been sitting here for five minutes.” There were two people behind her and three to her left. She kept waiting for the guy next to her to decide first that the light was never going to change and push through, but the blue sedan just kept sitting there.

  The car behind her honked. Sunny looked in her rearview. The woman pointed at her watch, mouthed, Go, and pushed her hands forward, as though shoving Sunny through.

  Sunny glanced at the clock, then looked in both directions going across traffic. No one was coming. Six minutes had gone by. She edged through the light and got about ten seconds down the street before a siren blared.

  “Are you shitting me?” She looked in her rearview again and saw that the blue sedan had a police light going. Of all the dumb luck. Sunny drew over to the side of the road, lowered her window, killed the engine and waited as the sedan pulled up behind her. She sat there, not even moving to get her license and registration. “Officer,” she said as he approached. “That light clearly wasn’t going to change. We sat there for six minutes...” Her voice trailed off as her eyes locked into his.

  Detective Callahan.

  “Happy Thanksgiving, Sunny,” he said, devoid of smile. “Are you aware that you ran a red light?”

  The emotions that rolled through her were varied enough to keep her in silence for well past a sufficient amount of time to answer the detective’s question. Yet, he just stood there, waiting for her answer. She silently admitted that she’d been thinking about this man, the way he smelled and the cold authority of his eyes, ever since he’d shared her very, very, very expensive Scotch, but this wasn’t the way she’d wanted to run into him.

  “You ran it, too.” Sunny bit down on her lower lip, but the words were alre
ady out.

  “I’m allowed.”

  “Aren’t you a robbery detective?” Somehow, Sunny had decided to answer his questions with one of her own, even though their past suggested this was not a smart move. “Who’s not even on duty?” She eyed his jeans and sweatshirt.

  He surprised her with a smile. Detective Callahan was even better looking in the daylight, where the gray sky highlighted the gentle wrinkles around his eyes. “I have a light.” He pointed at the flashing siren. “Which means I can pull you over whenever I want.”

  “Don’t you have anything better to do on Thanksgiving?” Despite her better judgment, Sunny pressed on. “At least go arrest some gang members. Not law-abiding citizens stuck at traffic lights that are broken.”

  “So I’m arresting you, am I? Should I have you step out of the vehicle now or radio for backup?”

  Sunny sighed and wished she didn’t enjoy the way his jaw ground down on his gum when he was annoyed. “I get it. You’re still punishing me for trespassing on Janice Matteri’s property. But I thought we had a deal. I’m working on my end, I promise. Can you just...do what you’re going to do and let me go? I’m late as it is. My sister’s going to be pissed.”

  Callahan sighed, his breath going to steam in the cold air. “Well, as long as you let me do what I’m going to do. Then I suppose I can let you go.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

  “What are you going to do?” Panic sneaked into Sunny’s voice. She wished she could take back all her sarcastic questions. What the hell was wrong with her? Callahan had already demonstrated he was not someone to be toyed with. “Wait.” She reached into the bag on the passenger seat and withdrew a bottle of champagne. “Here. Take this. To celebrate with your family.” She pushed it through the window.

  Callahan took it and examined the label. “Are you trying to bribe me again, Sunny?”