Rhett laughed softly. “So no.”
“It’s not typical,” Stanzi clarified, “of the average Joe getting an average massage. But yes, the process you are going through right now is, in my experience and scope of practice, very normal.”
“I like how you say exactly what you mean. No more, no less.”
Stanzi stood up and put a hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”
“I feel weird,” he said. “It’s not bad. It’s actually good. But it’s weird.”
“Lie back down and I’ll do your neck. C’mon.”
Rhett allowed her to guide him on his back. She rolled her stool toward his head and slid her hands beneath his shoulders. Rhett breathed deeply into his stomach, held it, then breathed out just as slowly.
“Good.” Stanzi’s pressure was light and comforting. She drew her fingers up his neck, to the back of his head, and held there, cradling him. She scooped the back of his neck, one hand after the other, and told him it was called Mother Cat.
She talked a little while she worked, a few words in a low tone, just making sure he was okay while her hands and fingertips rolled around like magic on his upper traps, neck and head. She even worked some muscles in the front of his neck that he didn’t think anyone had ever touched. If he was honest with himself, he probably wouldn’t have let them, as they were too close to his throat. When her fingers sank into his scalp, he sighed aloud. That, she could do forever.
Eventually, her fingers slowed. After they stopped, she rested there before she gently drew away. “How are you feeling now?” Her voice came close to his ear.
He reached up and squeezed her wrist.
“Good,” she said. “I’ll step out. Get up slowly. Take your time.”
Rhett took her at her word. Once she was gone, he took his time getting off the warm table, stretching, and searching for his clothes. He felt wrung out, but also lit up. It was an odd competition between his physical body and his mental state. He stepped out into the lower level of her house, which they’d entered through the back gate and the walkout door of her basement. She had a waiting area with a couch and chairs, a coffee table with magazines fanned out and a desk with a computer.
Stanzi was nowhere to be seen, so Rhett took the stairs to the next level. The door at the top of the steps led to the kitchen. The room was medium-size, brightly lit by lots of windows, with a small island in the center of the tiled floor. Stanzi’s back was to him, in front of her stove.
“Oh!” She gave a little start as she turned around. “I put the kettle on.” She gestured to the stove. “In case you wanted tea. If you stay hydrated, your muscles will stay in the gel state. Soft and open to healing.”
Rhett could smell the spring air on the wind that came through the open window over Stanzi’s sink. The clock on her microwave read 3:12 p.m. Yep. He’d been out awhile.
“Sit.” Stanzi gestured to a stool tucked beneath her island.
Rhett obeyed. His head was fuzzy and his body weak. He was still puzzling through what had happened during his massage, and he didn’t know what to think or say. He looked around the room, saw Fezzi, asleep in a dog bed by the kitchen table. He remembered that the only reason Stanzi had come to his room at the resort on Christmas Eve was because she couldn’t find her dog. Rhett made a mental note to buy Fezzi a giant box of biscuits.
The kettle whistled. Stanzi poured bubbling water into two mugs and set one in front of him. It smelled flowery.
“Thanks.”
“You’ll like it. The bergamot will open up your senses.”
The tea was too hot to drink, so Rhett stirred it with the spoon Stanzi had left in the cup. He sniffed it, enjoying the steam on his face.
“You feeling better?”
Sweat sprung up on the back of Rhett’s neck, even though the kitchen was cool. “My leg feels great,” he said. “No pain. And I feel like I slept for a week. Wrung out and hung to dry. I haven’t felt this way in ages.”
Stanzi settled in the stool next to him and peered into his face. “But what else?” Her eyes narrowed. “There’s something bothering you.”
Silence passed.
“You know, it’s okay. Today, when we ran, I kind of fell apart. Then my ex showed up. You saw all that. You’ve seen me fall apart more than once, at this point. So, it’s fine if you let go during your massage.” Stanzi’s hand went to his forearm and rested there. “That’s all it was. A release. Your body is so used to being in the sympathetic nervous system—the fight or flight—it just needs a little help coming down. Letting go.”
