by Steph Nuss
Except when one of our volunteers was a worldwide celebrity.
When Paige first approached me about Maxton Waters’ community service, his name had sounded familiar. I figured since he was working with Paige that he was someone well-known. So, I did my research and discovered that well-known didn’t even begin to cover him. He was an A-lister. A guy that had an article in every tabloid—whether or not the article had any truth to it, who knew? From the videos and pictures I found online, entertainment news websites and channels tracked his movements almost daily.
And he was also one of my son’s favorite actors.
Zane was obsessed with comic books, ergo he was a fan of Maxton Waters—also known as Nick Fury, leader of the Secret Warriors.
I love my son, I thought, but sometimes I wished I didn’t know so much Marvel shit.
Needless to say, I wasn’t impressed, nor was I looking forward to having Max as a volunteer. Not only would I probably have to deal with the press, but I also had to make sure that none of the other volunteers or patients leaked any information about him.
It was people like him who made my job as director of volunteer services absolute hell.
I already disliked him and I hadn’t even met him yet.
“Did you see who was added to our volunteer list?” Sophie squealed in excitement as she entered our small office. Sophie was my secretary. She’d been here before I took over as director, and on most days, I enjoyed working with her. Until a celebrity graced us with his presence.
“THE Sexiest Man Alive! It’s been a while since we had a celebrity in our group!”
“Yay,” I deadpanned, rolling my chair away from my desk to face her. “Can’t wait.”
“Oh, come on,” she chastised, handing me my Starbucks iced coffee. “He could be a really great guy. Don’t just assume that since he’s a celebrity, he’s going to be some huge pain in the ass.”
“That’s not what I’m assuming,” I said, before taking a sip of my drink. The cool mocha sensation slithered down my throat and I nearly moaned in satisfaction. During the warm summer months, I couldn’t handle regular, hot coffee. Iced drinks were a must, even in the morning. “I’m assuming he’s a pain in the ass because he’s a celebrity who’s been charged with court-ordered community service.”
“It was an accident,” she insisted, as if she knew his life story. “How many of our volunteers have been in accidents?”
“Several,” I answered. “But how many of our volunteers will have patients wanting things signed by them or have the press camped outside the hospital doors?”
She sighed and plopped down into her office chair. “Fine. Not that many. But still, it wouldn’t hurt you to keep an open mind about him.” She grasped her cup of coffee with both hands and stared off into the distance with a dreamy look in her blue eyes. “He could be this amazing guy with a great big heart, who’s attracted to a strong woman who enjoys helping others.”
“Sophie, you’re married,” I retorted, shaking my head at her. Sophie was in her early forties and happily married to her high school sweetheart. “No need to fantasize about a guy when you’ve already snagged one of the nice ones.”
She groaned and looked up at the ceiling. “Dear Lord, it’s me, Sophie. Please help Whitley find her sexuality, so that she may remind her woo-ha how much fun sex is—especially hot sex with a gorgeous man. Bless her with the strength to be uninhibited and open herself up to a nice, attractive man, who can devour a pussy like no other.”
Choking on my drink, I nearly coughed some of it back up into my cup.
“In your name, I will always pray, Amen!” She did the sign of the cross with her hand and then smiled at me. “You’re welcome.”
Turning my back to her, I faced my computer again and went back to reading emails. “That was disgusting and completely unnecessary. And you’re probably going to hell for it.”
“I beg to differ!” she exclaimed. “Just because you have an eight-year-old son doesn’t mean Momma can’t have some fun once in a while. How awesome would it be if you hooked up with the Sexiest Man Alive?”
I rolled my eyes at her once again and shook my head. “Please don’t call him that when he arrives today. He has a name. Use it.”
The sound of her fingers flying across her keyboard let me know that she’d finally decided to get to work, but then I heard her laugh lightly to herself and say aloud, “Oh, I’ll say his name, all right.”
It was going to be a long Tuesday.
***
In my black dress pants, matching heels, and a purple peek-a-boo blouse that showed off my shoulders, I stood in front of our group of volunteers in a conference room. I’d finished explaining our goals as volunteers to the patients and reminding our volunteers how to properly log their hours to gain credit for them. It was all computerized now. Gone were the days where you penciled in when the volunteer arrived and left each day. Now, we had tablets they logged onto and tracked their hours. It was a simpler system—when it worked—and it sped up the process to get the paperwork to the courts when needed. This summer, we had a mixed age group, from teens looking to gain scholarships for college and the offenders ordered to be here, to older adults just looking to get out of the house, who didn’t necessarily need to log their hours.
As I wrapped up my speech, I tucked a strand of my silky, brown hair behind my left ear and smiled. “Please see Sophie as you exit. She’ll be handing out your first assignments of the summer. And thank you again for being here to help our patients.”
The group stood and started to file out of the room, but before our celebrity could leave I called out his name.
“Mr. Waters,” I stated sharply, glancing down at my notes. “I have your assignment for you.”
“Okay,” he replied, his voice deep within the walls of the small room.
