Broken Hero

by Olivia Hayle

  I can clearly see the spa's roof in the distance, the tiles shining bright red in the sunlight. A small truck is parked outside, and I know without seeing the logo who it belongs to.

  Logan has been here for two days in a row, getting the electricity fixed in the spa. It's minor work, and I suspect he would have finished it in a couple of hours if he wasn't taking his sweet, sweet time doing it. I'm pretty sure I know why, too—the answer is spelled Mandy.

  I've pretended that I haven't overheard the low conversations in reception, or the awkward pauses when I walked through. Whatever happened between the two of them, Logan's not sharing, but I can tell there are still feelings there. Lord knows Logan needed a woman's touch in his life. The dark circles under his eyes weren't getting any better.

  My eyes still trained on the spa, I see a lithe figure step out through the front door. Even from this distance, I can see the hair shining under the spring sun.

  I look down at Austin. "What do you say, bud? Should we go for a walk?"

  His tail starts to wag and he sets off down the stairs. I follow him, knowing all too well that we're really doing this for my benefit and not for his.

  Because since Lucy started coming up here every other day to check on the work, I've done all I can to get glimpses of her. Seeing her smile, even when it's not directed at me, has become one of the best damn highlights of my days.

  Because I'm breaking my own rules when it comes to her.

  Jack and Tim wave at me as I walk past them, busy trimming the flower beds along the courtyard. I nod. They're good lads, but I would be lying if I said that I haven’t noticed them paying extra attention to the lawn in front of the spa section lately.

  I'd blame them for it if it wasn’t for the fact that I’m heading there for the same purpose myself.

  Sarah and Lucy are sitting on the small bench outside the entrance to the spa, bent over a clipboard. Their heads are touching, light to auburn.

  They look thick as thieves.

  "This treatment looks great. Three hours long?"

  "Yes. It should be great for guests looking for relaxation, rather than the ones who want to be… well, sporty. We’ll combine a few elements.”

  "The face mask sounds like a treat. How expensive is that to purchase in bulk, though?"

  Lucy gives a small, excited laugh, and the sound makes me want to smile. I feel like a creep, standing here watching them, but I don't want to interrupt quite yet.

  "It’s not expensive at all! It's a classic spa recipe, but the ingredients are actually quite cheap. A mixture of carrier oils, clay and a couple of essential oils. Does wonders for the skin without costing a fortune.”

  Sarah claps her hands excitedly, the same way she did as a child. "Can you show me the recipe?"

  “I'll send it to you."

  Austin bounces up next to me, having finished examining the new flower beds, but he doesn't share my desire to stay unseen. He runs on ahead with all the eagerness of someone expecting a warm welcome.

  The girls look up.

  "Austin!" My sister is all head rubs and floppy ear tugs, but Lucy glances up at me. Her eyes grow still. The laughing ease she had with my sister is gone.

  But she doesn't look displeased, either. Just… aware.

  I’m aware of her, too. Aware of the way her hair curls behind her ear or how she frowns slightly when she’s focusing hard. I saw the strap of her dress slip down her shoulder a few days earlier, revealing a bare, freckled shoulder. I had to turn away from the sight.

  Her eyebrow rises. "Hey."

  Sarah follows her gaze. "Ollie! You're just in time. We’re reviewing the final draft of the spa menu."

  Lucy taps a pen against the clipboard. "It still needs a bit of work."

  "Well, it's basically finished." Sarah waves a hand, the one not occupied with giving Austin a belly rub. He looks like he could faint from pleasure, tail tapping rhythmically against the dry ground.

  "Alright,” I say, looking straight at Lucy. “Let’s hear it."

  I think I unnerve her sometimes. Good. She certainly unnerves me too.

  She clears her throat. "We don't want to make it so long that guests get overwhelmed with options, so we settled on eight treatments."

  "Eight?"

  She looks up at me. "Yeah. The last spa I worked at had twenty-nine. Eight is a great number for a smaller, family-owned place with only one therapist."

  "Ollie's never been to a spa," Sarah interjects, as if covering for me. "Don't worry about him."