Rhett used his spoon to sample the tea. It was strong and wasn’t as sweet as it smelled. “Remember today when you asked me if I ever have to plan my outfit before I run? Or worry about what route I take?”
Stanzi nodded. She slowly stirred her spoon around in her cup.
“You were making a point about things men can take for granted.” Rhett took another sip of the tea from his spoon. He liked it even better the second time. “And you’re right. As a civilian, I’ve never even thought about what I wear when I leave the house, other than in relation to the weather. I don’t worry about getting honked or whistled at or treated like shit if I reject a woman’s advance. If I’m objectified, I’m free to enjoy it or ignore it. I have that choice. That privilege. But...” Rhett watched her go to the fridge and withdraw a couple of containers of fruit. Looked like strawberries and raspberries. “There are things women can take for granted, too. Like...letting go.”
Stanzi looked up from her task, her fingers poised over the raspberries as she took them from container to decorative bowl.
“It’s okay for you to be weak,” Rhett said. “Maybe you, personally, don’t want to be, but you can be, if you need to. You can open up and let go. In fact, it’s not only allowed, it’s expected. What was it you said today about your ex? He hated it that you didn’t cry? You’re not only allowed to cry, you’re supposed to cry.”
She didn’t answer, merely took out a handful of strawberries and sliced off the tops with a small knife, then added them to the bowl with the raspberries.
“Guess what happens if I cry? Or—” he gestured toward the basement, where they’d had their massage “—sweat or shake or hear spiders talking? Fall asleep while a beautiful woman is giving me a massage? I’m a special fucking snowflake, that’s what.”
Stanzi watched him carefully. “You really mean that?”
“It’s the truth.” Rhett took a big gulp of the tea, which had cooled to the perfect temperature. “My job is to be tough. Strong. Protect others. Never let go. Not just because I’m a veteran, or a coach, but because I’m a man. Not even a man, just male. It’s expected of us as soon as we take our first steps. And I’m not whining about it. It’s just the way it is.”
“No, I meant—” Stanzi ate a raspberry and slid the bowl in his direction “—you think I’m beautiful?”
After a second, Rhett laughed. Then he threw a raspberry at her.
She ducked the fruit and smiled. The raspberry made a miraculous landing in the kitchen sink. “Everything you say is true. But you can let go here. You can be whatever you need to be with me. People think a massage therapist’s only job is to relax and stretch your muscles, but truth is, we’re in contact long before I rest my hands on your skin. My job is to connect with you, wherever you’re at, and help make a change for the better. That may be a deep tissue massage or just a light touch in a safe environment.”
“It still feels weird. It’s like wearing clothes that don’t fit or talking to that weird relative in your family who does everything against the rules—everyone’s kind of afraid of him but he also makes perfect fucking sense.”
She smiled. “Clear as mud.”
“Okay, how’s this.” Rhett polished off his tea. “Remember today, when you got so hot you said hell with it and stripped your shirt off? You didn’
t want to. You knew what was coming. And like clockwork, those assholes in the truck honked and whistled at you. Exactly what you thought would happen. But you took your shirt off, anyway. Because you were just...so...damn...hot.” Rhett made a blade with his hand and sliced the counter to mark his words. “That’s how I felt, when I knew how my body would respond to your massage. I knew I was going to be a special fucking snowflake. But I just didn’t care anymore.”
“You can be any kind of snowflake you want, on my table.”
Rhett smiled.
“Did you say they put you on medication? After your last tour?”
“I took them a little while. They weren’t for me. Not the pills. Not the cortisone shots.”
Stanzi nodded. “Cortisone eventually just breaks you down.”
“Katrina liked me on meds,” Rhett said. “They dulled everything. And the cortisone shots. I got one, and never got another. Yeah, my leg felt better, and I walked straight for a couple weeks, but it was just a bandage. Eventually, the bandages have to come off, or the stuff underneath won’t ever heal.”
“This is true.” Stanzi came around to the other side of the counter and sat next to him again. “You can only use quick fixes so many times before what’s really going on underneath collapses. I should know.”