When I finally looked up at him, I understood why the world went nuts over him. The man stood over six feet tall in a pair of nice, worn jeans, with no rips or tears in them—yes, they still made those. His light blue V-neck t-shirt showed off the muscles and veins of his arms and the chiseled cut of his abs hidden beneath the thin material. The day-old scruff along his jaw made his face look manlier and less boyish than it would have had he been completely clean-shaven. His short chestnut hair looked like he’d rolled out of bed and ran his fingers through it, but a hint of product in his wavy strands revealed that he’d actually taken time to look good for his first day of community service; that trait alone made me respect him.
But it was his eyes and his smile that nearly melted me into a puddle of awe right there in the conference room.
His hazel or blue eyes—I was too far away to tell their true color—were poised as they bore into me, without an ounce of shame over being court-ordered to be here. A lopsided smile appeared on his soft pink lips, making him seem almost shy. If it weren’t for the confident swagger in his step when he walked toward me, I would’ve taken him for the strong, silent type.
“Pleased to meet you, Miss Gonzalez,” he said, holding out his hand to me. “You can call me Max.”
His hand engulfed mine in a firm handshake that sent a zing of pleasure up my arm as our skin touched. “Nice to meet you, Max.”
He let go and pointed to the paper in my hand. “So, who’s the lucky patient who gets to spend the day with me?”
Great, there’s that ego I was worried about. Part of me wished he really were the silent type.
I shot him a fake smile and handed the paperwork over to him. Now, I didn’t feel so bad sticking him with our most dreaded patient, according to our regular volunteers. “His name is Harold Avery, but you’re to address him as Captain.”
“Captain?” Max asked smugly. “Really? Why not just Harry or Harold?”
I sighed and shrugged my shoulders. “That’s what he prefers. He’s a Navy veteran, and a founding member of the Pearl Harbor Survivors Association. He’s had lung cancer for several years, and it’s gotten to the point where it�
��s untreatable. He’s here so he’s not a burden to his family—his words, not mine. We’re here to try to make his life as comfortable as possible. Do you have any questions?”
“No, I don’t think so.” He skimmed over the information before folding the paperwork and stuffing it in his back pocket.
I gathered up my notes from the conference table and nodded at him politely. “Good.”
I started toward the door, but his voice stopped me. “Wait, I do have one question.”
“What’s that?” I asked, peering back at him over my shoulder.
His smile widened and the charm radiating from him nearly made me step right out of my heel.
What the hell is going on with me?
“What can I address you by?” he asked, his eyes studying my face. “I’m hoping something other than ‘miss.’ Reminds me of the teachers I had back in school, you know? But you’re definitely way prettier than any of them.”
“Charming,” I scoffed, turning my body toward him. With my head held high, I proudly dismissed his flirting. “My name is Whitley, and you’re welcome to call me that. But if you think you’re going to get through community service by flirting your way through here or using your celebrity status, you’re wrong. You’re not here to flirt with the other help or any of the patients. You think I don’t know how the teenage girls in here earlier were looking at you? They know who you are, probably have your picture plastered on their bedroom walls, but they’re high schoolers, which means they’re also illegal. So, please, just do us all a favor and keep a low profile here. You’re here to help others. If you don’t get that, then maybe you should be assigned somewhere else other than my hospital.”
The spirit in his eyes said I’d hit a nerve. He stepped closer to me and shut the door to the conference room before caging me against it. “I don’t enjoy the attention of teenagers. In fact, it totally creeps me out that they’re fascinated with a man who is twice their age and could be their father. People actually think they know me because they read some shit they found in a magazine or online or listened to the crap they heard on entertainment news. Well, I’m here to serve my time and help out. Just like everyone else here. That’s it. If you can’t take a compliment when one’s delivered to you, that’s your problem, not mine.”
He pushed away from the door and then reached for the handle. I quickly moved out of his way, clutching my papers to my chest. Once he was out of the room, I exhaled the deep breath I couldn’t remember holding, sagged against the wall, and chastised myself under my breath. “Way to be an asshole, Whit.”
***
Hours later when I was walking back from the restroom, I rounded the corner and found Max down the hall speaking to a women who looked to be in her forties. I stopped in my tracks and eavesdropped on their conversation by pretending to answer emails on my phone. The woman was completely enamored with Max as she spoke to him about her sick son. Her hair was paralyzed by hairspray, her cloud of perfume still lingered down the hall near me, and she wore enough items with her son’s name on them that you knew she was his biggest cheerleader.
“I’m really sorry,” Max replied, respectfully. “I’m here doing my community service, so I’m unable to sign anything or take any pictures.”
“Oh,” the mother answered with an understanding nod. “My son’s really into superheroes, so I was hoping you could stop by his room. I know it’d really make his day.”
Max spotted me over the woman’s shoulder and I smiled weakly at him before he returned his attention back to her. “Maybe after my hours are done today, I can stop by and meet him.”
He glanced over her shoulder again and I nodded silently at him, giving him permission to follow through with his words.
“Really? Thank you!” she exclaimed, tears clogging her voice. “I know he’d love your company, and I’d really appreciate it. I won’t say anything to him in case you’re not able to stop by today. I don’t want to get his hopes up.”