  I don't like my little sister's interference. "I thought it sounded like a lot, actually. But by all means, you're the expert."

  Lucy glances back down at her list. "The first three are all one-hour massages, the classics. Swedish—which is a hot oil massage for relaxation. A deep tissue massage, where clients can request specific areas. It's more painful but also more effective." She shrugs. "If the clients work at an office they'll already know and love this. And finally, a sports massage."

  "Sports?"

  "It focuses on the pain caused by exercises. Sore muscles, essentially."

  "Perfect for people who've gone trail riding." Sarah winks at me. "Which is what I'm going to write in the description underneath on the website."

  I nod. I have to admit, it does sound like a recipe for success. But, what do I know?

  "What are the other five?"

  "Packages," Lucy responds. "Massage, meditation, facials. A dip in the hot tub. Eighty-minute massage sessions and relaxation. That sort of thing."

  This is far from my comfort zone, but I can see the economic profit in all of this. "This sounds expensive."

  "It can be," Lucy says, but I can see that that's not important for her. "Although we should charge significantly less than they do in the big cities."

  "I'll do some research," I say. "We can set the prices together tomorrow if you've settled on the menu."

  "I’ll be done by then. Should I come to your office?"

  I imagine her up there, the door closed behind us. For a second, the image of her across my desk flashes through my mind and my body starts to respond in kind. I push the wild image away. Focus, Oliver. "Yes.”

  The sound of loud drilling picks up from inside the building. "Logan still working away?"

  Lucy nods. "He has been, all day. A real hard worker."

  I can't help it—I grin. I imagine him wiring, un-wiring and re-wiring the same section of wall just to drag this job out for as long as possible. All because of Mandy. Such a hard worker.

  “He is,” I say.

  Her eyes narrow—as if she thinks I’m making fun of her. Before I can say anything else, Sarah gets up. "I have to go and pick up the kids. It's late."

  "See you tomorrow?"

  Sarah smiles. "Of course, Luce. I'll probably see you in the bakery first. I need some cookies for Sophia's afterschool ballet class. We’re having a recital.”

  She heads past me, rising to her toes to press a quick kiss on my cheek, and I'm left reeling. Luce? They have gotten awfully chummy this past week.

  "Bye, Ollie."

  "Bye."

  She disappears. Left on the sunny patch of grass is just me and Lucy and a very bored Austin, who has decided that rolling around on the dusty gravel path is an excellent pastime. Lucy watches his antics and a sweet, soft smile spreads across her lips. She looks peaceful.

  "He's a real treat, isn't he?"

  "He likes you."

  Her smile broadens. "Oh, does he?"

  "Why wouldn’t he?"

  "He hasn't said a word to me all day." She frowns, her eyes playful. "I was wondering if it was something I'd said."

  "He's just not that talkative," I say. "But trust me—he wouldn't be showing off these antics to just anyone."

  "No?"

  "No." Austin chooses that moment to flop down on all four, going completely limp and letting out a massive sigh. He thinks we're here to stay and he might as well make himself comfortable.

  L
ucy laughs, and the sound is as enchanting as the first time I heard it. Laughter comes easily to her, and she gives it freely, but each time it seems to genuinely thrill her. It's never stilted or fake.

  "No, now he's very clearly bored with me, Oliver."

  "Then he's an idiot," I say. It comes out much softer than I intended, and she glances up at me in surprise.

  I clear my throat. "Staying long today?"

  "No. There's nothing more to do. I'll finish the treatment list tonight and have it ready for you tomorrow."

  Lucy gets up from the bench and dusts off her shorts. Austin, glad that we seem to be on the move, weaves between her legs. She laughs again, and I'm just as struck as before.

  We walk back to the main house.

  "So, Logan and you, you go way back?"

  I nod. "Years."

  We fall silent again and I can tell she wants me to elaborate. But the story is either one word or ten thousand—there are no in-betweens. I learned a long time ago that when people say they're there for you, when they say they want to listen, they don't. They want you to give a few chosen sentences, ones designed to be appropriately sad and appropriately honorable, so they can fit you into their preconceived notions. Too much honesty, and you’ll frighten people away.

