by Tia Louise
“No,” my brow lined as I watched him write on a blue card.
“Didn’t think so. I can’t officially certify you until you are, but I can make it pending that. It’ll cover us so long as Kenny or Pete is in the building.”
“I’m not interested in being certified—”
“Like I said, I’ll have to increase your pay. How does an extra five bucks an hour sound?”
“Fuckin’ good.” I might actually be able to buy a few more groceries. Take Kenny to a restaurant instead of my crap apartment for dinner.
“Let’s get started.”
Learning to be a trainer wasn’t much different from being trained. Basically, it was shit my own trainer had taught me when I was boxing—monitoring form, encouraging clients to push themselves.
“You’re stronger than you look,” Rook said, as I finished a set, bench-pressing three hundred.
Sitting up with a loud exhale, I shrugged. “You’ve had me moving some heavy shit around here.”
He laughed and clapped me hard on the shoulder. “That’s enough for today. You know more than most trainers starting out.”
I followed him back to the front ready to head back to my place. A quick look at the clock told me Kenny would be arriving soon, and I had a surprise in mind for her.
“The crews won’t be in port for another week or two. When they come, most of them won’t want a trainer. You’ll just make sure they don’t wreck the place.” We stopped at the juice bar, and Mariska slid over a white cup.
“Try that out and tell me what you think. No charge.” I glanced at her, and she winked. “It’s a new recipe. Supposed to build muscle mass. I need to know if guys will like it.”
It was a ruse, but I smiled and took it. Soon I wouldn’t be such a fucking charity case.
Rook continued. “You’ll need to hang around the gym more than you do now. Kenny and Pete’s schedules are pretty full with our regular members. You’ll pick up any overflow.”
“Got it.” I said, nodding as I took a big gulp of the protein shake. It was good—thick and not too sweet.
“Tammy will make you a timecard, and you’ll punch in and out. No more Sundays off.”
“I knew that was too good to last.”
He smiled and held out a hand. It was the first time he’d offered to shake, and I couldn’t help feeling honored. I gripped his large palm, and he finished.
“No more probationary period.” He held on a beat longer, and I was about to make a crack about not being his girlfriend when he blew me away. “You’re a good man, Slayde Bennett. Keep up the good work.”
His words hit me so hard. I had to clear my throat before I answered. “Thanks.”
“Oh!” Mariska cried, clasping her hands under her chin. “Where’s my damn camera when I need it?”
“Don’t spoil it.” Rook deadpanned, and I laughed. He released me, and I looked at my palm. Then I headed out. I had to make a quick stop before I was ready for tonight.
22
“Live in the sunshine, swim in the sea, drink the wild air.”
Kenny
Patrick was dressed to go out when I arrived in Wilmington. Jeans and a polo were his standard going out attire, and his dark green shirt made his hazel eyes glow… as he narrowed them on me.
“What’s different?”
“You’re so suspicious!” I dropped my bags on the floor. “Nothing’s different.”
“Liar. This is not the pensive, angst-ridden Kenny who visited us last time.”
Rolling my eyes, I stopped at the refrigerator to grab a bottle of water. “You’re so full of shit. That’s a total exaggeration.”
“You’re full of shit.”
Elaine entered the room carrying Lane, who only wore a diaper and a towel. “Baby here—no more swearing,” she called. “He just had his bath, and I barely got a diaper on him when he heard your voice.”
Laughing, I scooped his wiggling, grinning body from her arms. “How’s my big boy?” I kissed his chubby neck and took a deep breath of Baby Magic. “I’m sorry I was gone too long this time.”
He struggled in my arms, and I loosened them. Putting his hands on my cheeks, his blue eyes grew round. “Two mommies.”
Behind me I heard Patrick snort, and I cut my eyes at him. Back to the baby, I held my expression neutral. “Yes. Lane has two mommies who love Lane very much.”
“Ah, now you’re making it sweet.” Patrick pretended to complain.
