She flinched.
“We’ve spent a few years apart, but I know you, Maeve. I know you well enough to recognize the signals when you step away from who you really are and slide into actress mode.”
She flinched again. “Wow.”
Josh found it surprisingly easy to ignore her stunned reaction; he didn’t allow her any time to recover, or hide. “So, I ask you again, how did you feel about what happened during the interview today?”
Her eyes narrowed, going sharp as a feisty spirit rose. “I’ll tell you if you tell me.”
“Fine. I’ll even start. I didn’t like the ambush, but love being associated with you. I’d never have a problem being seen as your romantic interest.” He arched a brow, daring her forward. “Your turn.”
Of all the blasted luck. Their waitress arrived with food artfully presented upon a white, oblong platter. She placed the serving on the coffee table along with napkins, plates, and cutlery. While they dished, Josh gauged Maeve.
Come toward me. Trust me. Be open with me, like you used to.
Maeve looked away, dipping a ring of calamari into the steamy, garlic-spiced marinara. She popped the morsel into her mouth. When she leaned back, a stocked plate in hand, Josh realized he hadn’t touched his food. His appetite centered on one thing alone, rediscovering Maeve.
“The questions didn’t bother me.” She picked up the thread of their conversation. “They took me by surprise, although I guess they shouldn’t have. Thank you for stepping in so smoothly, and with such class. I appreciate it.”
“For better or worse, I’m becoming used to people who make their living by pushing hype. Given our background, I suppose it was only a matter of time before someone figured out we have shared history. As far as the media is concerned, it’s in their interest to make those connections, tie the knots and foster interest.”
“Our relationship goes deeper than that, Josh, and you know it.”
“Yes, I do, but I wondered if you realize the same. I have my answer now.”
To his delight, that challenging observation brought her up short, and there was no answering defensiveness. Instead, Maeve’s laughter bubbled free. When she moved a bit closer, he stretched his arm behind her on the couch and toyed with a curl of her hair. Looking into her eyes, he twirled the strand, sliding it through slow moving fingers. An awakening, a push of awareness, moved in time to his touch. When she leaned against him, his pulse escalated.
“Moments like this are what I dreamed of all those years ago. I could picture restful moments together while we ate, or talked or shared stories at the end of the day. You and I were always so effortless. We…” Maeve shifted. Ducked her head.
Josh promptly tucked a finger beneath her chin, drew her face upward. He felt—and saw—the melting that took place in her soul.
“Oh, is this getting tricky,” she said.
“There’s nothing wrong with tricky.”
Her look pleaded, even as she remained resting within his touch and steady regard. “Can we please—please shift topics?”
Josh sighed, but kissed her cheek, slow, easy, and gentle. “If that’s what you want, OK.” A pause beat by. “You can dodge me for now, but the closer we get to the gala, the less opportunity we’ll have for quiet, private moments together. I want to come to terms with what we feel, Maeve. We can’t keep running.”
Aware of the appetizer plate before him, Josh reached for it, but first he swallowed a cold and bracing dose of ginger ale. At last, he ate.
Maeve polished off a few more rings of calamari. “I don’t want you to think I’m running from you.” Their eyes tagged. “Being put on the spot this morning affected me, but not in the way you might think.”
“Then how?”
“I don’t mind a connection to you, Josh. Ever.” She huffed. A furrow between her brows paid testimony to frustration—a frustration he understood all too well. “Being with you again brings to life all the wants, all the longings I harbored for us when we were together years ago.”
The admission came to rest in the spaces and distance between them, filling in gaps.
“Would you like some advice?” He trailed his fingertips against a slim shoulder swathed by sleek, body-warmed silk and considered how good it felt to simply touch her.
“What would that be?”
Every interaction left him aching for her, wishing desperately for a different outcome than the one they had been given.
“Look those wants and longings straight in the eye. Then, decide what to do about them.”
