by Brea Viragh
“We’ll think of something to put the naysayers to shame.” Somehow, despite the determined statement, I didn’t feel confident. I was a little sick to my stomach. Expecting people to keep their opinions to themselves was stupid. Still, I’d never guessed said opinions would impact me. Talk about a punch to the gut.
“I don’t like this,” I told Weston. “This is a popularity contest and I’m losing.”
He shifted, crossing to take my hands in his once more. His palms were warm, solid. A reassuring presence. “I know you don’t.”
“Why can’t they leave me alone?”
“It’s the downside of dating me. I’m sorry.”
“Will it make your job harder if I say ‘fuck it’?” I asked.
He was slow to answer. “I don’t know.”
“This is bullshit.”
I didn’t curse out loud often. It should show him exactly how I felt without me ramming a fist through a wall. The words had the same effect.
“Don’t get mad again,” Weston said placatingly. “I’m just the messenger. If it were up to me, this wouldn’t be an issue.”
Instead of facing him like a grownup, I left the room. A right turn brought me into the kitchen and I grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator. I sipped, thinking about the challenges ahead.
Weston followed and lingered at the corner of the room. He leaned against the wall in his tailored white shirt and dress pants, brown eyes pensive. “It’s going to be a challenge. If anyone can make it through, we can.”
“What, like we’re the power couple of the century?” I took another swig. “More like your friends don’t want us to be a couple.”
“Not true,” he replied. He kept his arms looped across his chest, twisting his head until the vertebrae cracked. “I’m doing the best I can.”
Again, I noticed how tired he looked. His normally pressed pants were mussed and wrinkled and there were bags beneath his eyes.
“Well? What do you say? Are we in this together?”
I’d wanted to continue to fight. Seeing him now, the remaining desire to do so left me. I blinked in surprise at the sudden clarity. I’d had several jobs in my life where I’d gotten in the middle of things I shouldn’t have. I’d managed to handle them all. What was this but another high-stakes task?
Challenges made life interesting.
I shot him a small grin. “Let’s do it.”
CHAPTER THREE
Instead of taking the initiative like I was used to doing, I let Weston do the legwork. It hurt to fall back and let someone else fight the first half of the battle for me. A professional-wrestler-sized blow to my pride.
My nails were nothing but nubs by the time Weston came back to me with a proposition.
“It’s a rehab place in town. Something small and intimate where you can get to know the staff and interact with real patients. People who are a living, breathing part of the county,” he told me. “They’re expecting you.”
“Now? Today?”
“Yes. Today.”
He pushed an apple across the counter, and I caught the fruit before it rolled. I stuffed it down into my purse. A snack for later.
“Small and intimate,” I repeated. “I can work with that. I have to, there’s no choice. What do you mean by rehab?”
Weston sighed. “Not sure. Your cousin got me set up with the place.”
I swiveled to face him. “You talked to Nell? When did this happen?”
“I understand if you have reservations.” He reached into his pocket and drew out a key on a ring, with a picture of a kitten out on a limb telling me to hang in there. He held out the key, ignoring my question. “Take my spare key. You can come over here this afternoon if you feel too stressed.”
I gestured toward my hands and the chewed nails. “Duh. Stop trying to change the subject.”
The morning was bright, fingers of mist stretching along the ground. Soon the sun would rise higher and burn it away. Early yet, some people would see the promise of the day, all the opportunities waiting. I saw the potential for bad, bad, bad things.
Using his fingers, Weston curled my hand until the key and ring disappeared into my palm.
“You’re not mad at me anymore?” he asked, raising his gaze to mine. “It’s been a week but I still feel like you’re upset.”
“There’s no use getting mad over something we can’t change. Your adoring fans want a better version of me, and they’ll get it.” I forced a smile, going for honey over vinegar. “Besides, maybe it will benefit me, too. There’s nothing wrong with helping other people. Right?”
“Right.” He nodded his head in cheerful agreement.
“You’re going to have to be there with me along the way, to boost me up if I stumble. I admit, I’m a selfish woman. Judgmental. Emotional.”
“I don’t think you’re selfish. I don’t think you’re any of those things.” To emphasize his words, he brought me close and wrapped his arms around my torso. “Your agreeing to this so easily is one of the most selfless acts I’ve seen in a long time.”
I chuckled and breathed in the scent of his soap. That was one thing I could say about Weston. He made it a point to smell great on a daily basis. “The things I do for you,” I murmured.
He rested his chin on top of my head. “I appreciate it.”
We stood there with our hearts struggling to beat in tandem. My thoughts raced and a sliver of worry took up residence in my chest. What had I gotten myself into by agreeing? I cared a great deal for Weston, it’s true, and I was willing to do what it took to keep our relationship sound. It meant being amenable to change. I knew the public’s opinion meant a lot when it came to keeping balance.
I’d tried to imagine myself as something other than what I was: a thirty-two-year-old woman starting over again. How I expected to see it? River Shayne—She fought fate. And lost.
***
Within the hour I was on my way toward the rehab house and nearly paralyzed under a tsunami of doubt. I wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Or cry, whichever came first. Rewind eight months to a normal day at the CPA firm where I used to work. A place where people would be happy to make my acquaintance.