“I’ll definitely stop by before I leave for the night,” Max promised, wrapping his arms around the woman’s shoulders in a quick hug.
“Thank you, again,” she offered gratefully as she stepped away from him.
I met Max in the middle of the hall and we both watched her continue walking back to her son’s room with a spring in her step.
“That was really nice of you,” I said, without looking at him. “But you’re still not allowed to take pictures or sign autographs until your community service is completely finished.”
“Wow,” he said in a surprised voice. “Was that hard for you? To actually pay me a compliment? Did you notice how I took it and ignored the rest of what you said because I’m already aware of what I can and cannot do until my hours are completed?”
I glared at him. The urge to rudely scrunch my nose up at him was so strong. Instead, I asked, “How’s it going with the captain?”
“Awful,” he exaggerated. “He’s the crankiest man I’ve ever met. He actually reminds me of Walter Matthau’s character in Grumpy Old Men. He cheats in Battleship. How? I’m not really sure yet, but the old bastard is cheating. He constantly bitches about how he’d be more comfortable sleeping in a raft on the water than the hospital bed he’s in now. He loves everything to do with water. I’ve learned more about boats, ships, and sailing than I’ve ever wanted to know.”
I bit my bottom lip in an attempt to hold in my laughter. “You should ask him what he thinks about the Titanic or Malaysia Airlines Flight three seventy.”
He rolled his eyes at my suggestions. “He’s resting right now. Although, I’m sure he’ll be awake once I get back. It’s like he’s still trained to sleep in shifts like they did during the war. You know how I know that? Because he talks about the war a lot, too.”
Overhearing his conversation with the woman and listening to him talk about Harold reminded me how much I loved my job. Volunteering and helping others was like blood running through my veins; it was part of my being. Achievement pounded in my heart each time I put a smile on someone else’s face, and no amount of money could compare to the luxury of making someone else’s life easier in their time of need, even if it was short-lived. Years ago, others had helped me when I needed it, and now I was able to give back and do the same.
It’s all about paying it forward, I thought.
Now, I owed it to Max to do the same for him. In my mind, I’d initially pictured Max as an iceberg, separate from the other volunteers, simply because of his career and who he was, but it was evident that his character carried much more beneath the surface—a man who was just as human as the rest of us. A man who’d really listened to others because he cared.
No matter how awful he said his time was with the captain.
“Well, sometimes all our patients need is a listening ear.”
Chapter Three
Later at Jones Jym, Maverick kicked my ass while rap music blared in the background of his CrossFit room. My training consisted of fast repetitions of various workouts that changed daily. Sweat drenched my body. My muscles burned. I flipped the tire one last time before running over to the rings hanging from the ceiling. Maverick had adjusted the ring height higher for me, so I jumped up, gripped each ring tight, and then lifted myself into position. I pushed through the final set of my workout, and Maverick counted every dip, holding me accountable for each rep.
“Ten more, Max!” he yelled over the music. “Come on, push through!”
Fuck me.
Shaky arms descended until my elbows hit ninety degrees and then quickly ignited again as they lifted my body back up. For most of my workout, all I could think about was the fan I’d met in the hospital after my community service shift. Ethan was a seventeen-year-old going through kidney failure due to complications from lupus. He’d been on the donor waiting list for months now, and was getting dialysis while he waited. He’d already gone through the same process ten years ago and received a new kidney back then but it failed him. Now, he’d been hospitaliz
ed for a heart attack. At the age of seventeen. He’d looked perfectly healthy lying in his hospital bed, but once we’d started talking, it was evident how much pain he was in. He’d shift in his bed and wince. Fatigue cut my visit with him short, but I’d promised to stop by again.
I left feeling like I’d been put in a chokehold, witnessing such a young guy unable to enjoy everything a teenager should be enjoying right now. Instead, he was confined to a hospital room, with a life expectancy that didn’t look good. I still couldn’t wrap my mind around the thought of a teenager suffering from a heart attack. When his mom had asked me to stop by his room after my service hours were finished for the day, she’d mentioned a life-threatening illness and talked about him like he didn’t have a chance of getting out soon. I’d just assumed it was cancer. But I’d learned there was a disease out there that was just as bad, if not worse, than cancer, and Ethan was dying from it.
Now, I was taking it all out at the gym. The pain of what I’d learned and the helplessness I felt for Ethan had crept into each of my muscles and bones and buried itself into the lobes of my brain. I’d been so angry for him, so upset that an autoimmune disease could wreak such havoc on the body. But no matter how hard I pushed or made my body burn, Ethan was still sick, and there were probably thousands of other fans who were sick too. I’d made a mental note to call Paige to set up more hospital visits around the nation, because if I could help somehow, even if it was just by visiting and donating to those families in need, I’d do it. I’d do anything I could to make their days somewhat better.
Ethan made me realize that I should be doing everything I can in this life, helping everyone I met, using my blessings to give back, taking risks and chances, living to the absolute fullest … because it could all be gone tomorrow.