Adrian brushed a hand over the brick slab of his chest, his gaze lingering on Brennan’s for just a second more before he bent down to grab some butter and eggs from the lowboy at his work station. Brennan opened his mouth to launch the tried and true I’m fine he’d relied on since the day he’d landed in Pine Mountain, but the words stopped short on his lips.
He had belonged somewhere else once. And in less than two weeks, he had to face the glaring reminder of what he was missing.
Not to mention what he’d lost.
“Yeah.” Brennan’s back muscles thrummed with a low, familiar ache. “It’s kind of complicated.”
“I get it, believe me,” Adrian said. “But there’s a difference between being serious about what you’re made for and being serious about denying what you’re made for. You’re a damned good bar manager, and Teagan and I are lucky to have you. But don’t lose sight of the important shit, okay?”
The image of Ava, scantily wrapped in one of his bath towels with her eyelashes still spiky-wet from their shower yesterday, jumped to center stage in Brennan’s mind, and the throb in his back eased up by just a fraction. “Okay.”
Adrian grinned. “Good. Now do you want some of these scrambled eggs? Because honestly, your breakfast choices so far are giving me the goddamn shakes.”
With the tension in his system at a temporary standstill, Brennan took a plate full of eggs up to the Double Shot’s office. Though Monday was normally his day off, he’d come in to handle the produce delivery and complete the schedule for the handful of days he’d be missing next weekend when he went back to Fairview. Once the paperwork was complete and in a folder on Teagan’s desk, Brennan had just enough time to clock out and change for his PT session with Kat. As tempted as he was to blow off the appointment in favor of catching a much-needed nap, he’d used some pretty rusty musculature yesterday with Ava, and not just once.
Cue the goofy-ass grin. Not even twelve hours had passed since Brennan had taken Ava back to her car at the marina after their evening together, kissing her good-bye three times before she’d actually disentangled herself from his arms just before midnight. Even then, she’d run back for one last lingering kiss, pressing her phone number into his hand and telling him to call her whenever he wanted to relax.
He palmed his cell phone and dialed before he could get halfway across the Double Shot’s parking lot.
“Riverside Daily, Ava Mancuso.”
Jesus, even her voice was brown-sugar sweet. “Morning, Ava Mancuso. How’s today’s news treating you?”
Her laughter filtered right from the phone line to his sternum. “Well, I suppose that depends.”
“On?”
“Whether or not one considers the Riverside Elementary holiday pageant news.”
Brennan slung the bag with his jeans and clean sweatshirt into the back of the Trailblazer before sliding into the driver’s seat. “Ouch. Your boss still isn’t offering up the plum assignments, huh?” Truly, the guy sounded like a grade-A douche bag. The story Ava had done on the fire had been spot-freaking-on. She really deserved more credit than to be stuck with small-time stories.
“I’m afraid not,” she said with a barely audible sigh. “But writing an article on the holiday pageant is better than writing nothing. Plus, the teacher in charge of the event has worked hard and the kids were all excited at the idea of being in the paper, so that’ll at least make writing the article fun.”
“Want to tell me all about it over lunch?” The offer sprang from his lips before he could check it against his normally stalwart voice of reason, but come on. It was an impromptu bite to eat, not a complete loss of composure.
“You want to talk about my coverage of the elementary school holiday show?” Ava punctuated her surprise with a chirp of laughter, but Brennan didn’t budge.
“Sure. I’m off work, and I’ve got an appointment in Riverside anyway. What time do you normally take a break?”
“I could probably make it out of here by one for a quick lunch,” she said. “But you really don’t have to talk shop with me on your afternoon off. ”
He flipped the Trailblazer’s key to check the clock on the dashboard, and yeah, the timing was perfect. “I know I don’t. Why don’t you meet me at the medical offices next to Riverside Hospital? There’s a great pizza place right across the street. The calzones are insane. What do you say?”
Ava paused, but then Brennan swore he heard the smile break over her voice. “Sure. I’ll be there.”
