by Brea Viragh
“So what if I am?” he asked.
Warmth settled behind my ribs. “Aw, I’ll try not to tell anyone you’re mush on the inside.”
“What are you so happy about, anyway?” He turned toward me then, staring up and down.
“You remember your advice from the other week? Well, we did it!” I fist-pumped the air and indulged in the slightest shimmy of a happy dance. The thrill of pleasure brought a flush to my cheeks.
Finn sat up straighter on his bed. “Did what?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already.” Tongue clucking, I sat on the foot of his bed. “It’s only Thursday.”
“I don’t pay much attention to you, so you’ll have to excuse me.” In direct opposition to his words, he shifted to accommodate me, looking unsurprised at my familiarity when I scooted closer. “I only notice when you’re late. Start from the beginning.”
“I went to the mayor’s office the other day, like you suggested.”
I spent the next five minutes regaling Finn with tales of our success. Yes, our.
The grin came slowly and spread across his face like a sunrise. “That’s great, Ros.”
“I guess I should be happy about this. I find your advice revolting, but it worked.”
“Yeah. I told you it would work. Though you were against it, I know.” He held his knuckles out for an obligatory bump. “When are you going to learn to trust me? I give great advice. I give great back massages, too.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Still, I knocked my hand against his. “I feel dirty having listened to you. The jeans were icing on the cake.”
“I’ve always said you were a dirty girl. And Heartwood Real Estate…good job. I hope you get the position.”
“Thanks, I hope so too.” I sighed, leaning forward to rub my temples. My eyes had taken a beating these past few weeks with all the studying. I’d gotten used to the perpetual headache. “Garth told me he would keep me in mind, and he seemed excited when I told him I was working toward my license in Virginia. It will be nice to do real work again.”
“Must mean I’m not making you work hard enough,” Finn teased. “I’ll have to think of a few creative ways to keep your interest.”
“You give me plenty to think about.” The statement slipped out before I had a chance to censor myself.
“I wonder if you’re being honest.”
More honest than I wanted to acknowledge. “What are we going to do?” I asked him.
“Now you have the weekend off. I don’t want you around.” He gave me a rolling half-shrug. “Do whatever and enjoy yourself. Go buy a bottle of cheap champagne and spend the night listening to eighties rap music.”
I made a face. “How do you know what I like to do on my nights off?”
He let out a long, howling laugh. “I have you followed. Obviously.”
With a nonchalance born from years in the professional world, I collided against his shoulder with my forearm. “What about you? Don’t tell me you’ve spent the last two days sitting here stewing. Because stewing involves brain cells.”
“I’ve been doing nothing. My usual.” Finn rolled his eyes a moment before his lips pulled back in a devious grin. “The physical therapist came by yesterday.”
Wait…what? Physical therapist?
I straightened my spine. “Oh, wow. I didn’t realize you were expecting one. I was under the impression you’d told them all to stuff it. The doctor certainly sounded like he’d washed his hands of you.”
“Oh, he did,” Finn agreed.
“Did you send this new one packing, like the other five?” I asked.
“No, she insisted on staying.”
“She?” I soothed the sudden itch in my throat with water, grabbing the bottle from the nightstand and trying not to choke.
Finn licked his lips in a sure sign of attraction. “Some new girl named Cassandra. She had good pointers for getting me walking again.”
“Oh…”
The syllable was drawn out. I wasn’t arrogant enough to think I knew it all. I could only try my best to help Finn in my own way, and it seemed to be helping him break free of his shell, at least.
However, having someone stepping on my proverbial toes was upsetting. Another woman. I was the one who’d motivated Finn to try and walk. The one who’d held him steady when he got to his feet for the first time. The one who’d listened when he wanted an ear and snuck snacks in when he needed a KitKat fix.
I sat, dumbfounded at the strange appearance of what I could only assume was jealousy. It was a mix of confusing emotions, a combination of anger, tension, and humiliation. The unexpected insecurity had me doubting my mental stability.
“Did she?” I said softly.
His dimples made a brief appearance. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but…do I detect a hint of jealousy, Ros?” He gave my knee a squeeze.
“No. No!” I pushed him away. “Of course not. I’m just curious what she did to get you to listen when I’ve spent the last three weeks beating you over the head.”
“Let’s just say she has something you don’t.”
“Oh? What would that be, pray tell?”
He stared at me, stone-faced. “Better tits.” Then I saw the smirk he couldn’t quite fight.
Now it was my turn to laugh. “Jack-off.”
“She said it would take another couple of weeks of double, double, toil and trouble, and I’ll be mobile by the end of the month.”
In spite of the strange, unsettled pressure in my chest, I was pleased with the news. “See? I told you. It will take hard work and dedication, but it’s possible.”
“I’m not so sure.”
I blew out a breath. “What do you mean? You need to get out of this bed. I’m surprised you don’t have bedsores.”
“Bedsores are fixable. I’m nervous,” he admitted.
“We’ve already established your nerves. Tell them to roll over and die. You have work to do.” It was an admonishment I thought would lift his spirits.
