Extreme Limit

by Kendall Talbot

  She turned to him as they arrived. “Who was that?”

  “Who?”

  “That person you raced over to.” She pointed across the field.

  “Oh, that’s a new client at the gym.”

  “Hmmm.” She raised her eyebrows.

  “What?”

  “You seemed pretty happy to see her.”

  He cocked his head and rolled his eyes. His mom had been trying to match him up for years. And ever since he’d hit thirty, she’d been in panic mode. “She’s a client, Mom. You know how I feel about that.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  He shook his head, hoping she’d drop the subject. Although, if she was as intuitive as she usually was, she’d be able to sense his interest in Amber was more than just fleeting.

  Once everyone had gone, he slipped into his car. As he drove the short distance home, he found himself scanning the jogging path for Amber. When he nearly went through a red light, he told himself to settle down.

  But his mind still wandered to her. When they were together, he felt on top of the world. Like he could accomplish anything. It was strange—frightening even—because he’d thought his life was complete. Now, though, when he wasn’t with Amber, he felt hollow and alone.

  He’d had three serious girlfriends in his life, and several casual dates. His longest relationship had lasted nearly three years. But he’d never felt like Becky was the one. It’d been hard breaking up with her when neither of them had actually done anything wrong. It was just that they were too comfortable. Like an old married couple. They’d become boring. They had no spark, not even in the bedroom. He’d wasted too long to admit their relationship had run its course. Becky didn’t speak to him for nearly three years after he broke up with her, but now she was married with two children and seemed blissfully happy. Oliver was happy for her too.

  Amber was far from boring. Since the moment she’d walked into his gym he’d been drawn to her mysteriousness. But her eternal sadness squeezed his heart. Clearly, she’d been through some horrific things. And not just physically—her hurt was deep. And if his gut instinct served him right, it was probably a bad relationship.

  Every time he tried to learn more about her she changed the subject. Her sadness came in giant waves and her resistance to discuss it showed how deep that ocean was. He’d have to take his time. Amber struck him as a woman who would run away and never look back if he pushed too hard. But she’d captured his interest…. hell, it was more than that. He was fascinated by her. So as difficult as it was, he was willing to wait.

  He parked his car on the street and climbed his front steps two at a time. When he opened his front door, the sound of the television was a sure sign his brother was on the couch. Again.

  “Hey, bro. How’s baseball?” Dane didn’t bother turning down the volume.

  “Good. How’re you doing?”

  “Same as usual.”

  That’d be an understatement. Dane had been living in Groundhog Day for years. He was an accountant by day, couch potato by night, and the routine never altered. Visiting his parents was about the only deviation Dane managed. Oliver had given up trying to explain to his brother that he was wasting his life. Dane seemed quite content to while away the hours. He never partied, never dated, and never had friends over. He was as stable as a pyramid, and that made him the best roommate anyone could ask for.

  Oliver grabbed a Budweiser from the fridge, twisted the lid, and headed for the bathroom. He scrubbed off a day’s worth of sweat and grime and washed his hair. Once he’d finished, the sound of a woman giggling caught his attention. He wrapped a towel around his hip, grabbed his beer, and strolled back out to the living room.

  “Oh, hey, Olly.”

  “Larissa! What’re you doing here?”

  “Well, hello to you too.” She was way too happy and way too loud. One glance was enough to know she’d been drinking. “You didn’t come to Baxter’s.” She curled her long blond ponytail around her wrist.

  “You know I do Kurt’s baseball on Wednesdays.”

  She slipped off the sofa and sashayed toward him. “I know that. But I thought you’d come after training.”

  Oliver slid in behind the kitchen counter, trying to keep a little distance from her. But he realized his mistake when she came around with him, blocking him off, and rested her hand on the counter, maybe for support.

  “I didn’t feel up to it tonight.”

  She stepped forward and placed her hand on his chest. “That’s a shame.”

  He clutched her hand. “Larissa…”

  “What?” She tilted her head and fluttered her eyes at him.

  “I think you’ve had a few too many drinks.”