“Great.” His own smile took over, and damn, it didn’t feel half bad to give the expression a little air time.
“It’s a date.”
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear you were trying to kill me outright.”
Brennan counted out a slow exhale into the cushions on the therapy table as Kat did her level best to dismantle the muscles cradling his lumbar vertebrae. He’d swear she was more four-hundred-pound gorilla than petite five-foot-two physical therapist, but saying so out loud would only make his life exponentially more difficult. Not only was she hot and heavy with the Double Shot’s sous chef, Jesse, but she also had Brennan sunny side down on the table, and the main space of the open-air therapy room was empty of any potential witnesses.
“Please. Don’t be such a baby,” she scoffed, pressing the flat of her palm against his T-shirt-covered back with ease. “It’s soft tissue manipulation, not Chinese water torture.”
Still, Kat scaled back on the pressure, shifting her weight from her position at the side of the padded table to split the leverage with her other hand on his shoulder.
“You say potato, I say bullshit. Ah, that’s good.” Brennan relaxed into the firm contact of Kat’s fingers, willing himself to open up to the sensation rather than fight it.
“It’s not bullshit if it works, tough guy.” She paused, assessing his lower back with her hands. “You’re actually pretty loose all the way through L5. Whatever exercises you’ve been doing this week seem to be working.”
He coughed out a laugh, pushing himself upright as Kat finished her last round of acupressure. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Hmm.” She tipped her head in obvious curiosity, her ponytail showcasing various hues from strawberry blond to gold-toned butterscotch, with a healthy batch of hot pink streaks thrown in for good measure. “How’s your pain been this week?”
“Fine.”
“You know better,” she said, flipping her hand palm up and wiggling her fingers in a give it up gesture.
Damn it, he really needed a better default position. “On a scale of one to ten, it’s a four.”
Kat’s expression flickered, likely because she knew in vivid detail what had given Brennan the ten that had set the ceiling of his pain threshold. “Any spasms?” she asked, crossing the open space where the three therapy tables stood to grab a bottle of water from one of the cabinets by the exercise equipment on the opposite wall.
“One.” He might not have had a full-fledged spasm in a while, but that didn’t mean he had to get all gabby with his details. The spasm had been easily dispatched. Talking about it wouldn’t change anything.
Of course, Kat frowned, and there went his choice in the matter. “Could you pinpoint the trigger? Any sudden change in movement or added stress?”
“Not really,” Brennan said, although the words felt like metal shavings in his mouth. The muscles that had just gone lax at Kat’s ministrations threatened to seize at the memory of the phone call from his sister, and he inhaled in an effort to relax them.
“You know, the stress doesn’t have to be a literal force, like lifting something you’re not supposed to or staying on your feet for too long.” The armful of beaded bracelets circling her wrists clicked softly as she passed over the bottle of water with a knowing look. “Mental anxiety can contribute to back spasms just as easily as physical duress.”
“I know, Kat. But really, I’m good.”
She paused. “You’ve functionally recovered fro
m both a devastating back injury and an addiction to prescription painkillers, Brennan. That makes you more than good in my book. But it’s not your body I’m worried about.”
Before he could argue, Kat added, “I told you when we started that alternative therapy has to work from the neck up. You don’t have to talk to me about it if you don’t want to. But you’re not supposed to need this on an extended basis—it’s my job to get you through flare-ups and provide maintenance therapy, not treat you indefinitely.”
Brennan’s gut did a slow descent toward his cross-trainers. “I know I torqued things up a week and a half ago at Joe’s. But the pain’s getting better.” Not that he didn’t deserve a little pain. Checks and balances, and all that shit.
“Okay,” Kat said, tucking her hands into the pockets of her cargo pants. “All I’m saying is it might do you some good to air out whatever’s bothering you to someone who makes you feel comfortable. Relax your mind, and a lot of times, your body follows.”
