AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I can just go home. After work.” Constance reached down to pet Fezzi’s ears. He sat like a perfect gentleman just outside the kitchen. He could smell the big Christmas Eve feast being prepared but didn’t beg for it like a normal dog. He waited outside the kitchen for anyone to walk by and notice what a gentleman he was. Those who were charmed by his no-begging begging would go back in and fetch him some scraps as a reward. His missing leg only helped his case. “Oh!” the rich women would coo. “Look at the good boy. And he’s only got one leg, poor thing. Oh, James, grab me some of that meat from the appetizers for the cute boy.”
It was a brilliant plan. He wouldn’t even need his dog food tonight.
“You will not go home.” Sunny’s eyes narrowed. “You already told Rhett that you’ll be at the dinner, right? You can’t let him down.”
“I did. He seemed happy about that. He’ll have someone to talk to that won’t insist on mindless pleasantries and witty banter.”
Sunny rolled her eyes. “You two are a match made in heaven.”
Constance waved her comment away, even though it gave her a quick flash of unexpected jitters. “I’ve got a full day. And so do you.” She grabbed the stack of intake forms for the massages lined up.
“True. I need to make sure everything’s going well in the kitchen.” Sunny clacked away on her high heels, off to inspect the meal being prepped by two close friends who were chefs. Much of the food had also been donated. Sunny knew somebody everywhere, which was one of the reasons she’d been so successful. If there was one thing Sunny had always known how to do it was schmooze, to get what she wanted, when she wanted it.
Constance took the forms to the massage room and sat down at the desk in the corner to leaf through them. She needed to make sure no one had absolute contraindications that would end a massage before it got started. Most seemed like no-brainers, but Constance had seen clients show up with everything from the flu to poison ivy, expecting the massage to go on as usual.
Everything seemed pretty straightforward, with her day booked from morning to just before dinner, with a one-hour lunch break built in.
When she got to her last form, the five o’clock, Constance saw Rhett’s name. So, he hadn’t canceled it. He also hadn’t mentioned it, which meant Sunny was probably right: he’d filled this form out weeks back and forgotten about it.
She scanned the form. Rhett Santos was thirty-four years old, took no medications and had no allergies. He listed no conditions, but under “soft tissue/joint dysfunction” he’d checked the box for right leg. Under miscellaneous, there were boxes he could’ve checked for stress or insomnia, but neither was ticked. Nowhere did he indicate he had PTSD or TBI.
Constance knew the next thing she should do was text Rhett and let him know she was his massage therapist for this afternoon. But then he’d probably cancel it. She’d had good success with his leg twice, feeling the release and the relief she’d been able to provide much more than he’d let on with his words. But she also knew he wouldn’t be eager to do full body, especially if it was a surprise.
Text, or no text?
Quit being so professional and just help my stupid leg.
Constance shrugged. “I can do that.”
Rhett coached a morning class on Christmas Eve, which was packed to the gills and had equipment all over the place, followed by two personal training sessions. The first was with Kitty, who’d refused Zoe as her trainer and agreed to pay the outlandish fee Rhett charged for a one-on-one that was more of a deterrent than a way to make big money. She wanted to work on clean and jerks, which went about the way Rhett predicted. Despite the cold air, she wore booty shorts and a sports bra the entire time. Rhett suggested a T-shirt when she started shivering, and trimming her long nails when she couldn’t execute a proper hook grip, but Kitty did neither.
She also couldn’t clean and jerk. But Rhett did his best, staying patient and keeping her weight to the PVC pipe for half the session and the training bar for the other half. She dropped a few hints about getting drinks later, which Rhett skillfully dodged.
His second one-on-one was with Tatiana, who was the complete opposite of Kitty. Tatiana was strong and a decent lifter, but she had limited range of motion and didn’t like to take criticism, so her progress suffered from both. Her voice was an octave deeper than the last time he’d done a private session with her.Steroids won’t replace daily stretching, enough recovery time and taking the feedback of the people you pay to help you, Rhett wanted to say. He took the time to filter his thoughts and said, “No amount of overtraining will replace the benefits of increasing your range of motion through the daily exercises I’ve given you, proper rest so your muscles can heal and actually listening to and taking the feedback that you pay me for.”
Tatiana’s jaw dropped, like she’d expected a little more Christmas cheer. But all she said was, “Yes, Coach. I’m gonna rest for the next few days. I promise.”
Once everyone cleared out, the chaos was over and everything was quiet. Rhett knew he should do himself a favor by catching some z’s before he went to this stupid Christmas party, but he knew as soon as he got to that filmy membrane that separated sleep from consciousness, he’d start to think about things. His pulse would rise and he’d sweat. He’d toss and turn and get so frustrated he’d find the nearest thing to throw against the wall. He’d broken more than one cell phone that way.
Instead, he went home and packed an overnight bag. Which meant he threw some clean underwear and his toothbrush in a duffel. He glanced at his watch and saw that he could check in anytime. Rather than mill aimlessly about the house, he fired up the Jeep and headed out to Pittie Place. The only reason he was going to see this through was because Stanzi would be there. He wondered what she would wear, and when he pictured her in a Larry Bird T-shirt and a cat barrette he broke into laughter.
The place was dressed to the nines in Christmas stuff, but it was classy Christmas stuff. None of those inflatable creatures or flashing lights. Pittie Place, even though it was a dog rescue, sparkled in the twilight like it was festooned in crystal. The parking lot was packed, but Rhett managed to find a spot for his Jeep that was farthest from the house.
The foyer was warm and smelled like mulled cider. A willowy blonde sat at a makeshift desk near the staircase. “Hi.” She greeted him with a wide smile. “Are you here for the charity dinner? The guests are already out back, touring the rescue.”
“Yes. Name’s Rhett Santos.”
A long pause followed. “Mr. Santos.” She looked him up and down, and didn’t even try to disguise it. “Welcome.” She had bright blue eyes that were just a shade darker than Stanzi’s. “I’m Sunny Morrigan. I’m happy you decided to join us for the holiday.”
“Thanks.” Rhett took his time studying Stanzi’s sister. She was taller, thinner, had no trace of the strawberry in her blond hair and had a brand of confidence that was different from Stanzi’s. While Stanzi’s was quiet and resolute, Sunny’s was bold and bright, like her name.
“You’ll be staying upstairs.” Sunny held out a brass key. Not a key card, but an actual key. She pointed to the winding staircase, the banister roped in red lights and red garland. “Top of the stairs, to the right.”
“Thanks.” Rhett took the key. “No cabin?”
She tucked her lips into an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid that after you canceled, the cabin was snapped up. The room upstairs was all I had available.”
“No problem.” Rhett noticed that none of the guests, many of whom milled in and out of the foyer and the sitting room with the large fireplace, went upstairs. In fact, the front of the staircase was cordoned off with a padded rope, like you’d find in a fancy theater. “I think I like that better.”