Finn fixed his gaze down at his sheets. “What if the bones aren’t strong enough and they break again? Leaning on you is one thing, but I can’t lean on you forever. I refuse to lean on anyone again. It’s not my style.”
I could appreciate the adamancy there. “You’re never going to get better if you’re stuck on what ifs.”
His growl should have pushed me back a few paces. Instead, it sent my heart racing. “I don’t need your pity. Don’t you ever feel sorry for me.”
“It’s not pity, it’s disgust. You have to try if you’re going to get anywhere. I mean, what if I’d never quit my job in Tennessee? Then I wouldn’t be here.”
“Better for me if you’d stayed where you were.”
“Ha, ha. You’re a laugh a minute. I’m saying we have to break out of the box once in a while or we can’t progress. You need to get out of bed.” I didn’t say a peep about wanting to be the one to help him stand—walk, run, dance—and not his physical therapist.
“Have you always been this persistent?”
“Have you always been a curmudgeon?”
“There you go again with the witty repartee,” he grumbled. “It gives me such a thrill. You’re much better at this than Cassandra.”
“Just lacking the tits?”
“Right.”
“Tit size aside, I want you up.” I shuffled onto my feet and used both hands to try and drag him closer.
Finn resisted. Naturally. The smile spreading across his face no longer quirked at a spirited angle. It held a hint of animosity. “Honey, most women try to get me into bed.”
“Enough. Up. Now.”
“You won’t take no for an answer?”
After one long pause, I burst out laughing. “Finn!”
“All right, all right. Give a guy a minute.”
“At least your attitude is improving.”
“Not really.”
I’d been looking forward to this visit. It had been a few years since something piqued my interest
as much as Finn and his broken legs, although I’d never acknowledge it. It pleased me to see him change, grow, be better behaved each time I came. How would he handle himself today?
I wondered what it would be like if we’d met under different circumstances. If I’d been unattached and he’d been whole. A man and a woman instead of a belligerent ass and his caregiver. A caregiver who didn’t want to listen to the advice of her significant other when he cautioned her to watch her backside. Who didn’t want to listen to her mother when she advised her to run.
If things were different…
Would Finn and I still talk the same way? Or would I be just another victim bobbing in his wake when he sped past me? Would he be another bad decision to remember with regret? He was my type—the type certain to trample my heart with pleasure.
Despite that, it was, I was ashamed to admit, an intriguing daydream.
“You want to hurt me, don’t you, Ros? You want to see me make a fool of myself—” Finn broke off on a snicker. Aimed a look at me, lips twitching.
I angled my head. “Oh, absolutely. Between the mental anguish and physical torture, I’ll make a man out of you yet. I think I’m doing a good job so far. You can recite your ABCs backwards.”
“You normally do a good job. That’s one thing I can say about you. You always go for the kill shot.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” I was grinning when I held my arm out to him.
“I admire your one-track mind.” He clapped his hand into mine and linked our fingers together. We stayed still for a long moment. Too long. Past the point of decency.
Why couldn’t I tug my hand away? “Y…you’re touching me.”
“Yes, I am.”
Something plummeted into the lowest portion of my anatomy. I couldn’t breathe without taking him in, and as I did I got a whiff of soap. Clean, slightly spicy, with a masculine undertone.
“Did you shower today?” My voice was tight when I asked the question.
“Yes,” he said with a grin, “and thank you for noticing. I had to be worthy of the attention I was getting.”
I ordered myself to relax. It was nothing but a friendly handhold. People did it all the time and it meant little. The tremors rising up my arm from the contact should be far from worrisome.
“Your voracious appetite for females is astounding.”
“I can’t help it if they’re drawn to me.”
“Have you ever had a serious girlfriend in your life?” I wanted to know. At once I broke the contact and shifted until I stood a foot away from the bed. A reminder of our places, our difference in status within this ecosphere.
“Yes, I have.”
“How long did you date?”
“One year, two days, three hours, and seven minutes.”
“You’re lying.”
His jaw tensed. “What, you want to know my life story? You’ve never asked before.”
Was I pushing too far? “Damn it, man, it’s simple courtesy. And curiosity. We’re spending enough time together for me to be curious about you.”
He deliberately skimmed the fingers of his free hand down my arm before clasping the guard rail. Shimmying his legs to the side of the bed, he said, “I’m sure you’ve heard enough about me to make up your mind. There can’t be much to interest you. I’m the bad-boy motorcycle man, remember?”
“I’ve heard the stories,” I admitted. “Some of them, at least. I want to know more about you than the ubiquitous he-thinks-with-his-dick. Now will you tell me or not?”
I helped Finn to his feet. Each second he spent with them firmly planted on the floor and out of bed was a victory for me.
“Well, I used to work in restaurants. Hated it.” Finn spoke through gritted teeth and focused on small movements, wiggling his toes. “Moved on to construction. Bricks and stones and masonry work. It suited me for a time before I realized I had better uses for my hands.”
“I can imagine.”
