by Casey Hagen
Aiden went on and on in mind-numbing detail, thus proving that it didn’t really matter how great a voice someone had, sometimes you just wanted them to shut the hell up.
“For instance, piriformis may go into contraction after riding a horse because you have to then get off the horse which will require that muscle to shut off other muscles on the inside of your legs. Not that you were riding a horse.” He cleared his throat, but she caught his chuckle anyway.
“Anyway...after your rather blunt description of last night, I would say you held your legs in an external frog leg position for too long and as a result, you worked your piriformis muscle so hard that it cramped.”
“I worked it so hard? I had help,” she said, giving him a pointed look.
He raised his hands palms out and shrugged. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger.”
She growled at him.
“Let’s get that muscle stretched out. You’ll feel a whole lot less snarly when we do.” He turned his back and grabbed a rectangular pad hanging from a hook on the wall. “We’re going to start by bringing up your leg and aiming your left knee at your left shoulder. Well, in your case, we’ll have you lower the right leg while we focus on the left.”
He cupped her calf and supported her leg while she lowered the other.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Uh, I guess.”
“Okay, I’m going to rotate your leg so your right angle is over your left hip.”
“Okay,” she said, clutching the edges of the table, dreading the pain.
“I’m going to put this pad between our bodies and lean in on your leg with my body weight to get a good stretch on the muscle. You ready?”
She nodded and closed her eyes.
He put the pad between them just as he said and leaned in so he was practically lying on top of her.
This was so not how she envisioned exploring a new position with him.
The increase in pressure made it harder for her to take a deep breath, but the stretch was a welcome relief from the sharp pinch she’d been battling.
She opened her eyes and found him not even looking at her. He glanced around the room as though he’d rather look at just about anything else.
And she felt...nothing from him. No attraction. No desire. No longing for a repeat of last night.
Why was that?
“Ten more seconds and we’ll do the other side. Ten, nine, eight...” He arrived at one and slowly eased the pressure off her and lowered her leg.
It was a damn miracle. She was lying flat, and although sore, she didn’t feel the muscle on the verge of seizing up anymore.
“Next side,” he said, lifting her leg and getting her into position.
She stared up at him, at this man who had been someone else entirely the night before. Had it not been for the cramping and the aches in other places, she’d swear it had all been just a dream.
The picture.
She still had the damn picture, once a sweet memory, now turned to acid in her gut.
She’d been desperate to take it after connecting with him, but now...all that filled her was emptiness.
Would she ever be able to look at the image again?
One of her favorite Kenny Chesney songs played softly in the background, and she smiled. “I love this song.”
“Hmmm, what?” he asked.
“The song that’s playing. It’s a favorite,” she said.
“Oh, yeah, it’s okay I guess,” he muttered.
“Country music not your thing?” she asked.
“When it comes to music, I could take it or leave it, really,” he said, and the words were like a bucket of ice water crashing over her.
She didn’t know why, and it looked like she’d never know, but Aiden had sent the message loud and clear. Whatever had been between them the night before had been nothing more than her imagination and in the light of day, he’d take a pass.
Her bruised ego shriveled up inside her, and tears threatened to pool in her eyes.
No one cried over one-night stands.
She sure as hell wouldn’t either.
The irony of it all was that she thought she knew what loneliness was.
She was wrong.
Loneliness was being in the same room with a man who she’d been intimate with the night before and having him look right through her as if they’d never even met.
Chapter 7
“MAN, YOU WOULDN’T BELIEVE this woman I met. Smokin’ hot. She might qualify for more-than-a-one-night-stand level hot. Bonus, she’s got her own money and wouldn’t be worrying about tapping into mine. And...get this, she came in with a sex injury, but no ring on her finger or man by her side. Sounds like an adventurous one,” Anthony said as he dropped into the chair across from Aiden. In one smooth move, he kicked his Burberry-clad feet up on Aiden’s desk, and between the way he made himself at home and the pricey leather shoes, he gave Aiden one more reason to want to pop his brother in the mouth.
“Why the hell didn’t you answer your phone last night?” Aiden tossed his pen on the desk and scrubbed a hand over his face. On one hand, he desperately wanted to hold onto his fury, but on the other, exhaustion tugged at him, months of stretching himself too thin taking its toll, leaving him ready to snarl at the least bit of provocation.
“Last night, well, that was a moderately hot woman. At least compared to the one I just adjusted,” Anthony grinned, pinching his signature green mint gum in his toothy grin.
“Dad wandered off, and you were the one on call last night,” Aiden ground out.