Rhett rubbed his face and knew he already sported a tinge of five-o’clock shadow. He could smell the eucalyptus from the massage lotion on his skin. “I don’t think Katrina cared what was going on underneath,” he said. “As long as everything seemed perfect on the outside. She liked the medals and the stories and the false gratitude. The kind of shit everyone wants to reduce to a ribbon of an unspecified color.”
Constance sipped her tea in silence.
“I don’t know if this will make any sense to you.” Rhett fiddled with the handle of his mug. “But I just...” He paused. “I just couldn’t be...” He trailed off and sighed. “Dammit.”
Constance bumped his shin with her toes. “Couldn’t be what?”
“You know.” He drummed his fingers on the counter. “A hero. That’s what.” He watched her in silence, then rubbed his hands over his five-o’clock shadow. “I don’t want to be a hero all the damn time.”
The corners of her mouth turned down. She covered his drumming fingers with her own. When they quieted, she said, “You don’t have to be a hero with me.”
Rhett pressed his lips together. He drew a breath and sighed, then rose to his feet. “You know what we both need?”
Constance slid off her chair and tilted her chin up at him. “What?”
“A change of scenery.”
“Well.” She shrugged. “My kitchen’s not the biggest or best. But it’s pretty cozy, if you ask me.”
“No.” Rhett laughed. “I mean, we need a big change. We need somewhere totally different to run together. Somewhere wild and open and nowhere near all our old haunts. Somewhere to get lost.”
“Oh, yeah?” The little dimple on her cheek deepened. “What’d you have in mind?”
twenty-nine
“Sunny, wake up.”
The words worked their way through her slumbering brain. Sunny didn’t want to move. Her world was warm and safe, like she could stay this way forever. In this world, she was in Pete’s arms, tight against his chest. He’d just finished kissing her, making the world spin and her heart implode. She blinked in the dim, orangey light of her salt lamp.
“Sunny. Wake up. Call off your dog.”
Sean stared back at her. Right next to him, on all fours—threes?—and pointing his muzzle in Sean’s direction was Fezzi.
Oh, right. “Fezz,” Sunny said. “Down.”
Fezzi settled on his stomach and thumped his tail on the mattress. This was the first time Cici had gone out of town since Dad died, and Sunny had taken pity on Fezzi and let him sleep on the bed with her. She sat up and gathered the sheets close to her chest. It took a moment of blinking her eyes and rousing her brain to realize that it was Friday night. The week had flown by. This was a busy time of the year for the rescue, and Sunny had barely had time to breathe. She’d meant to text Sean and tell him not to come this evening, that she was just too tired and needed to turn in early. Which was true. Even if it wasn’t the whole truth.
“You called me Pete,” Sean said. “I kissed you in your sleep and you called me Pete.”
And that was the whole truth. Sunny rubbed her face in her hands, then looked up at Sean with a sigh. She might be dreaming now, but the kiss she’d shared with Pete was real. And so was the way she’d felt during that kiss, after that kiss and every moment since that kiss. She hadn’t told anyone. Not Sean. Not Pete. Maybe most notably, not Cici. Telling Cici would make it real, and then Sunny would have to accept that something unacceptable had happened the moment Pete had drawn her in and pressed his lips to hers: Sunny had cracked. He’d edged his way in somehow, behind that just-for-kicks barrier she’d built around her heart.
Long ago, after watching her steely father spend his days a hardened widower, Sunny had decided that a serious relationship was not for her. No way was she going to spend her days trying to get a man’s attention in all manner possible, only to be rewarded with the hardened crumbs of whatever he might choose to toss out. She kept her relationships with men fun and convenient. They could be as gruff as they wanted, long as they went home afterward.
Sunny had a heart, but it belonged to her dogs. Men could have her body, but the heart was off-limits.
Then Pete had gone and kissed her. Pete, whose heart also belonged to his dogs. Pete’s kiss had changed something. Awoken something? Sunny wasn’t sure. She had no idea what Pete had done. But she didn’t like it, so she’d avoided Pete all week and kept all this nonsense to herself. It would pass if she gave it enough time. Like everything fleeting, it would blow over.