6
Maeve pushed through the glass doorway of Quantum Leap and stepped inside, early for her meet up with Josh and their planned trip to his charity center in Brooklyn. Music pulsed—driving, hardcore, get-you-moving-fast-and-furious type music. A dozen or so athletes made use of the equipment spread across several thousand square feet of workout space. The air vibrated, punctuated by grunts, damp heat, and clanging metal being put to hard use.
She spotted Josh and Doug, but they didn’t see her right away. Happy to remain beneath the radar for now, she skirted the perimeter, watching a trainer move into place behind Josh and brace a hand against his right shoulder, adding support as Josh rapidly stretched an elastic band anchored to a wall mount near the spot where he stood. Not far away, Doug performed a medicine ball toss with a second trainer.
Intensity crested Josh’s features. She could all but taste his pain. Sweat poured, so he’d probably been at the exercise for a while, yet he worked relentlessly, grunting while he yanked the cord across his chest over and over again, working his injured shoulder.
“Good progress. Stiffness isn’t as much of a factor anymore. Keep pushing.”
Without comment, Josh nodded. Every ounce of energy seemed wrapped in the process of completing the task.
“OK—switch.”
At the trainer’s bark, Josh didn’t miss a beat. In perfect tempo, he spun a half-circle, switching the band holder from right hand to left. Freshly positioned, he went to work all over again. Maeve continued to watch, and marvel.
Five minutes later, the trainer called, “Done, Josh. Step back. Breathe.”
Josh responded on automatic to the firm commands. His chest heaved while he folded at the waist and caught his breath. A mild, skin cooling breeze drifted downward from the overhead fan, tweaking Maeve’s senses, providing welcome relief from humidity. When he rose, scrubbing his damp face with the sleeve of his shirt, Josh spotted her and lifted his chin in greeting.
That’s when Doug noticed her arrival as well. “Maeve!” He called merrily. “Give me a great big hug!”
Sweat-drenched, smelly and obviously loving every minute of it, Doug moved toward her, arms flung wide. Maeve blanched. “Not on your life.”
“Why, you ungrateful, mean-spirited little—”
“How about me?” Josh sidled close, deliberately egging her on.
“Sorry, Josh. At present, you’re just as rancid as my brother. The answer is no way. See also, eww.”
“You didn’t used to feel all eww about Josh’s workouts.”
“Doug, I’ll happily deck you.” Maeve seared him with a glare, but he was immune. All he did was deliver an insolent grin, which caused Maeve’s temper to ratchet upward a few hot degrees. “Oh, put away that quirky-smirk and use it on someone else, would you, please?”
Maeve’s attention re-centered on Josh. Sure, she teased and sputtered and spewed; in truth, there was no denying the vital appeal and belly tug that came from the aura of a man like Josh when fully immersed in a training session. Wanting to avoid that train wreck of a thought, Maeve crossed her arms against her chest in a prim move that only served to inspire laughter from both men.
Doug walked to the spot where a pair of massive, weighted ropes lay on the floor. He lifted both ends and began to whip the ropes into ripple waves. Meanwhile, Josh performed an introduction to his trainer.
“Maeve Callahan, I want you to meet Steve Newman.”
/> Maeve accepted a handshake and beamed a smile. “It’s nice to meet you. Glad you’re helping him out.”
Josh shook his head. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”
“Got that right.” Steve eyed her in speculation. “We’ve just started conditioning exercises. Want to take on the role of assistant trainer?”
“Sure. What can I do?”
“How would you like to throw tennis balls at him?”
Maeve went sly. “You have no idea.”
“Gee, thanks.” Josh smirked.
“Andrews, strap onto the slide board. Maeve, come with me.”
“I’ll get you for this, Callahan.”
Unfazed by Josh’s muttering, Maeve winked and issued a delicate shrug.
Meanwhile, Josh stepped onto a slick, glossy looking board. He stuffed his feet into holders and strapped in snug, warming up by crouching slightly and gliding from side to side in slow, easy motions. Gradually, he increased speed.
