Page 41 of Warrior's Walk
I turn to find Rhett, stabbing me with metaphorical daggers shooting from his eyes, and I breathe out a deep sigh, struggling for patience. Before I can inhale a calming breath, Brandon, another therapist, flags me from across the gym. He’s headed in my direction.
“Riggs, we’re all excited you’re here full time now, but we’ve got to have a word about these new ideas you have for redecorating the gym.”
He’s smiling at me, looking at me like I’m supposed to know what he means, but I’m clueless. I’ve never had ideas about redecorating the gym. I look around, searching for anything different, new, out of place, but it’s the same old equipment…
“Son of a bitch.” With my head on a swivel, I search out the culprit, knowing exactly who I’m looking for—a Bitch. Like clockwork, every one of their ugly mugs appear in the doorway of the gym at once, laughing like a gaggle of?—
“Congrats on your new job, Riggs!”
“Mazal Tov!”
“Break a leg!” McCormick ducks as another vet, who has a leg in a full fiberglass cast, throws a sweaty towel at his head. “Sorry, it was a joke. I meant good luck.”
These fuckheads. I finally take that calming breath deep into my lungs and find the first smile I’ve expressed today. I take in the changes around the gym, new posters hanging on the wall in place of the old ones with serene backgrounds and cliché motivational quotes. These are printed on neon poster board and the quotes are decidedlyunmotivating. Actually…
My laughter starts slowly and silently, picking up volume as I read more of them. They’re my own words, my own quotes, things I say to my patients when they’re struggling.
“It’s going tibia okay,” is written boldly on neon pink paper.
“PT stands for pain and torture.”
“If it doesn’t hurt, you’re not doing it right,” is printed on a bright orange backdrop.
“According to my stopwatch, you’re far from finished.”
On and on they go, circling the walls of the gym. My gaze finally comes to a stop on Rhett. He’s struggling not to laugh, to maintain that stoic, pissed-off expression he’s carried all week long. His frown slips when he sees me smiling openly at him.
“Did you have a hand in this?”
“And if I did?” he asks.
The challenge makes my heart kick. It’s the way he looks at me, with a hint of his dimples peeking through and his hazel eyes daring me to threaten him.
My gaze travels to the rowing machine.
“Fuck me,” he murmurs.
I can’t help but laugh as my smile turns wicked. “No, thanks. What I have in mind is going to hurt a whole lot worse.”
As soon as the front door shuts behind me, I strip off my shirt and my shorts and head straight for the back deck. Lifting the cover off of the hot tub, I test the water—still warm from last night. I fire up the jets and climb in. The hot water bubbles over my shoulders, caressing my neck and washing away my stress. The sun is just beginning to set over the horizon. It’ll be dark in thirty minutes, and I’ll be able to see the canvas of stars painted in the night sky glittering brightly. The setting sun reminds me of a giant orange beach ball set on fire, illuminating the valley in rusty light as it kisses the day goodbye.
My phone rings and I realize it’s in the back pocket of my shorts, which I left on the deck as I stripped.
Damn, I gotta get that.
I climb out of the tub, water dripping from my cock as I scurry across the deck to grab it.
It’s Liza, and I feel a little annoyed that I was in such a hurry. But no matter what I’m doing, whether I’m sleeping, soaking, or screwing, I can’tnotanswer the phone. What if it’s one of my brothers? I can’t recall how many times I’ve answered their calls in the middle of the night, whether they were scared or in crisis.
Ialwayshave to answer the phone every time it rings.
“Hello?”
“Hello yourself. I see how it is. You quit and leave me behind in the dust and don’t even call to update me. How are you settling in?”
“I’m settled. It took me five minutes,” I joke, though it’s true. I was so ready for this life full time, there was no adjustment period.
“I miss you.”