  It’s partly why I haven’t tried to talk about it in a very long time. But maybe I should try, at the very least.

  I clear my throat. "We served together."

  "In the Marines?"

  I shouldn't be surprised that she knows. People will have told her all kinds of stories.

  "Yeah," I say. "He lives a few towns over."

  "He's not very talkative, either," she says, a smile in her voice. "But he seems great. Handy with a drill."

  "Not very talkative either? Are you referring to Austin again?"

  Lucy shoots me an amused glance, biting her lip to keep from smiling. "Yes. Who else could I possibly be referring to?"

  I give a show of glancing around. "Beats me, because I'm often told I'm a chatterbox."

  It's a lame joke, and I'm reminded again of how long it's been since I've done anything like this, but then she laughs like I've said something funny. Like I'm good at this. At having a conversation about normal things with normal people. At making jokes.

  Her grin is wide now. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you don’t actually know yourself very well." She makes a show of counting on her fingers. "Not very spirited, he says. Has a ‘small' ranch and is a chatterbox. What will you call yourself next?"

  She's flirting with me. Adrenaline is rushing through me, kicking me into action.

  "Easy-going," I say. "Laidback."

  Lucy chuckles again and the sound is a victory. "Flamboyant."

  "Social."

  She frowns at that. "You’re social."

  "Right. Ask anyone in town.” All the people who'd wanted the boy who was prom king back and got a scarred man instead.

  "I don't need to ask anyone," she says as we walk through the half-empty parking lot. "I prefer to get to know people all by myself."

  We reach the parking lot and I look around. "Where's your car?"

  "I usually bike here."

  "You bike from town?"

  "Yes. It's not far."

  I frown. The roads are small, and cars often drive at very high speeds. "That doesn't seem safe."

  "I'm a very good cyclist."

  "I'm sure you are. I'm heading into town this evening anyway. Why don't I give you a lift?"

  She pauses, her eyes widening. "Oliver, it's safe, I promise. You don't have to—"

  I wave her off. "I'm going down anyway. Come on, I'll throw your bike in the back of the pickup."

  Lucy bites her lip, deliberating for a moment. Say yes, I think. Don't let this conversation be over. Let's prolong this for a little bit longer.

  Finally, she shrugs. "If you insist, Mr. Laidback."

  "I do."

  We handle the practicalities in companionable silence as I lift her bike up and until the back of my truck. It's a shoddy thing, rust visible on the frame.

  I frown. "How old is this thing?"

  Lucy shrugs. "Very. Phil has had it since I was a kid."

  She should have a car, or at the very least, she should have a better bike. I don't say any of this as I hold open the passenger seat door for her. She jumps in, her hair flipping behind her, and it smells like perfume and woman. I shake my head at myself and climb into the driver's seat. I should focus on things I can control—like keeping her talking.

  "Where are you from? Originally?"

  "I grew up in Acton, a few hours north."

  "It's bigger than Claremont, right?"

  "It is. Have you ever been?"

  "A few times. You have that massive antique sale every year, right?" I say and see her grin out of the corner of my eye.

  "We do! You've been?"

  "Sarah's dragged me with her a few times, to get pieces for the guest rooms."

  She must have heard my tone, because Lucy's voice is teasing. "Your favorite day of the year?"

  "Better than Christmas," I say.

  She laughs again like I'm funny—like she's enjoying my company. "At least it's paid off. The ranch is gorgeous. I can't believe you grew up in that place!"

  "It has its charms," I say. The Morris family's pride and joy, the Mayors’ home, the ‘Morris Mansion' as my grandfather liked to refer to it.

  Endless fields pass by outside, the way to town one I could drive in my sleep. We're not far now. "Where do you want to be dropped off? At Phil and Claire's?"

  "No, I'm staying at the bakery."

  "What?"

  She laughs at my obvious confusion. "There's a studio on the floor above. My uncle renovated it last year."