“OK, Maeve, here’s what you do.” Steve positioned her in front of Josh, squaring her shoulders so she faced him at the mid-point of the slide board. After settling a pail of tennis balls at Maeve’s feet, he directed. “I’ve given you just enough space to bounce a ball at him. Josh is going to catch it on the fly as he moves. We’re testing reflex and agility, so don’t throw it directly at him. He needs to earn every catch—”
“Please throw it directly at me. Please?”
Steve snorted at the interruption; Maeve snickered. “Dream on.”
“Here. I’ll show you how it’s done.”
Steve centered himself about ten feet away and launched a tennis ball. Then another, then another. Intent, sliding back and forth, Josh palmed each one, despite varying angles of trajectory.
“Amazing.” Maeve stepped into place, grabbing a batch from the pail. “My turn.”
For the next fifteen minutes, the routine played out until the ground behind the slide board was littered by dozens of round, green fuzzies.
“And…time.” Steve stepped forward. “Great work, Andrews.”
Maeve watched Josh in awe. “I’m impressed.”
“Thanks.” He cooled down by sliding in slow-motion for a few seconds. While his body decompressed and he saturated starving cells with oxygen, he braced against his knees for a moment then addressed Maeve. “It’s a bit more intense than anchoring my feet while I did sit-ups during high school football practice, huh?”
“To say the least.”
But Steve wasn’t finished yet.
“OK, Josh, you know the end game. Time to play cards.”
A quiet inner fire, so integral to Josh’s nature, reared itself immediately and he nodded. He loosened the foot straps and stepped free of the slide board. “Playing cards. That’s a sick joke for what you’re about to do to me.”
In short order, Maeve understood the basis of Josh’s comment. Steve folded playing cards in half, eying the ceiling fan above their heads. “Your record is fifteen. Let’s hit twenty today.”
Steve kept folding cards. When his trainer crouched, Josh eyed him like prey.
“And…go!” Steve flipped a folded card toward the ceiling fan.
Down-force sent the card into a crazy spin. Agile, swift, Josh snapped it out of thin air. Maeve’s jaw dropped as he repeated the process—again, and again. So, this was de rigueur for athletes in training? Incredible. Steve launched cards with nary a beat of rest. Defying exhaustion, Josh’s focus remained absolute. He chased and captured card after card. Eight…twelve…eighteen…
“Twenty!”
Steve and Josh called the milestone in unison. Maeve released the breath she held and whooped. Smile wide, Josh closed his eyes and groaned, propping his back against the nearest wall. Visibly spent, he sank, landing rear-first on the floor. From there, he extended his legs and stretched forward, expelling exhaustion in a series of deep sighs.
Steve interrupted just long enough to offer a fist bump. “Great session. I think you’re ready to test full rotation. We’ll build to it, but next week I want you to get ready to swing the hammer.”
“What does that mean?” Maeve parked herself next to Josh, fingertips twitching to stroke the damp curls of hair along his neck and forehead.
Josh’s answering grin was rueful. “That means I’ll spend a good quarter hour taking a sledgehammer to a massive truck tire out back.”
Steve held up a hand. “Allow me to clarify, Maeve. That means he’ll be building smooth muscle function by establishing physical rhythm and the level of power he possessed before the injury.”
“It’s torture.” Josh whistled a breath through pursed lips then he grinned. “But that’s OK. It’s part of rehab.” He stood, extending a hand toward Maeve. As though guiding a feather, he lifted her to her feet. “I’m going to shower and change before we leave for Covington. I need to keep up with the woman who knows how to make a pair of blue jeans and a white sweater look incredible.”
The low-spoken compliment tweaked her senses and caught her completely off guard.
A short time later, the word incredible was precisely what came to mind when she watched Josh emerge from the locker room with Doug close behind. Dressed in tan khakis and a loose, untucked polo shirt of black, Josh’s hair was damp and neatly combed. A duffle bag was slung against his shoulder.
“You look great…ah…refreshed.” Thoroughly taken in, she stumbled as she spoke.
“Endorphins are a beautiful thing.”
Showered and changed as well, Doug snagged Maeve’s hands. “We’re still on for dinner tonight, right?”