Elaine breezed into the kitchen at that remark. “What’s sweet?”
“Lane has two mommies.” I said, and she paused.
Her hand went to her hip, and her expression grew thoughtful. “I guess we never really talked about that. Should we make out now or wait until later tonight?”
Patrick almost choked on a laugh, drinking from my water bottle, but I hugged Lane closer. “Do you think it’s confusing? I mean, should we call me… something else?”
She walked over to us, rubbing Lane’s little back. He reached out and stuck his fingers in her silky hair. “Two mommies.”
Her voice was gentle. “You are mommy—”
“No way, you’re mommy,” I argued. “You’re doing all the work.”
For a moment we only stood there, the two of us looking at the small human tying us together. My stomach twisted, and I couldn’t help wondering if she’d ever be able to think of me as anything more than a problem. Her annoying cross to bear.
Elaine was still rubbing Lane’s little back. “I love this guy.” The warmth in her voice gave me hope.
“Me too,” I said softly.
Our eyes met then, and she sighed, a small smile peeking on her lips. “Sounds like Lane has two mommies.”
Patrick put the water bottle down and walked over to where we were. “Daddy is very lucky. Two mommies is hot.”
Elaine punched him in the arm, and I snorted. Lane’s little face frowned. “No hit. Bad.”
“Daddy likes when Lainey hits him.” I kissed his little nose. “What else are you learning at preschool?”
“Not enough cleanup.” Elaine scooped an oversized racecar and a handful of stray Duplos off the floor, tossing them into a square bin in the living room. Then she was back, purse on her shoulder. The black dress she wore had geometric beige panels down the sides, making it look like a halter.
“I love that dress!” I sat in a chair by the table still holding Lane.
“If you were taller, I’d give it to you.” She kissed my head briefly before giving the baby a longer kiss on his chubby cheek. It was unexpected, and I liked the gesture. “We won’t be out too late.”
“Stay as late as you want! We’ll have dinner and then snuggle up with a few books until we fall asleep.”
She smiled and headed to the door as Patrick stepped forward to hug me and kiss his son. “Tell teacher Lane’s mommies kiss each other.”
“Patrick!” Elaine scolded from the door, but that made me laugh.
“Good one,” I chuckled, as he pecked my cheek.
“Tomorrow I want to hear all about this new guy.”
I tried to frown, but it came off as more of a distorted grin. “I have no idea what you’re talking about!”
“Exactly.” He winked and followed Elaine out. I carried Lane to the living room, ready to relax and spend the evening with my boy.
The next morning, when I emerged from Lane’s room, Patrick’s going out clothes were replaced with jeans and a white tee. He held a mug of coffee. I held my overnight bag on one arm and my sleepy little son on the other.
“Did you two catch up?” he asked, handing me the mug.
“Yes!” I was refreshed after spending an easy evening watching airplane and video-game movies then going to bed at ten snuggled up with my baby. “I think we read every new book he got since my last visit. Holy crap!”
“Preschool had a book fair.” He grinned, rubbing Lane’s back.
“I figured it was something like that.”
Lane reache
d for him, and I passed the little guy over. He tucked his blond head into his daddy’s neck.
“Take care of your mini me.” I sipped my coffee watching Lane’s chubby fingers moving up and down on Patrick’s shoulder. “You two are too cute.”
“So tell me about this guy.” Patrick sipped his usual morning OJ, and Lane’s head popped up.
I smiled watching the two of them—Patrick held his glass while Lane took a drink. When they were done, I shrugged. “Just one of the new guys at the gym. He’s working with me on my boxing.”
Patrick’s eyebrow rose. “He’s a boxer?”
“Ex.” I took another sip. “Ex boxer.”
“Is he from Bayville? Somebody you knew before?”
“No,” I looked down, chewing my lip. “I’m not sure where he’s from originally. He just moved to the area.”
Patrick’s brow lined, and my chest felt squirmy. “What’s his name? What do you know about him?”