  She fell forward, maybe by accident, maybe on purpose, but when she wrapped her arms around him, he decided it was the latter.

  “Come on, you need to go home.” He tried to unhook her arms from around his back and after a little wrestle, in which he won, she stepped back and yanked the towel from his hips.

  “Oops.” She giggled and blatantly stared at his groin.

  Oliver snapped his hands over himself. “Righty ho! Give me the towel.” From the corner of his eye he saw Dane watching them. It was probably the most excitement he’d had since his graduation party.

  “Nope.” She stepped back and wriggled her eyebrows.

  “Larissa, nothing’s going to happen.”

  “Oh, you don’t mean that.” She curled her bottom lip between her teeth.

  “Yes, I do. You’re drunk.”

  “Not too drunk.” She pouted her lips.

  “Yes, you are. I’m going to get dressed and take you home.”

  “But I don’t want to go home. I want to stay riiiiight here.” She jumped up, placing her bottom on the kitchen counter, and opened her legs, inviting him to step in. “Give me a hug.”

  Instead, he strode past and went to his room. He tugged on a pair of track pants and a t-shirt. When he stepped back out, she was down from the counter.

  “What’s wrong with me?” Her chin dimpled.

  “Come on, I’ll drive you home.” He decided to ignore her question. “How did you get here anyway?”

  “I drove.”

  That wasn’t good. He placed his hands on her shoulders and guided her toward the front door. She turned to Dane. “Bye, Dane. It was nice seeing you again.”

  “You too, Larissa. See you soon.”

  “I hope so.”

  Oliver didn’t want to risk her falling down the steps, so he scooped her into his arms, and she squealed and wrapped her arms around his neck. She planted a kiss on his cheek and nuzzled in. “You’re so lovely.”

  Ignoring her comment, he crossed the distance from the bottom step to the car in a couple of strides and plonked her down. He pressed the button to unlock the car and opened the passenger door. “There you go, climb in.”

  She closed her eyes, clenched her jaw, and Oliver knew he was about to get it.

  Her eyes snapped open and the fire behind them was dangerous. “You’re such an asshole.” She slapped his cheek. The blow came out of nowhere and stunned him beyond thinking. He’d never been hit by a woman before. It didn’t hurt; it was a shock more than anything. But he was pretty sure she’d regret it in the morning. He was certain she’d regret the whole incident come morning. She’d always had a fiery tempter, but this time she’d gone too far.

  Opting to ignore her aggression, he helped her into the car without even a comment.

  She was sobbing by the time he slipped into the driver’s seat.

  She was asking his forgiveness by the time he pulled up to the curb outside her house four streets away.

  Oliver helped her out of the car and led her up to her parents’ front door. She could barely stand, and based on her jumbled monologue she was unable to form sentences either. He knocked on the door and heard the television volume dial down. A couple of seconds later the door opened.

  “Hi, Mrs. Rogers. I’ve brought Laris
sa home.”

  “Oh jeez. Thanks, Oliver. Frank, give us a hand.”

  Frank appeared from around the corner, running his hand over his bald head. “Shit, what’s she done this time?”

  “I think she had a few too many drinks at Baxter’s, that’s all.”

  Oliver allowed Mr. and Mrs. Rogers to take Larissa from him, then he said goodbye and shut the door. He hoped Larissa wouldn’t be in too much trouble. After all, she was twenty-eight; she could get drunk if she wanted to.

  He climbed back behind the wheel and drove home.

  Dane raised his eyebrows at Oliver’s return. But before he got ready for his brother’s grilling, he fetched his unfinished beer from the kitchen counter.

  After one long gulp, he plonked himself on the sofa.

  “What’s going on? It’s not like you to turn down a woman.”

  He rolled his eyes. “She was drunk, Dane.”

  “I know, but my question still stands.”

  “I’m not interested.”

  “She sure is.”

  “I know.” He swallowed a mouthful of beer. “I wish she’d let it go.” He shook his head and huffed.

