by Sarina Bowen
“If I don’t spill the drinks first,” Stella grumbled. She brought the basket over to the sink and began rinsing the fruit.
“You’re a good girl, Stella,” Travis said. “Hang in there.”
She shut off the water, and laughed her smoky laugh. “I’d rather be a good waitress than a good girl, Trav.”
Callie wondered if she and Travis merely enjoyed flirting, or if maybe they were seeing each other. She was probably too young for him, although Callie hoped the bartender would find somebody. In a small town like Hamilton, Vermont, it was awfully hard to find your mate.
At least, that was what Callie needed to tell herself. Because if the population of Windsor County wasn’t really at fault, than what was? If Callie’s loneliness was her own fault, then moving several thousand miles across the country wouldn’t help.
But that couldn’t be true. There had to be an awful lot of single men in California. Hot, single men who were eager to hook up with nerdy female doctors.
Callie took a deep pull of her beer and thanked her lucky stars that for once she was not on call. As she set the glass down on the bar, a cool breeze brushed her cheek. The outside door had opened, and she instinctively turned toward the vestibule to see if perchance a handsome stranger had walked in. Hope springs eternal.
“Hey, it’s Doctor C!” Big Mike called out as he rolled into the room. He was followed by Dave.
“Hi guys!” She waved. She’d never run into her study participants at Rupert’s before, but seeing them here shouldn’t surprise her. There weren’t very many bars in a fifty-mile radius.
Big Mike and Dave headed for the large table near the window. Stella jumped off her bar stool. “I’ll just get those chairs out of the way,” she said.
“Much obliged,” Big Mike said with a wink. “There are going to be four wheelchairs here. We’re having a convention, see. And we’re definitely buying that girl a drink.” He made his hand into a gun and fired it at Callie.
“Roger that,” Stella said, stacking four chairs together. Then she picked up the stack and carried them out of the room.
Big Mike and Dave rolled up to the table, and Callie wondered which other two were about to roll in. As if on cue, Hank’s face appeared in the doorway.
And then two things happened in quick succession. First, her heart tripped over itself. Because Hank still had that effect on her. But that sensation was immediately followed by utter discomfort. Crap. He gave her a chin lift, and she returned it with a weak smile.
That was the trouble with small towns. When your naked exploits ended badly, there was nowhere to hide. “I have to get out of Vermont,” Callie breathed.
“Is it that bad, sweetheart?” Travis asked. “Are you in trouble with the law?” His green eyes twinkled.
She shook her head. Keep it together, Callie. “I’m fine. Never mind.” Travis knew all about her issues with Nathan, but she hadn’t told him—or anyone else—how she felt about Hank. It hurt too much to be bar-stool chatter.
“Are you really thinking about leaving?”
Even though she could hear the sexy rumble of Hank’s voice talking to the other guys, she raised a finger to her lips. Travis came closer. “I can’t really talk about it. But there’s a job posted in Marin County. If they hired me, I’d be ninety minutes from my parents, and a very short flight away from Willow and Dane.”
Travis smiled. “How is she doing, anyway? Have you heard from her?”
“I haven’t seen her since the Olympics, but she sent me some pictures. The baby had her first birthday last month. Hang on…” Callie hopped off her barstool and fetched her purse off the kick ledge beneath it. She scrolled through the inbox on her phone for the photos.
As she stood there, Hank startled her by rolling up beside her. As his handsome face came into her line of sight, Callie’s throat got tight.
“Hazardous!” Travis boomed out. “How’ve you been?”
“Great,” Hank said, but the expression on his face disagreed. He looked uncomfortable, and so Callie looked away. He slid a credit card onto the bar. “Can you make sure I’m covering that table?” He cocked his chin toward the guys from the therapy program.
“Easily done,” Travis said, picking up the card. “Hey, Callie, Hank—you two know each other?”
“Sure,” Callie said quickly, at the same time Hank said “Yeah.”