My father wouldn’t have stood for any of this garbage about negative publicity. If he were alive, he would have given me any number of his sage words of advice. Number one? Dump the bastard and move on with your life. He wouldn’t tolerate Weston’s behavior or the insinuation that, if I continued on my clumsy path, I would help catapult his career into ruin.
Like I said. It was absurd.
Now I was being questioned by the people who were supposed to accept me. Hell, I’d been born here, lived here until I was seven and my parents divorced. Didn’t that count?
Apparently, it wasn’t enough. I was the outsider leading their precious mayor astray. A woman of dubious moral character and a penchant for destruction. One who could not hold a candle to Odette, the wife-to-be-who-wasn’t. Okay, those may be my words. They cycled in my head nonetheless. I was not being judged for me. I was being judged by outside perception.
It pissed me off.
I’d do the run around for a while, show Weston and the rest of the world that I was a woman with a big heart and a capacity to give back to the community. If I felt the fit was too snug, then I would stop and realign my thoughts to plan the next move.
I ruminated on this and more on the drive to the halfway house. Well, not a halfway house exactly, since those were for addicts. This was a state-owned rehab facility in a residential area. If Nell helped pick out the position with her connections at the hospital, then it couldn’t be half as bad as the hype in my head.
She wouldn’t let me go amiss.
The place was, according to Weston, quiet and under the radar, where I could get my feet wet and not feel the pressure. I’d never volunteered before. Not only was I stressed about the negative exposure, I was nervous. Scared to admit my nerves.
Pulling up to the cottage with
its brown-painted wood and cherry-red shutters, I tried to squelch the sudden swell of panic.
This was another day.
I locked the car and walked through the front door into a cozy living room that had been converted to a lobby. To my right was a bank of windows looking out on the yard. A desk sat to the left, with a woman flipping through a magazine under the slight breeze of a ceiling fan.
“Hi. I’m, uh, here to volunteer.” I drummed my hands along the wooden counter, unsure what to do with them. “My name should be on the list.”
The girl blinked up at me through black-rimmed glasses. “Volunteer list?”
“Yes. I believe my cousin called and said I would be coming? Nell Quade?”
“Ah, Nell.” A change came over the girl’s face, like someone pulling up a shade to reveal a sunrise. “She’s a sweet one. We love it when she pops in with fast food. You’re River?”
“Yes, ma’am, I am.”
“Please, no ma’am. We’re about the same age. I’m June, nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
She eyed me up and down, judging my capabilities. There must have been something she saw to have her nodding. June tucked a strand of honey-colored hair behind her ear before extending her hand. “You’ll fit in well here.”
I grasped her offered hand and squeezed. “I hope so. I was told it was pretty quiet. And Weston insisted.”
“He made the call yesterday and told us to be extra nice. Like we aren’t already!” June stood. “At least, I can say with certainty that I am extra nice, and I pull most shifts behind the counter. We don’t get a lot of visitors, and our guests are in and out within a month. Two at the most.”
She wore tan trousers with closed-toe boots, a white blouse hanging loose around her slim shoulders. A well-put-together outfit. On the other end of the spectrum was me. I hadn’t exactly thought to dress for the occasion in a long-sleeved t-shirt and jeans.
Woohoo.
“What kind of operation is this, if you don’t mind me asking? I haven’t heard much about this place beyond Weston claiming it would be a good match for me.” My mind whirled with the possibilities and I brought my thumb to my mouth, worrying the cuticle. “What kind of people do you get here and what are their issues?”
June smiled, launching into a ready spiel extolling the virtues of the organization. “It’s a private rehabilitation facility run by the state. Basically, we take in the hospital overflow when they need extra time but can’t pay their bills right away. We only have three residents at the moment. Two will be out within the week, recovering from surgery. They have family in and out every other day so you’ll have to get used to the noise. The other one—” She broke off with a grimace. “Mr. Price thinks the sun comes up to hear him crow. Or he did before the accident. He doesn’t have a lick of decency.”
Oh boy. Didn’t sound good. “What do you mean?”
She gestured over her shoulder. “You’ll see in a minute. I’ll let you form your own opinions about him, since I’m not supposed to speak ill of our inhabitants. Do you want the grand tour? Or would you like to dive in and get started?”
I narrowed my gaze, focusing on the hallway of the remodeled residential house. Like a doctor’s office made out of an old family home, it was laid out in typical single-story fashion. The door to the left led either to a bathroom or the kitchen, and the short hall had three doors on the right. Bedrooms.
“It’s fine. I get the feeling I won’t miss much by skipping the tour,” I told her.
“I’m sure you’re wondering why you’ve been assigned to Mr. Price,” June carried on in typical jolly fashion.
I say typical not because I knew her. Because she was one of those people. The kind with perpetual optimism who looked at the glass as half full even if the glass was broken.
It must be how she managed to stay sane in this town.
“I wonder about a lot of things,” I muttered under my breath, flashing a smile when she twisted to face me.