  Dane frowned then cocked his head. “That’s not all, is it? Cough it up, buddy. What’s going on?”

  Oliver suddenly felt torn. He’d promised Amber absolute secrecy. But this was his brother; he could trust him not to tell a soul. Oliver downed the rest of his Bud in one gulp, plunked the bottle on the coffee table, and turned to his brother. “There’s this new client at the gym.”

  “And? What’s her name?”

  “Amber Hope. She’s… different.” It was the worst word to describe her, but he couldn’t pinpoint the perfect one.

  Dane frowned. “Different how?”

  He pictured Amber’s thick dark hair that she deliberately tumbled forward, hiding her stunning blue eyes. Eyes that reflected intelligence and sadness with equal intensity. “It’s hard to explain, she’s not like any other client I’ve had. She’s shy, insecure, yet incredibly determined. She treats climbing like it’s the answer to a life or death situation.”

  “Sounds weird.”

  “It’s so hard to explain. She demanded private lessons.”

  “Oh, so that’s why you’re getting home later.”

  “She’s paying extra.”

  “So she should.”

  His mind drifted to his first glance at her. She’d seemed almost like a child who’d crawled out of a closet after years of abandonment. “Have you ever googled yourself?”

  “Nope.”

  “I googled her; there’s not one mention of her on Facebook or anything.”

  “Is that strange?”

  “I don’t know. I googled my name and had a good bit of stuff come up. Pictures of me doing baseball, my business, a few party snaps.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t get out much. Did you google me? I probably don’t exist either.”

  Oliver chuckled. “That’s a point.” Other than never missing a day at work, his brother was practically a hermit.

  He pictured the scar on her cheek. He didn’t know much about burn scars, but the size of Amber’s had him convinced it was life changing.

  “You’re frowning,” Dane pointed out.

  “Amber has this terrible burn scar on her cheek, right across here.” He drew a rough circle from his earlobe, along his jawline, up toward his nose, and back to his ear.

  Dane sucked the air through his teeth. “Shit, that would’ve hurt like hell.”

  “I know. She’s always trying to conceal it behind her hair, but the scar’s so big you can’t miss it.”

  “How do you think she got it?”

  He sighed. “I don’t know, but I have a terrible feeling it was abuse, and not that long ago.”

  “Oh jeez.”

  “I’m not sure. She just seems a little scared. A lot scared, actually. Yet determined to fight it too.” He sighed. “She’s really interesting.”

  “Well, any girl who has you turning down a woman in your own home captures my interest too.”

  He grinned. It was nice having his brother around. “Thanks, bro.”

  “Maybe you’re finally growing up.”

  Oliver lightly punched Dane on the shoulder. “Now you’re being mean.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The second the bus doors opened, Regi jumped out and ran full speed toward home. His heart was in his throat and his mind was a fucked-up scramble as he tried to prepare for the mayhem he was about to see. If his mother’s hysterical tirade could be trusted, then someone had messed up their home, big time.

  And Regi knew exactly who that someone was.

  Carson.

  Well, not exactly Carson—he’d never lift a finger. It’d be Pope and his band of goons. He’d been both relieved and pissed off when he’d found out he hadn’t killed Pope with that brutal uppercut.

  After the crash, he’d shot out of there like a pellet-shot rabbit. But the location of the race track had him trapped between a mile of warehouses and endless ocean, and there was nowhere to run. He’d found a metal-rung ladder that led down to the water’s edge, and as he’d clung to it, trying not to pass out from the pain in his ribs, he’d watched people flock to the wreck and Pope’s lifeless body. It was a good forty minutes before Pope sat up. The whole time Regi was torn between horror that he may’ve killed someone and joy that the asshole was dead.

  That was three weeks ago. Trouble was, Pope’s vendetta was now personal. He’d been stalking Regi like a famished hyena, and he’d used Regi as a punching bag at every opportunity. Ironically, Regi was pretty certain Carson was the only thing keeping him alive, because Pope could’ve killed him a dozen times over since the night of the race.