There was an awkward pause while Travis turned to prop Hank’s credit card up on the cash register. Then he turned back to look at the photos. “Aw, I never thought I’d see this.” Travis laughed as he scrolled over to a cute picture of Dane asleep on a sofa, with Finley passed out on his chest. “The fact that someone calls Dane ‘Daddy’ scares the crap out of me.” He set the phone down and moved down the bar to take another customer’s order.
Hank plucked the phone off the bar and considered it. “That’s a regular Hallmark card right there,” he said. His face closed up, becoming totally unreadable. He put the phone down. Without another word, he went back to his friends.
Callie watched him retreat, and was nudged by her very first memory of Hank. He’d given Dane a terrible hard time, hadn’t he? He’d called Dane “whipped,” and scoffed at the idea that family obligation might trump a night out partying.
Don’t forget that, Callie ordered herself. Maybe she and Hank were doomed even before their naked mishap. Even though he could still make her heart speed up just by entering the room, Callie wanted a family someday. But nothing about Hank said “family man.” And even if they’d managed to have wild monkey sex together, that would still be true.
Right. California. That was the new plan.
But even with her back to him, it was as if Callie could feel Hank’s pull. When something funny was said at their table, she heard his husky laugh, and it tugged at her.
Though Callie had decided that Hank was a lost cause, her heart hadn’t gotten the memo.
“What’s up with that?” Travis whispered, wiping down the bar just in front of her.
Callie tried for a noncommittal shrug. She’d forgotten that Travis had a bartender’s sixth sense for reading every situation. “I know him from the hospital. He’s part of the therapy clinic that I’m working on.”
“Interesting.” Travis filled a cocktail shaker with ice. “And now you want to move a few thousand miles away?”
“Let it go, Trav,” Callie begged.
“I will. But only because his sister is coming back.”
Callie looked up to see Stella emerging from the kitchen with a tray of lit candles, one for each table. She made her way over to the wheelchair crew, sliding a basket of pretzels down in front of them. Then she cocked the tray onto her hip and deadpanned: “Coffee, tea or me?”
There was a moment of surprised silence, while Callie watched Hank’s lips twitch with amusement. “Boys, don’t answer that. This is my kid sister, Stella. She and I used to be tight, until she lost my phone number.”
“Hank,” she murmured. “I did not lose your phone number. I’ve been busy.”
He grabbed her by the hips and pulled her onto his knee. “Busy? Mom says you’re working here six nights a week now just to piss her off.”
“Challenge,” Stella said with a roll of her eyes. “Our mother has never said ‘piss’ in her life.”
“I was paraphrasing. But what gives? You aren’t exactly the waitress type.”
“Says who?” Stella argued. “I’m going to be a good waitress.”
“Really? Then how come I don’t have a beer in front of me?”
Stella stood up and folded her arms. “What would you have to drink, sire?”
“What do you have on tap, wench?”
“Well…” Stella took a step toward the bar and squinted at the tap handles.
Behind the bar, Travis just shook his head. “I’m going to tattoo the beer list on your hand, Stella.”
“You might as well tattoo it on my boobs. Because that’s where the customers are usually looking, a
nyway.”
“Yeah, and I really don’t need to know that,” Hank muttered.
Travis began to rattle off the tap beers. “Switchback Ale, Guinness, U.F.O., Long Trail and Woodchuck Cider.”
“Long Trail,” Hank said. After the other guys ordered, Stella went to move away. But Hank caught her hand. “We’re not done, baby sister. Tell me why you’re working in a bar.”
“I need money to go to Alaska. Mom retracted her offer to pay. So I got a job. It’s not a very complicated story.” Her eyes flared, daring her brother to argue.
Hank cocked his head. “You had a job. At the foundation. You were going to work on that wildlife survey project—who’s going to finish that now?”
“Not my problem,” she answered, a hand on her hip.
“The wildlife survey is important.”
“Hank, the environment is your thing. Not mine. And giving away money is Mom’s thing. And building ski resorts is Dad’s thing.”
“And this—” Hank gestured around the room “—is your thing.”