“Greenhouse work wasn’t for me either. I got into motorcycles. Fixing them, taking them apart and learning how to put them back together. I was intrigued by the mechanics. I’ve always been the type to take things apart and put them back together to see how they fit. It was only natural my passion for the road brought me there. And eventually to Heartwood. I stayed for the scenery. The black-haired, green-eyed scenery.”
“So, you’re not native to the state.”
“Not entirely. D.C. originally,” he said evasively. “My family came into a bit of money and decided the capital was as good a place as any to settle down.”
“Then what happened to you?”
“Ha, funny.”
“Okay, sit before we go further.” I helped Finn lower to the bed, my heart bouncing when he rotated my hand and ran his fingers down the center of my palm. His gaze rose to watch my reaction. “Tell me about your parents,” I urged instead, shifting away.
“Both dead. Missionary trip to Botswana. Malaria.”
I didn’t tug my hand away. “I’m sorry.” Missionary work? It was another layer to him. Where had his sophistication gone?
“They were great,” he told me. “They gave me everything I ever wanted in life, which I suppose lead to a spoiled, selfish little brat.”
“I can see that,” I teased.
“How about you?”
I fixed him with a dubious scowl. “I wouldn’t exactly describe myself as spoiled—”
“No, your parents.”
“My father passed away recently. He had a heart attack last year when he was driving home from work. Passed out behind the wheel. The car crashed.”
“Aw, Ros.”
It took considerable effort to sever contact with him and fight tears at the same time. Finn looked…concerned. Worried about me and my emotional state. Were my scars showing? “It’s fine. I moved home to be closer to family. It’s only me and my mom, so I wanted to be around if she needed help.”
The truth was, I couldn’t stand the thought of losing another parent. One had been heartbreaking, a devastating loss. While Trista and I weren’t the closest, she was still my mother, and I wouldn’t exist without her.
I wondered how Finn managed without a support system. He was alone in this world, with no one there for him.
Except me, a voice whispered in my head.
“You want to be needed. I get it.”
“Excuse me?”
“Classic. You had someone depending on you. He’s gone. I wondered why you stayed with Weston when he’s such a dickhead. I have my answer.”
When I failed to come up with a good retort I shifted tactics yet again. “How did you find Heartwood?”
Finn worked his jaw, glancing down at his bare feet. “By happy accident. I followed a woman and she led me here. She moved on to bigger and brighter things. I didn’t.”
“Was she pretty?”
“Big green eyes like a cat, and legs that went on for days. Temper like you wouldn’t believe. What can I say? I have a type.”
I chuckled. “What made you stay?”
“Couldn’t tell you. The lay of the land? The solitude? I even kind of liked it until…”
The accident. “What happened?”
“It was raining and my tires needed to be replaced.” His gaze traveled back to mine and when he spoke again, his voice was even, his tone distant. Replaying a moment like it had happened to someone else. “I was saving up the money but it wasn’t soon enough. Didn’t pay attention and ended up on the wrong side of a tree.”
Like my father. “Don’t beat yourself up. You survived.”
“I’ll be the first to tell you, and I know you’ll understand this… Watch out for yourself. Because no one else is going to.”
I understood where he was coming from. “We’re going to get you better. At least I’m here.”
“For how long, Ros? How long before you move on to the next cause? The next charity case? How long before you listen when your boyfriend tells you not to bother with me?”
>
I didn’t have an answer for him. It wasn’t something I could guarantee. “I don’t know.”
“The pressure is on you. I wonder if you’ll break.”
“Isn’t that the question of the week.”
Finn shook off my concern. “It’s dark outside. You should get going or people will wonder where you are.”
There were still leg exercises to do. Designed to build up the muscles and strength he’d lost while bound to the bed. Somewhere along the line I’d lost track of time, lost sight of my purpose in talking of his past.
I dug in my proverbial heels and settled in for the long haul. “I’m not going anywhere. Talk to me while we work.”
“Mm. Maybe later.”
We fell into a compatible silence until the buzz from my cell phone broke the mood. Flustered, I reached into my pocket and glanced down at the screen. “It’s Weston.”
Something changed. Finn was good at hiding, no doubt. But I was used to the flash of emotions. He wasn’t necessarily surprised by the mention of my boyfriend. I caught the shift in the nuances of his face. “What does he want?”
I held the phone against my chest. “None of your business.”
The wall slammed down. “Fine, be a jerk.”
My eyebrows knitted and I said nothing at first. “Finn…”
“You better respond. Don’t keep the man waiting. He won’t be happy.”
The memory of Finn’s hands around me came to mind and I swallowed. Nodded.
“Sure.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Another week went by—another week in which I divided my time between Finn and my studies. Two weeks more, and I was micromanaging my schedule until I made sure there was opportunity to eat and sleep. Balance came with practice, as did not losing my will. Not ripping out my hair when I couldn’t fill my hours to their maximum capacity. And then three weeks where I tiptoed around Weston and we barely spoke.
Three weeks of subsisting on a diet of orange foods—AKA cheese puffs and potato chips. I never claimed to eat healthy.
I drove home from the rehab house that day with the sun sinking over the hills. Twilight bathed the landscape in shades of rich golds and reds. A sure sign, according to some, of good weather on the way. I liked to believe it was true.