  I remember the small space he wanted to transform, the material I’d gotten for him with my truck. "But it's tiny."

  “It's not! The perfect size for one. Besides, I like helping out at the bakery and it's where I spent parts of my childhood."

  "So you were here as a kid?"

  "I spent a few weeks here most summers, yeah."

  "Hmm."

  She glances at me with a smile. "Hmm?"

  "I've never seen you around. I would have remembered if I did."

  "Auntie said that you were serving elsewhere for a long time. I guess we were just never here at the same time." She has spoken to her aunt about me. The idea gives me a strange rush of satisfaction.

  "I was away for nearly eight years, so it makes sense that I missed you." I glance at her long legs, just lightly tan from the spring sun, and add what I'm thinking without censure. "It's a shame I did, though."

  Lucy grins, but I grip the wheel tighter. Why did I say that? It's been forever since I've done this. This kind of hesitant, flirty, sober conversation with a woman. We turn onto on Main Street, and I pull the truck to a stop in front of the bakery.

  "I'll get the bike."

  She thanks me after I've lifted it down, as if I've done something difficult. "I'll see you tomorrow. Thanks for the ride, Oliver."

  "Don't mention it."

  I stay in place, watching her roll the bike towards the bakery's front door. She pauses, her keys in her hand, and turns back to me.

  "I would have remembered you, too," she says. "If I had seen you before."

  7

  Lucy

  It’s amazing how quickly the spa comes together. A week and a half from our first meeting and there’s a fully functioning therapy room, an updated bathroom with a rain shower head and a changing room.

  Oliver is rarely around. I see him sometimes, from the large glass windows in the spa, striding across the courtyard or signing off deliveries. He doesn’t walk—he always strides. Like he has a purpose, and he knows you want to know what it is, but he’d be damned before he deigned to share it with anyone. It takes me a while to admit it to myself, but seeing glimpses of him are some of the best parts of my days.

  But if he’s making himself scarce, his
sister is decidedly not. Sarah pops into my studio at least four times during my first day, wearing a crazier hairstyle each time. Half the time she just wants to say hi and the other half she has a brilliant suggestion for an air diffuser or a name suggestion for a treatment.

  She’s growing on me.

  I’ve got my first client in nearly two solid months. Nerves and excitement had mingled in my stomach all morning, but once I started the treatment, my hands remembered exactly what to do.

  The client tenses under my hands and I rub the offending muscle a bit extra. “This bit is sore.”

  She gives a weak laugh into the massage table. “Tell me about it!”

  “You work at a desk?”

  Her ponytail bobs as she nods. “All day.”

  “I’m guessing the riding this morning didn’t exactly help with the pain?”

  She mumbles something I don’t catch, but it sounds like ‘made it worse.’

  “I’ll focus on your upper back and neck for the remainder of the session,” I say. “Let’s see if we can get some of those knots out. Just let me know if the pressure is too much.”

  She gives another nod and I get to work.

  From her accent, I’m guessing she’s from the north-east, and Mandy told me this morning that her sister might want a massage tomorrow as well. Apparently they had come here for some time away from city life, to disconnect and reconnect.

  I can see the newly installed hot tub outside from the window in my therapy room. Oliver has talked about building a deck around it—something about spotlights and deck chairs—but so far it’s just sitting out there, right by the forest glen.

  The more time I spend up here, the more I think the ranch might truly be a small sliver of paradise. Little wonder Oliver rarely leaves it!

  I let my mind wander as I knead the tension in my client’s shoulders and neck. Inevitably, as it so often does these days, it is wandering back to my old life in Dallas.

  My ex-boyfriend texted me again this morning. This time it was the outrageous kind, not so much begging for me to come back as telling me I’d been terrible for not letting him explain his reasons.

  I didn’t want to hear Kyle’s reasons. What the hell did he mean, really? Reasons for why he had slept with my best friend? A lifetime seemed to have passed since that dreadful day all those weeks ago. His nearly daily texts made it more than clear that I’d been a fool for a good long while.