June leaned forward in a conspirator’s whisper. “He has nobody. No family, no friends. The state pays for him, because this funded program accepts money in order to provide services to people who need them. He doesn’t seem to care about being dirt-poor and bedridden. He refuses the physical therapy.”
“Is he from out of town?”
She shook her head. “Nope. Lived here off and on for the better part of the last decade. He’s been under our care for nine weeks and he’s about as sour as a person can get. Not a single phone call.” June straightened and told me in a normal volume, “He’s in the last room down the hall. He’s expecting you, although he doesn’t seem too happy about it. I told him you’d be here and he threw a tray at me. Maybe a spunky little thing like you will be just what he needs. He does love the ladies.”
I wondered at her use of the word spunky. Never in my life had I been described in such a way. Standing next to June, I felt like the opposite. It had been a struggle to get in the car and drive to this address. Harder to get out of the car and make my way toward the door. Lifting my hand to knock had been pure torture. Now that I was here, things weren’t looking up.
Not to be negative, but her description of Mr. Price, sour and tough-nutty, didn’t help.
“What happened to him?” I asked. “You said something about an accident.”
June hissed in a breath the way people do when they don’t want to tell you the bad news. “Yeah, it was awful. Motorcycle accident. He broke both his legs and told anyone who tried to help him to stuff it, like I said earlier. He’s been confined to the bed since he got shoved out of the hospital. Can’t move. The physical therapist left with a chipped tooth.”
“Who in their right mind would refuse physical therapy with two broken legs?” The thought was ludicrous. The more I heard about this man, the less I liked. It was like refusing to be sewn up after being cut open. Not something you did if you were stable. Normal.
What had Weston gotten me into?
“I never said he had a right mind,” June stated. She shuffled from foot to foot. “He may be the most bitter man I’ve ever met. Before he came to stay here, I’d tried to keep my distance. Then again, I don’t run in his circles.” Her eyes widened at my expression. “Oh dear, don’t let that scare you! He’s dealing with a lot of issues; I can’t blame him for the curses. Or for the tantrums and broken plates. Watch, he’ll warm up to you in no time.”
Not reassuring in the least.
“Yippee. I can’t wait,” I said with evident sarcasm.
She patted my arm. “Please, don’t fret. I can understand your concern. Don’t let his attitude be an issue for you. Just, if you want a sure way to get him to like you, wear less.”
“Wear less?” Was she joking? I couldn’t tell, couldn’t see much beyond the perpetual grin.
“He has a thing for…well, ask him yourself.”
June motioned toward the last door on the right. I followed her and blinked woodenly at the knob. The door was closed but a sliver of light from the bottom illuminated dust particles in the air.
Inside was my charge. I was about to become a professional volunteer. If I couldn’t look the part, at least I would fumble my way toward acting it. Could I do this?
“I’ll try.” I wasn’t sure if I was trying to convince June or myself. “The clothes stay on.”
“Sure, of course. He’s insufferable and rude but I know you can handle him,” she said. Her knuckles rapped twice against the wood. “Finn, there’s someone here to see you.”
Without waiting for an answer, she pushed ahead, walking into the room. I trailed behind her with hesitant footsteps.
“Finn, let me present Miss River Shayne. She’s here to spend some time with you.”
The man faced the window, his profile striking. My gaze widened to take in the face: blue eyes, square chin, firm lines. His hair was a dark shade of gold hanging thick and limp over his forehead. In my head, I pictured him on a good day, with his hair cut and
a clean-shaven face. The angles were there, rough-cut. Masculine.
The guy was attractive. Maybe the personality wasn’t as bad as I’d been led to believe. My face warmed in embarrassment. I had no business thinking such thoughts about my new charge.
“You be nice to her, you hear?” June admonished with a shake of her finger. “I don’t want you throwing any more trays.”
“Hi, I’m River.” I took a giant step forward and held out a hand. If I’d expected him to take it, I was sorely mistaken. In fact, I was in for a rude awakening if I’d thought he’d be anything other than silent and sullen. The sort of silent and sullen that left an acrid taste on the tongue.
June let out a small chuckle to break the tension when the man failed to respond. “I’ll leave you two alone.”
I looked at June, her cheeks bright. Save me. She walked out the door and shut it behind her.
My hand dropped. I fought the urge to play with my shirt. Chew my nonexistent nails. Something to cover the awkwardness turning my gut into a puddle of sour milk.
“I’m happy to be here,” I eventually stated. “I know you probably weren’t expecting someone to come. I want to be of help in any way I can.” I swung my arms at my sides, lips pursed in a silent whistle. “I moved here from Knoxville. No sure if you’ve ever been out that way, but it’s beautiful. The countryside is a lot like here. Rolling hills.”
Unsure what to do with myself, I crossed to the window and stared out at the line of trees blocking the road from view.
“I’ve never done anything like this before. Hopefully we can be—”
“Friends? Is that what you were going to say?”
His voice startled me. The richness of it, deep and husky. Like someone melted dark chocolate over butter and gave it human form. Bumps formed on my skin in reaction to the tone.
I stared at them, confused. “Yes, friends,” I repeated dumbly.
“I have news for you, lady. We’re never gonna be friends.”
“Finn—”
