Rescue You

by Elysia Whisler

  Pete took the thermos back and narrowed his eyes. “I don’t care about that. I just want to make sure you’re okay.” The morning sun played over Pete’s face, changing his eyes from light brown to gold and back again. He sipped the coffee, and didn’t seem to mind the heat.

  “I’m fine.” Sunny reached out and squeezed his shoulder again. Only after she did it did she wonder how often she did that. “You know you don’t need to worry about me. I got it all under control.”

  Pete took another drink. Then another. Then he handed her the thermos and winked. “All right, Sunny Skye. Leave your big balls out here and get inside, where it’s warm. I’m sure you’ve got plenty to do before tonight’s party.”

  “Thanks, Pete.” Sunny kissed him on the cheek. She didn’t pull away as quickly as she expected. He smelled different somehow. His skin felt different, too, under her lips.

  “Go.” Pete drew away and stepped onto the ladder. “You got all those rich people coming to party. Get to work, girl.”

  “Right.” Sunny smiled. She went inside, but for a few minutes more she watched Pete as he worked the garland around the tree, slowly but surely making her Douglas fir bright and happy.

  * * *

  The grounds were decked out in full, tasteful Christmas glory. A single live pine wreath, complete with red berries and bows and electric candles, adorned each window of the house. The twelve-foot-tall Douglas fir on the north lawn had been decorated with white lights and large balls in ecru and pale pink. The grand foyer had another large Christmas tree, this one with fat, colored bulbs, bubbling lights, Victorian Santas and old-fashioned ornaments that hinted at years gone by. Garland wound the railings and the air had a subtle hint of pine.

  Sunny wore a fashionable dress in a red-and-black checkered pattern that clung to her slender body. “You remember, now that you made me give him your room, you have nowhere to stay.” She pushed her golden hair behind her ear and fixed Constance with a stern look.

  “I don’t care.” Constance, wearing her navy blue scrubs, looked far less classy than her sister. What else was new? “If I choose to sleep here tonight, I can sleep in the massage room. Or on your floor.”

  “Uh-uh.” Sunny shook her head. “You’re not sleeping in my room. I know what you’re like since Daddy died and Josh left. You don’t sleep. You toss and turn, call out, wake in night sweats. Unless I get you drunk. Hmm.” She pinched her chin with her thumb and forefinger. “That’s an idea.”

  “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.”

  “Excellent.” Her apologetic smile turned a little wry. “The massage room is just around the corner here.” She pointed past the staircase. “Your appointment is at five. Drinks and hors d’oeuvres will be served in the great room—” she nodded toward the roaring fireplace “—at six, and dinner is in the dining room at seven.”

  The massage. Rhett had forgotten all about that. He’d filled out the intake form weeks ago, before he’d canceled. His hand ran absentmindedly over his thigh, which felt stiff and icy. “About the massage—”

  “Oh, you can’t cancel now,” Sunny interrupted, her voice kind but stern, like you’d talk to a toddler. “I could have filled your slot with five other people. Don’t worry. My therapist is the best in the county.”

  Rhett bit back his words. Something about this woman kept him from being as harsh and forward as he could with the likes of Tatiana, and just about everyone else. “Five o’clock,” he said.

  “And don’t forget, for this evening, ugly sweaters are encouraged, but not required.”

  Ugly sweaters? Sunny wore a striking dress that highlighted her long legs. Rhett had packed jeans and a button-down, and not much more. He’d literally sweat through a sweater in a matter of minutes. “Thank you.” Rhett grabbed his duffel bag. He was pretty sure Sunny smirked at it as he made his way to the staircase. She gestured for him to unclip the barrier that closed off the stairs. Rhett undid the metal clasp, then closed it behind him. Sunny gave him the thumbs-up, then turned and headed into the great room.

  The metal key slid into the large lock on the heavy wooden door and made a clicking sound when he turned it to the right. He pressed the door open to a room that smelled faintly of roses and vanilla. There was a four-poster queen bed in the center of the room, surrounded by curved windows. Rhett realized he was inside the tower that was farthest to the back of the house. The windows overlooked the garden, most of which had been turned over, but there was also a large greenhouse. It was a great view, even in winter; the ice on the trees gave everything a frosty glitter. In the spring, he imagined it sang with fresh blooms and insects and all sorts of life.

  He peeked in the bathroom and saw a tub with claw feet and a deep, old-fashioned sink. He dropped his toothbrush there and went back to the main room, where he flopped on the bed. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe deep into his belly, slowly, for counts of ten. But sleep would not come. The silence made him feel almost itchy. He popped in his earbuds and started a fitness podcast, trying to focus on the main points and secretly hoping that he’d doze off.