“Slayde Bennett? He’s my age, so he must’ve been just getting started when he had to quit. Boxing, I mean.”
“Why’d he have to quit?” Patrick was studying me too closely.
These were all valid questions, and I hated not having answers for him. At the same time, I knew Slayde. He didn’t.
“I don’t know,” I finally admitted.
Patrick’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Those guys can be violent sometimes.”
“He’s not violent.” My mind traveled to the night on the beach when he’d rescued me. There was no way in hell I could tell Patrick about that. He’d lose it.
“Sounds like there’s a ‘but’ in there.”
“There isn’t!” I shook my head, meeting his eyes. “I was thinking of how to describe him. He’s more into meditation and stuff. He has a system. He’s very controlled.”
Inwardly I cringed. It was all coming out wrong, but thankfully Patrick didn’t jump on that. Instead, he exhaled deeply.
“You’re a grown woman—”
“Thank you!” I said a little too loudly.
“And I was about to say I trust you.” He held my gaze, and my little boy did as well, watching me from where his head lay on his daddy’s shoulder. “But it’s like you women are always saying about my Harley—you’ve got other people who need you now, too. Remember that.”
“Oh, Patrick.” I stepped toward them both. “I could never forget that. I love you guys.”
“Mommy purple.” Lane pulled a long strand of my hair into his little hand. I caught it and kissed his baby knuckles.
He leaned down, and I took him from Patrick, hugging him close and kissing his neck. A lump ached in my throat. It was so hard to leave him. But that was what true love meant—sacrifice, making unselfish choices for the good of your loved one.
“Mommy will be back very soon,” I whispered. “Be a good boy for Mommy.”
Patrick took him, and it was like my heart stayed with that little body. I rubbed Lane’s back a moment longer. “Tell Elaine I said thanks. I’ll be back soon.”
“Take care of yourself, okay?”
Nodding, I grabbed my bag and headed out.
Driving back to Bayville, I thought about how Slayde withdrew when I first mentioned Lane. It was so common for children of abuse to think they shouldn’t be parents or have any contact with children. I tried to imagine what kind of a little boy he must’ve been to survive the abuse he’d suffered.
He fought all his life, and then he became a boxer. I hoped one day he might trust me enough to tell me why he walked away from his career. Perhaps it was something as simple as he didn’t want to fight anymore.
All of his thoughtful gestures filled my mind, from the flowers to his attempts to feed me instead of himself, and when I pulled into my parking garage, all I wanted to do was throw everything in my house, shower quickly and head right back out to see him.
Just then my phone buzzed with a text. Come to my place before you go home. I have something to show you.
It was Slayde, and I smiled, looking through my windshield a moment before turning the key and backing out of the garage again.
Henry was sitting in the parking lot when I arrived at the crummy apartment building he called home. I tried to imagine what in the world he could want to show me as I studied the sun glowing deep orange as it made its way lower in the sky. It was a beautiful evening.
My phone went off again. Text me when you get here.
I smiled. Just pulled in.
From the corner of my eye, I saw his door open, and he stepped out wearing dark jeans and a white tank. The sight of him made my chest swell with happiness. He was so gorgeous with that light scruff on his cheeks, his muscled arms bent with his hands on his hips. A smile touched his lips, making him look even sexier, and I wanted to run across the parking lot and jump into his embrace. Instead, I opened the door and walked to him.
“Hey,” I said.
He still had that sexy grin on his lips, and he reached for me, tracing a line from my forehead down my cheek to my neck. Energy buzzed through my entire body.
“You were only gone twenty-four hours,” he said quietly. “It felt like you were gone a week.”
Reaching forward, I held his neck as I rose on my tiptoes to kiss him. He quickly wrapped his arms around my waist, scooping me against him in a kiss so full of emotion it stole my breath. His lips moved to my cheek then up to my eyebrow, and I tried to calm my breathing.
Leaning back, I traced my thumbs over his cheeks. “What did you do while I was gone?”