“I can’t wait.” Disengaging from Josh, Maeve lifted to tiptoe and kissed her brother’s cheek, although she sent Josh a fast, private glance. “Randolph’s is an awesome spot; you’re going to love it.” Josh’s smile spread, as hoped. “I’ll see you there at five o’clock.”
“Yep. Josh, I’ll talk to you later. Thanks for a great workout.”
Josh yanked him into a quick, hard hug. “Let’s see if you feel the same in a few hours when rigor mortis sets in. Ibuprofen. Maximum dose.”
“Will do.” Doug hoisted his nylon gear bag. “See you, guys.”
During the drive to Covington, Maeve brought Josh up to speed about proceedings for the gala.
“Around the middle of next week, we’ve scheduled dress rehearsals that include the full ensemble, orchestra, and lighting—even costumes and makeup. The entire production has come together with a level of precision that boggles my mind. I can’t believe go-live is next weekend. My head literally spins.”
“You’re going to be amazing.”
“Not as amazing as you were today.” She uncapped a pair of water bottles Josh had provided and handed him one. Surely, he needed hydration. His fingers brushed hers and a rousing surge of energy sizzled to life. “I have all new respect for the road you’ve traveled during recovery.”
“It’s worth it. Commanding a football game every Sunday may seem effortless—”
“You certainly make it look that way.”
His low chuckle rumbled. “And you’ve always been my favorite cheerleader.” He checked the blind spot and shifted lanes, shrugging broad shoulders. “Taking the field is the easy part. Preps for each game are what tests mettle and determination. In ways, it’s fun, too.”
Fun? All over again, Maeve stared at him in wonder.
They crossed the Brooklyn Bridge. Josh’s pass through the borough led them to a single-story brick structure flanked by a corner park with well-used equipment that offered a postage stamp playground, a few tufts of grass and a rim of trees. The facility was surrounded by a neighborhood of old brownstones with leaning steps, overflowing trashcans and spots of graffiti scrawled across discolored, crumbling brick.
Inside, Covington Outreach was packed by fast-moving bodies, chatter, and laughter. Kids blew past, ranging in age from five to twelve. After a call to order and introductions, Josh took command. Maeve sat in the front row of a set of wooden bleachers t
hat edged a basketball court, tuned in while Josh walked a smooth line in front of the kids who assembled in a semicircle on the gym floor before him.
“I have a question for you, gang. What comes to mind when you think about leadership?”
An eager boy, perhaps eight or nine years old, thrust his hand skyward and burst out a response. “Swagger!”
Josh laughed. “That’s a good answer.” The kids instantly erupted into high-fives. A buzz of excited chatter ensued. “Almost.”
Josh waited patiently while the qualifier sank in and silence fell. “Leadership should never be about winning attention. It should never be about showing off or being cool either.” Silence stretched; importance built. He paced once more, surveying the thirty or so camp attendees. “Swagger comes not from intimidation, or feeling like you’re better than everyone else, but from commanding respect. From commanding loyalty by the way you live your life and respond to others.”
Legs crossed, Maeve propped an elbow on her thigh and leaned into her palm, focused.
“Swagger is about owning your life. Accountability and responsibility. Say that with me. Accountability and responsibility.” The kids offered a boisterous copy-cat of Josh’s chant; hero worship ran rampant. “Remember those words. They’re what see you through. Swagger stems from a deeply held belief in what you stand for and the building of your character through good times and bad. As most of you know, I’m working my way through a bad time right now.”
“Yeah, but, it’s like a gigantic do-over, Josh! You’ll be back, and you’ll be more awesome than ever! You rock!”
Maeve’s chest clutched. She settled a hand against her tight throat.
Josh fist-bumped the boy. “That’s my prayer, but no matter what comes next, I know God will see me through. That’s the other aspect of my life that keeps me grounded. Faith. Faith in God. Faith in the truth that God gives us those do-overs you talked about. He’s the King of second chances.”
Do-overs. The King of second chances.
Two philosophies, two chains of thought, two reflections on God’s truth catapulted through her mind. She tried desperately to hang on to them before shame, guilt and self-doubt sent them drifting away all over again…
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