Travis snorted into the cash register.
“I’m just asking,” Hank tried, “whether ditching the foundation is your best move?”
She crossed her arms. “I think it’s my only move. I’m not going to change my life’s goals because Mommy and Daddy don’t like them.”
“They’re just…” Hank sighed.
“…Scared,” she finished. “One kid almost killed himself, and they don’t want to go through that again. So the other one gets chained into her room. At twenty-six years old.”
Hank looked her over. “I don’t see any shackles.”
“The desk inside Dad’s empire—that’s my shackle. I’m supposed to sit at it until I start popping out babies.”
There was a silence, and Callie played with her beer coaster, feeling guilty to find the Lazarus family drama so fascinating.
“Stella…maybe we shouldn’t do this here,” Hank prompted, his voice all honey and smoke.
“It was your idea, big brother. You brought it up. And now you know what I’m up against. I’d rather sling beer than do it their way. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She tucked her tray against her side and went back toward the kitchen again.
“Your little sister is a spitfire,” Big Mike said when she was out of earshot.
“That she is,” Hank agreed. “We can only hope that she’ll get over her snit long enough to bring us those beers.”
“I’ve got you covered,” Travis called. “Another beer, Callie?”
“Yes sir. Because somehow this first one disappeared.”
“Happens to the best of us, Callie. Can I order you something to eat, maybe a BLT?”
“That would be great.” Travis wasn’t trying to upsell her. It’s just that he knew that two beers was one more than she usually drank. Living in a tiny town, where everyone knew your quirks and disasters, used to be appealing. But when you were lonely, it didn’t feel like such a great bargain.
“Stella,” Travis called. “Can you bring Callie a BLT on wheat toast, with the tomato and mayo on the side? And two pickles.” He knew her order perfectly.
Yup. Time to move on.
CHAPTER TEN
“Give it some more gas,” Tiny coached. “More! That’s how we do it down in Georgia!”
Hank had had just about all that he could take today, and the trainer’s motor mouth wasn’t helping. His muscles were shaking, and his body would not do as he asked.
“Tighten those abs. You can make it all the way to the wall,” Tiny urged him on.
But Hank could not, in fact, get anywhere near the damn wall. Instead of explaining this in a calm voice, he screamed an obscenity at the top of his lungs.
That’s when the therapy-room door opened, and Callie’s startled face appeared in the opening. “Everything okay in here, guys?” The words were casual, but a quaver in her voice betrayed her discomfort.
Perfect. Just fucking perfect.
Hank thought he’d already found all the ways he could look like an ass in front of Callie. Who knew he could manage to find one more? It wasn’t Tiny’s fault that Hank couldn’t walk. And there was really no excuse for losing it during a therapy session.
“We’re just fine, Callie.” Tiny’s voice was meant to sound soothing.
Callie stood there a moment longer, and Hank wished he could sink into the floor. He hadn’t seen her for a few days, and he hated that she was seeing him like this—face red, T-shirt drenched. He was wearing braces that came up all the way to his hips, and leaning hard on the ugliest granny walker he’d ever seen.
“Let’s go,” Tiny said in a calm voice, pointing toward the wall.
But Hank only shook his head. Time slowed to a crawl, the tense silence threatening to swallow them all whole. Hank stared down at his sneakers and wished he could be anyplace else.
Eventually, he heard the sound of Callie ducking out of the room again, and closing the door behind her.
Without a word, Tiny pulled Hank’s chair up behind him. Hank sat down, and bent to unlock the knees of his braces.
“Don’t touch those, dude. You’re not done.”
“I am fucking done.”
“Nope. I got one more thing planned.” He swiveled Hank around, positioning him in front of the heavy bag hanging from the ceiling. Plucking the gloves off the floor, he handed them to Hank. “Up you go. Come on.” Wordlessly, Hank shoved his hands into the gloves. Tiny locked the legs of Hank’s braces, and then pulled him up. He kicked the wheelchair away. Then he stood behind Hank, steadying him with two hands on Hank’s rib cage. “Kill it, man.”