  Regi smacked his tumbling thoughts aside, fisted his hands, and pumped his arms in perfect coordination with his feet. He’d had good practice running for his life in the last couple of years. Even though there was no one on his tail right this minute, he felt the same life-or-death pressure. Regi had convinced his mother not to call the police until he got there. Whether or not she’d listened was another question.

  About ten minutes after he’d started running, he was relieved to see his street free of police cars. He raced up his driveway and pushed open the front door. It slammed so hard against the wall one of the paintings fell off and shattered onto the tiles. But then he noticed the other four pictures were in broken bits on the floor too.

  “Mom? Mom, where are you?” He stepped over splintered wood and glass shards.

  “I’m in here.”

  He followed her voice to the kitchen, and along the way gawked at the damage around him. Furniture was upturned, ornaments and pictures were smashed. Stuffing from cushions was strewn everywhere. The extent of the mess had him wondering if the intruders had been looking for something, though he had absolutely no idea what that could be.

  Long dark streaks of makeup stained his mother’s cheeks, yet she appeared to have stopped crying. He wrapped his arms around her. “Are you okay?”

  She squeezed him and shook her head. “No. I can’t believe it.”

  “I know. Did you call the police?”

  “Not yet, I was waiting for you.” His relief made his knees wobble. The last thing he needed was the cops breathing down his neck too. Carson had made enough threats about what would happen should Regi ever contact the police.

  And Regi was pretty certain Carson had a few cops on his payroll.

  Every cupboard in the kitchen was open, and it looked like the thugs had just shoved their hands in and scooped everything onto the floor. Broken china littered the tiles.

  Her handbag was on the table, and Regi spied the small plastic bag open in an inside pocket. Whatever pills she’d taken had probably helped her stop crying.

  “Sit down, Mom.” He directed her to a chair. “I’ll have a look around. Did you notice anything stolen?”

  She sank into the dining room chair and tugged her bag forward. “All my
jewelry is gone. Except what I was wearing.” She twisted the diamond rings around her fingers and stared at the jewels like she was seeing them for the first time.

  Regi had seen this expression on his mother dozens of times. She was close to falling down the rabbit hole. Maybe this stint would be a blessing. By the time she woke up, he could have everything cleaned up. He could even call the insurance company and see about making a claim. Maybe they could get a new TV. That’d be sweet. Something good to come of something shitty.

  “Hey, Mom, what’s the name of our insurance company?”

  She blinked at him as if she’d forgotten he was there. Then her mouth twisted into a scowl. “No insurance.”

  “What? Why not?” He knew for a fact that his mother used to have insurance, because she’d claimed on it when their roof was messed up in a storm last year.

  “No more money.” She did an overexaggerated shoulder shrug. “All gone.”

  As far as he knew, his mother had never had money troubles. She’d always had work, and even when she didn’t, money was never in short supply. They didn’t live extravagantly, they were just… comfortable. “What’re you talking about?”

  “He stopped paying.”

  He frowned and touched her shoulder. “Who?”

  “Milton.” Their eyes met and she let out an enormous sigh. “Your father.”

  Regi did a double take. This was the first time she’d ever mentioned his name.

  “He paid you money?”

  She nodded and opened her eyes wide. “But we were bad.”

  He pulled out a chair. The ransacked house was about to take a back seat. If his mother was ready to chat about his father, then he was ready to listen. He placed his hand on her forearm, hoping the touch wouldn’t heave her from her talkative mood. “Tell me, Mom.”

  “I loved him, you know.”

  “I know,” he lied. He knew nothing about him, let alone their relationship.

  “He was so handsome, and smart. Rich too. A man who was truly going places.”

  It was funny, for years Regi had formed a mental image of the scumbag “sperm donor.” He’d pictured him nearly bald and overweight. Not just fat, but really pudgy and unhealthy, with pasty skin that he hid beneath brown baggy clothes. He’d pictured him working away in a dingy office with no windows and suffering through a lifetime of boredom. Regi had thought the image was perfect for a man who didn’t want anything to do with his own son.