  No such luck. Before Rhett knew it, it was ten minutes to five. He sighed and made his way downstairs. The foyer was packed with people, coming and going in and out of the great room. Some were well dressed and others wore a wide range of ugly sweaters, everything from Santas in sequins to sweaters that actually flashed with lights.

  Rhett hopped over the barrier at the bottom of the stairs and slipped around the corner to where Sunny said the massage room was. The wooden door had a glass insert that read Healing Touch Massage. It was ajar, so Rhett poked his head in. The room was lit with an assortment of electric candles. There was a table in the center, freshly made, and soft spa music was playing. It smelled of lavender and eucalyptus.

  Rhett stepped inside and looked around, but nobody else was there. He sat down on a rolling stool and sighed. This wasn’t going to go well. He pictured himself lying there, wanting to toss and turn but unable to because a stranger would be rubbing lotion on his body and questioning him about his scars. The more he thought about it, the more anxious he got. He rolled around the room, to keep his legs busy, and checked out all the stuff. There was a towel warmer, the power light on, a small sound system, stacks of clean linens and a rolling laundry basket with discarded ones. In a cabinet, behind glass, was an assortment of small jars with rubber stoppers, oils, creams and lotions.

  After he’d seen all there was to see, Rhett stood up and headed for the door. Just as he pulled it open, she came walking in, stopping just shy of slamming into his chest.

  Rhett almost laughed. Of course. Why hadn’t he put two and two together?

  Stanzi stared up at him, her hair pulled back in a pretty but professional barrette in a solid gold color. She wore blue scrubs and looked better to Rhett than any of those women in their tight dresses or flashing sweaters.

  “Hi.” She held out her hand, a guilty crook to her mouth. “I’m Constance. I’ll be your massage therapist today.”

  eighteen

  Rhett perched on the edge of the massage table and Constance settled herself on her rolling stool, which had been moved. She pictured Rhett, rolling around the room, unable to sit still even when he was sitting. She looked down at her clipboard, which held his intake form. “So no medications or allergies?”

  “Nope.”

  “Not pregnant?”

  He smiled. “I’m pretty sure.”

  Constance could tell her joke had defused some tension. Now to pose her next question, in just the right way. “Anything you didn’t mark that I should know about?”

  “Sure.” He pressed his hands on the edge of the table and leaned forward a little. “How about ‘If your name happens to be Constance, give me a text and let me know you’ll be my massage therapist today.’”

  Constance looked up and saw he was doing the smile that was contained mostly in his eyes. That meant he found humor in this, but didn’t want her know it. “I should have texted,” she agreed. “But, had I texted, would you have canceled?”

  “Probably.”

  “So I made t
he right choice.”

  “I could still leave. My leg feels fine. I don’t really need to waste your time.”

  “Your leg doesn’t feel fine. And there are other issues I could address. You wouldn’t be wasting my time.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Rhett’s voice had a challenging edge. “Like what?”

  Constance rose and stepped closer to him. She studied his face, his posture and his energy. “You’re exhausted.” She noted the fatigue around his eyes. “My guess is you have trouble sleeping most of the time. One of the reasons you love your job is that it takes you here—” she held up a hand, over her head “—so that when you come back down to here—” her hand sank to eye level “—it feels normal. Even though you should be here.” Her hand went near her heart.

  “Hmm.” Rhett made a noncommittal noise. “And how did you get all that? Are you reading my aura?”

  “I don’t see auras.” Constance brushed off his comment as a rare show of self-defense. “But energy is real, and I’ve had a lot of experience with it. Yours is big, like most introverts. But it’s even bigger than most introverts. Bigger than most people I’ve met.”

  His eyes widened just the tiniest bit, like she’d said something that interested him and he hadn’t reacted quickly enough to hide it. “Big? I thought introverts were supposed to be antisocial wallflowers, collapsing in on ourselves.”

  Constance noted the sarcasm. “Quite the opposite. It’s my experience that introverts have big, wide-reaching energy. We absorb more, and if we’re not careful, we take in more than we want. Some of us have too much energy, which makes us overly sensitive to our surroundings. Extroverts, on the other hand, have to absorb energy from others in order to function at their best. Which is why they love groups and can’t be alone and all that noise. Most of us are a mix of the two. You—” Constance held up her hands near Rhett’s chest “—start well outside your body. This keeps you strong without needing a lot of fuel from the outside world. That’s good. But it also leaves you vulnerable to taking in things you might not want to, and to reacting stronger, and harder, than those who have duller senses. It’s helped you survive. That’s its purpose. And I’m guessing it’s served you well. But when you don’t need to be in survival mode, it can be exhausting.”