The words hooked into Brennan’s mind, settling in all at once. Although he hadn’t intended for Ava to stumble upon the back spasm in question, he had felt comfortable that day they’d done yoga, and that comfort had only grown over the past week.
But telling her he’d suffered a back injury a handful of years ago was one thing. Copping to the circumstances that had led to it—not to mention the out of control need to destroy the pain that had so thoroughly ruled him afterward—was enough to make the most honest man hide.
And Brennan was anything but upstanding. He’d killed his best fucking friend.
He wasn’t airing that out to make himself feel better, because he damned sure didn’t deserve to feel anything other than guilty.
“Anyway,” Kat said, breaking the tension-thick silence. “It’s just a thought. Want to try one last round of seated direct-contact acupressure for the road? I’ll even pretend not to hear you complain about my cold hands. How about it?”
Brennan managed a nod, pulling his shirt over his head to leave him in just his low-slung gym pants. A little extra therapy might get him through the rest of this week feeling less like attic floorboards, and maybe the ease in discomfort would let him stuff his churning feelings about returning to Fairview back where they belonged, under wraps.
“You’re the boss,” he told her, turning away from her to face the window on the far wall. Brennan sat up as straight as he could, but still his gut knotted, threatening to hunch his spine. Old thoughts burbled up, small scraps of memory knocking hard beneath his ribs. Alex’s cocky, all-American smile as he’d clambered into the back step of Engine Eight with his helmet under one arm, Mason triple-checking his Scott pack while bragging about sweeping their weekly basketball pool. The first streak of concern when Cole had hollered a gruff shut up as the update arrived from dispatch. The hot slash of adrenaline in Brennan’s chest when he’d realized the call was far from routine.
The gravel of Captain Westin’s voice at the scene of the apartment fire as he’d said, “Above all, have each other’s backs.”
The memory surged to the surface, gripping Brennan from blood to bones, and for a split second, he didn’t fight it. But then the images flashed forward, growing darker, leaving the bitter taste of smoke and screams in his mouth, and damn it, he needed control. He turned to tell Kat to forget the last round of therapy so he could get the hell out of here and breathe, when a very familiar, very feminine gasp interrupted him from behind.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.” Even in the dead of night, Brennan would recognize Ava’s voice, and it punched all the way through him despite her hushed tone.
“I apologize, our receptionist is at lunch, and I didn’t see any other appointments booked. Can I help you?” Kat asked, stepping from the edge of his peripheral vision behind the therapy table, likely to preserve his privacy by blocking him from view.
Ava renewed her apology, drawing in an audible breath. “No, I ah . . . no, thank you.”
Her footsteps rushed over the tiled floor, and Brennan knew in that second he could let her retreat. Kat was blocking Ava’s vision, and she might not have even caught a glimpse of his back, considering how quickly she’d stumbled into the therapy center from outside. But something flooded through his chest, outmuscling the dread of his memories with its certainty.
She’d trusted him with her past, and she’d proven she wasn’t going to run. She was standing right behind him, seeing what no one—not Adrian or Teagan or even his family—had seen for two and a half years.
And Brennan was sick to death of hiding.
“Wait,” he said, turning his chin to look over his shoulder.
“Ava’s with me, Kat. It’s okay if she sees my scars.”
Chapter Seventeen
Ava stood on the threshold of the Riverside Physical Therapy Center, wishing like mad for the bamboo floor tiles to rumble open and swallow her whole. She’d been a few minutes early on purpose, not wanting Brennan to think she’d had second thoughts like yesterday at the marina. Given the choice between the therapy center and the adjacent pediatrician’s office, figuring out where Brennan’s appointment was had fallen under the heading of well, duh. She’d walked over to sit in the waiting room for a few minutes, not expecting to catch a direct glimpse of the main therapy room from her spot in the reception area.
She definitely hadn’t expected to get an eyeful of the five-inch scar angrily staking claim to the center of Brennan’s lower back, or the streak of vulnerability on his darkly stubbled face as he’d said she could stay.
Oh God. What had happened to him two and a half years ago?