“Worked yesterday. Today Rook made me an official trainer and gave me a raise.”
“Hey!” I laughed. “Sounds like I need to go out of town more often.”
“No way. I’d rather have you here.” He smiled before leaning forward to kiss me again, right at the base of my ear.
“What did you want to show me?”
With one more squeeze, he released me. “Come on.”
Instead of going into his apartment, he led me in the direction of the pier. I didn’t understand, but I followed him until he stopped abruptly causing me to bump into him.
He laughed. “Sorry.” Catching my cheeks, he kissed me quickly again, and happiness filled my chest. Leaning down, he caught my ankle, slipping off my shoes as I held his shoulders. Then he stood up again. “Close your eyes.”
I wrinkled my nose, and he took one of my hands, lifting it to my eyes. “Close them.”
I did as instructed, and he led me slowly over the sand to the wooden boardwalk. A light breeze blew off the water, and I was glad I’d worn a cardigan for our impromptu beach stroll. Only we didn’t go to the beach. As I followed him, I recognized the sounds. We were walking on the pier.
“You’re going to stop before we get to the end, right?” I teased.
“Stopping… now.” He pulled my hand away from my eyes, and I blinked, looking all around. “Look down.”
My eyes went to the wooden planks in front of us where two large pads were arranged with three small plates holding red, blue, and yellow paint.
“I… I don’t understand.”
“It’s finger paint.” He stepped carefully across the setup still holding my hands. “Sit. We don’t have a lot of daylight left, but you can show me how it works.”
My mouth dropped open, and I sat slowly across from him with the two large, empty sheets between us, slipping my arms out of my sweater.
“I don’t have any fine art books, but I figured nature is a pretty good substitute.”
It was all so unexpected and amazing and sweet. “Yes, I mean, definitely nature is the best subject.”
“Except naked women, of course.” He gave me a sly grin, and I laughed.
“I’m pretty sure we’d get arrested out here.”
“Too bad.” He sat forward, and in the light tank he wore, he might as well have been shirtless. “Blue and yellow make green, right?” He held up a white plastic bottle, tilting it side to side. “I have white here, but I r
an out of plates.”
“What do you want to start with? The ocean?” Leaning forward, I dipped three fingers in the dark blue paint and slid them across the paper in a wavy motion.
He’d flattened his whole hand in the yellow and sat back. “Wow. You really know what you’re doing.”
“I’ve finger-painted a time or two. Watch it! You’re dripping!”
He looked down at the paint trickling down his forearm and quickly put it down at the top right corner of his page. “The sun.”
“Nice. I might’ve missed it if you hadn’t told me.”
“Don’t be a snob.” He grinned and moved back to dip his index finger in the red. “I have a better idea for a subject.”
I watched as he started making lines.
“Keep in mind your medium,” I said, lifting the white and pouring a drop on my fingertips, blending it under the wavy blue lines I’d made, creating a lighter blue. “You can’t be very precise with this type of painting. Go for more broad strokes.”
Slayde didn’t even look up. Wrinkling my nose, I studied what looked like a big red triangle.
“Mondrian liked to use large fields of color in his art,” I added, hoping to be encouraging.
“Which guy just threw paint everywhere?”
“Jackson Pollock?” I squinted up.
“Yeah, I’d like to try his technique sometime.”
“Yves Klein covered nude models in ultramarine blue and then had them roll around on the canvass.”
Slayde’s eyes flashed to me. “Why the hell did I set all this up out here? We need to take this back to my place. You’ve given me a great idea.”
“Oh, yeah?” I grinned, leaning across the canvasses. He met my lips halfway, and I put my painted hand on his cheek.
Pulling away a fraction, he laughed. “You’re going to get it now.” I felt his yellow-covered hand sliding down the neck of my floral sundress.
“Slayde! My dress…”
“It’s washable. Look.” He held up the bottle, and sure enough, Washable was printed on it.
“I guess that means the gloves are off.”