Sean’s expression was changing.
He rose up from the edge of the bed. “I should probably go.” He headed for the door.
Sunny threw back the covers and went after him. “Sean.” She stilled him with a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry.”
Sean turned around to face her. “Nothing to be sorry about. We weren’t exactly dating. Just keeping it casual. Sex. Court orders. Animal control. No big deal.” He tried a laugh.
“I know, but...” Sunny paused, shrugged. “I’m still sorry. What you said to me about Pete. About him being sweet on me. It got me to thinking. And it turns out you were right. I honestly had no idea until...” She stopped. How much honesty was too much? Even if she and Sean hadn’t been serious, they’d still spent a lot of nights together. She didn’t want to hurt him.
“Hey.” Sean raised his hands. “Relax. You don’t need to explain anything to me.”
“I do,” Sunny insisted. “Even though we were kind of just messing around, I—” she shrugged “—I like you, Sean. It just turns out that I...well, I don’t know what I...” Sunny closed her mouth.
Sean offered a tired, sad smile. “I like you, too, Sunny. Even if you are a dog thief.” He paused a heartbeat to let her giggle softly. “And I’m not going to lie. I wanted this to be something more. But I could tell, you know? About you and Pete.”
There’s nothing between Pete and me, she wanted to say. The words wouldn’t come. Sunny wrapped her arms around Sean and gave him a tight, solid hug. Sean returned it, then pulled back and grinned. “Keep your nose clean, Sunny. Don’t think what we had will keep me from locking up your thieving ass.”
Sunny laughed. “Yes, sir, Detective Callahan.”
“I’ll let myself out.”
Once he was gone, Sunny sank back to her mattress and pulled the covers to her chin. She grabbed her phone off the nightstand and considered texting Pete. She even typed out a brief, goofy message with no serious emotion attached before Fezzi crawled up next to her and nudged the cell out of her hand. “You’re right,” she agreed
, kissing him on the head. Sunny deleted her text and stuffed her phone under her pillow. Fezzi curled up against her and let out a great sigh.
“I hear you, boy.” Sunny stroked his fur. “I hear you.”
thirty
“You’re a friend?” Rhett’s mother had a barely there Southern accent, like good perfume. She was around six feet tall, had smooth skin that belied her age, dark hair streaked with gray and green eyes that reminded Constance of the moss that grew on ancient stones lying in the crooks of fertile hills. It was the same green Rhett had in his eyes.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Call me Meara.”
“Meara.”
“Hmm.” She tapped her chin with a forefinger. “My son is a master of brevity. So, when he walks in and says, ‘Hey. This is my friend, Constance,’ I just assume that Rhett is being Rhett. But you can tell me the truth.” She whipped her kitchen towel over her shoulder and smiled. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
“We’re friends,” Constance repeated, which wasn’t a lie. That didn’t change the fact that Constance felt like she was being stared down by a hungry tiger. A strikingly attractive hungry tiger, but a tiger nonetheless.
“You’re uncomfortable there.” Meara tapped her chin again as she observed Constance. “Let’s move to the back deck.” She didn’t wait for an answer, but collected both cups of tea, walked by Constance’s perch at the dining table and tilted her head to follow.
Constance rose a little too quickly and slammed her knee into the neighboring chair. “Ow.” She clutched at it, but Meara hadn’t slowed down. She was already using her foot to push open the screen door that separated the dining area from the deck. “Let me help you.” Constance scrambled for the door, but it was too late.
Meara had already settled both cups on a wooden table that was connected to two chairs, one on each side. She reached behind Constance and slid the screen shut.
The Outer Banks breeze was cool and welcoming. “Wow.” Constance could see the ocean, rolling beneath the orange ball of the setting sun. It looked like a clementine floating in a golden pool of dying sunlight. The sound of the surf washed over her as the salt air bathed her skin. To her left, a long set of stairs led to the sand below. All the houses out here were elevated well above sea level. On the drive in, Constance had seen more than one beach house whose stairs had been washed away by last year’s hurricane winds and roaring waves.
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