“Well. You are full of surprises, aren’t you?” murmured the painfully adorable blonde standing by the padded examining table. Brennan shrugged, but a smile ticked one corner of his mouth upward, and the woman tipped her head at Ava to reveal a row of tiny silver hoops marching all the way up her ear. “Come on in, then, Ava. I’m Kat, Brennan’s therapist. We’re not quite done, but if he’s fine with you staying, far be it from me to break up a good party.”
“Oh.” A polite retreat formed on Ava’s tongue, but she caught it just shy of launch. Both Brennan and his therapist were okay with her being there, and despite the initial bolt of shock at seeing the evidence of his devastating injury, Ava was far from squeamish. Plus, Brennan hadn’t backpedaled when she’d told him about her painful past.
She sure as hell wasn’t going to get all soft over his.
“Okay, sure. Can I do anything to help?” Ava shrugged out of her coat and pushed up the sleeves of her fitted white blouse, giving Brennan a look chock full of you asked for it as she crossed the floor to stand at the foot of the table.
His half smile stayed in place, and he nodded a quick, unreadable greeting at her before turning to glance at a surprised-looking Kat over his shoulder. “Ava helped me with some of the pressure point stuff when I had that spasm last week.”
“Ahhh.” Kat’s elfin features grew amused as she put her hands on Brennan’s back. “Well, it looks as if she’s helping you now too.”
Ava lifted her chin in confusion. “But I’m not doing anything.”
“Au contraire,” Kat said, and whoa, she had some crazy muscles in her forearms for such a tiny woman. She grinned down at her fingers, moving them slightly. “All this musculature is telling me a different story. See? It’s nice and loose.”
Kat shifted a few more times, her expression unchanging and her hands moving with the rise and fall of Brennan’s breath. Not wanting to distract either one of them—not to mention being just plain curious as hell—Ava watched quietly as Kat worked. Unlike when Ava had walked in on him last week, Brennan’s posture was fluid and easy, even though his face tightened in obvious discomfort a time or two before Kat finished a few minutes later.
“There.” She stepped back from the table, tucking a strand of bright pink hair into the mix of gold and light brown behind her heavily pierced ear. “I think that’s enough for today.”
> “You don’t have to go easy on me,” Brennan argued with a frown.
Kat met it with a snort that belied her sweetly serene face. “And you don’t have to keep your lunch date waiting. I’ll see you next time.” She gave him only enough time to guide his T-shirt back over his head before shooing him from his perch on the table.
Guilt flooded through Ava’s belly, and she dug her ballet flats into the floor. “I really don’t mind waiting,” Ava said, but Kat just pegged Brennan with a knowing look before waving both him and Ava off.
“This is the best session you’ve had in the last week and a half. I didn’t go easy on you. You went easy on yourself. Just do me a favor and think about that homework I gave you. It was great to meet you, Ava.”
She offered a bright good-bye to both of them that sealed the we’re-done-here deal, waving for good measure as she headed toward one of the doors on the far wall. Ava slid a covert look in Brennan’s direction as he grabbed his hoodie from a nearby hook and started walking toward the front door of the building, and screw it. She might’ve caught him at a vulnerable moment—again—but sugarcoating things had never been her forte.
“You’re kind of two for two in the unusual lunch break department,” she said, infusing her expression with a teasing disdain. “I’m not sure I can top this when it’s my turn to pick.”
His pause took barely a second before he flashed her that sexy little half smile that really ought to be illegal. “I don’t know. Your holiday pageant recap still sounds pretty exciting.”
Ava fought the thudding ache behind her breastbone at the mention of her latest story. God, there had to be something else out there besides kids who could play “Silent Night” on the recorder, even if that was a lovely snapshot of the Christmas season.
Nope. Not going there. She might have a paltry two weeks to deliver the slam-bang page-turner that would save her job, but right now, this wasn’t about her. “Nice try,” she said. “But somehow I don’t think that’s the story you’ve got on your mind.”
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