Hank took a deep breath. Then he drew back one of his powerful arms and nailed the bag.
“Harder,” Tiny insisted.
Hank drilled the bag, and it was exhausting. But somehow it was exactly what he needed. If anything, he put more into each successive punch than he’d put into the last.
“That’s it, man. Get it out.”
Hank squared his shoulders and lit into the bag again. Then he opened his mouth and roared. The sound was full of fury and pain.
Then he adjusted his glove and hauled off to hit the bag again.
* * *
The next day, Callie looked up to find Tiny’s great girth blocking her office door. “Hey, girlfriend! Got a minute?”
“For you? Always.”
Tiny crossed his arms over his massive chest and cocked his head. “Dr. Callie, can you do Hank a favor?”
“What?”
“If you want Hank’s therapy observed, send someone else.”
“Okay. Why?”
Tiny scratched his chin. “He doesn’t like you to watch. Whenever you put your head in, everything grinds to a halt. I think it’s because you’re a pretty lady, and he doesn’t want to struggle in front of you.”
“I just put my head in to find out why he was shouting at you. Because that shouldn’t be part of a therapy session.”
His face was thoughtful. “That’s usually true. But Hank is trying to work through some anger right now. And the gym can sometimes be a safe place to do that. So lately…that’s how it is between us. I take his bullshit, and then I say, ‘for that, I want ten more reps.’ And he always shuts up and gives it to me.”
“I think I understand. But are we missing something here?” Callie stretched a hand up to her own aching shoulder. “Should someone be even more worried for him, then?”
“Not necessarily. Hank is coming up on the one-year anniversary of his injury. Next month, actually. And that’s kind of a big deal.” Tiny stepped behind Callie, putting his own hands on her shoulder. “Uh oh, boss. You got quite the knot here.”
He sank his thumbs into her muscle, and Callie might have fainted with relief. “Wow,” she whispered while his hands showed her shoulder who’s boss.
“Yeah, it’s a bad one. Lean forward and drop your head.”
She slumped onto her desk, and his magic hands continued to coax the stress from her
shoulders. “Are you saying that Hank thinks he’ll never improve? Because it’s been a year?”
“That’s probably his fear. There’s nothing magic about the one-year mark. But look at his life—he does rehab like it’s his full-time job. Every day, almost. He isn’t walking, and he’s starting to realize that it isn’t going to happen for him.”
“So…” Callie felt the truth of it in the pit of her stomach. “He’s failed. At his full-time job.” It was her own very worst fear.
“Yeah. And I bet he has no idea what to do about that.”
Chastened, Callie took a very deep breath. She’d been nursing her own disappointment over how things turned out with Hank. But it was nothing like the disappointment he was working through. In that moment, it all became so much easier to bear. He’d said, I hope we can be friends. And she’d chafed at the sound of it. But she cared about him, and that was all that mattered. If he needed a friend, that was what she’d be. It was a simple as that.
Behind her, Tiny continued to work his skillful thumbs into her neck muscles, and the friction of his fingers on her skin felt soul-healing. This is exactly what I need, she thought.
But what did Hank need?
In the first place, the tension between them needed to end. She could manage that now. What Hank needed from her was the only thing that she could give him: compassion and forgiveness. And empathy. It was brutally simple, but also true.
She actually felt the moment when the knot in her shoulder relaxed.
“There it is,” Tiny said, satisfaction in his voice.
“Tiny? Now would be a really good time to ask me for a raise.”
He giggled. “Can I have a raise?”
“Unfortunately, no. But if it were up to me…” She let her head fall forward another inch. “You have no idea how much better you just made my day.”
“Then maybe it is a good time for me to ask you a favor. I chipped a tooth. And the dentist can fit me in tomorrow at four-thirty. Otherwise, I have to wait three days.”
“Four-thirty…” Callie tried to think, but her mind was turning to a happy mush as Tiny worked his fingers up to the base of her skull.