“Shit, sorry. I didn’t have signal for a good part of the night. Missed calls aren’t even showing up. You had my back though, right? It’s all good,” Anthony said with a nod.
Aiden shot out of his chair, sending it soaring back until it smacked into the wall with a resounding thud. “He fucking wandered off. What part of that can possibly be considered all good?” he asked, slapping his palms down on his desk to keep himself from wrapping them around his brother’s throat.
“Well, I’m sure you found him, or you wouldn’t be giving me shit now,” Anthony said, scrolling through his phone and smiling.
“It wasn’t my night,” Aiden growled as his frustration at having to walk out on the single best experience of his life took over every last cell in his body. He’d been cleaning up his brother’s messes for years, so much so that Aiden had sacrificed any chance at a life of his own to do it. It took walking out on Nikki last night to finally make him see that none of this would ever change unless Aiden demanded it.
Anthony raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Yeah, but it’s not like you had plans or anything. You never do.”
“Because I’m always covering for you. And you’ll remember that I wanted to hire a twenty-four-hour caregiver for him, and you balked.” And when Anthony had, Aiden had stepped in, giving up the last thing Aiden told himself he’d hold on to...precious sleep.
“It’s expensive,” Anthony said as he examined his fingernails. As if their father was nothing more than one of the daily snags they encountered running the practice and not a human being that they both loved, that they both knew they had no choice but to watch slowly die.
“He has the money for it,” Aiden said.
Anthony’s feet hit the floor. “And hiring caregivers will leech away everything.”
“Christ, do you hear yourself?” Aiden said, tossing his hands in the air. “What’s your angle here? Are you thinking the more we spend now, the less you get when he dies?”
Anthony wrapped his hands around the arms of the chair and slowly stood. “Well, I can’t say the thought hasn’t crossed my mind.”
“He’s our father. He needs care. I’m stretched as thin as I can possibly get with this mess, and you’re running around doing whatever the hell you want, leaving me holding the bag. It’s going to stop.”
“Guy, it was just one night. Chill out,” Anthony said, narrowing his eyes with his first sign of temper.
“Yeah, we covered that. You never have anything going on, and it sounds to me like you might just be pissed that I do. You’ve always been jealous of my social life, but you know, no one’s been stopping you from having one of your own. But nope, not Aiden. He’s been too busy being goddamned perfect since the day Mom walked out, making sure everyone knew that he sure as hell wasn’t the reason she left.”
“That’s not what I’ve been doing,” Aiden said quietly as Anthony’s barb hit its mark. Not that he’d ever let Anthony see it. Or anyone else.
“That’s exactly what you’ve been doing. You forget, I know you better than anyone. It’s convenient for you, isn’t it? You do your whole golden boy routine, day in, day out, and when you decide I need a lashing for not being as holier than thou as you, you turn on the martyr act.”
“What happens to you if I let this practice fall apart?” Aiden said, his voice dropping dangerously low, letting him know just how close he was to losing his temper.
This wasn’t high school where they threw on a pair of boxing gloves and had it out in the backyard, but never in Aiden’s life had he wanted to take a swing at his brother as much as he did now.
Anthony snorted. “Like you would let that happen.”
“You’d be out of a job. Because let’s face it, who else is going to hire a wandering dick who punches in whenever the hell he feels like it. Your gravy train would be over. The business would be sold. Sure, you’d have money for a while, but how long before you pissed that away on women and booze? A year? Two, tops?” Aiden straightened as he watched the words finally cut through Anthony’s confidence.
“I’m surprised you didn’t throw all the people who would be out of work in my face,” Anthony said, pushing to his feet and heading for the door.
“Why bother? It’s not like you give a shit about any of them,” Aiden said to his brother’s retreating back.
Aiden dropped back into his chair, drained, and about five years overdue for a vacation. For just once, he wished he could do it. Just take off. Pretend he didn’t have a cell phone or dozens of people counting on him to be a responsible human being on a daily basis.
Like Nikki had talked about doing. Just go off and find a sense of peace. Reenergize.
Did she find his note?
He glanced at the clock. Eleven thirty.
She probably would have called by now if she had. Or she was pissed that he’d left.
What if she had been relieved?
No awkward morning after or stilted goodbyes, wondering if he should end it with a handshake, hug, or kiss.
Problem was, he didn’t want it to be goodbye. How pathetic did that make him?
She had a plan and a life mapped out. It didn’t have room for a guy struggling to do it all to keep his family together.
Or as together as it ever would be. It really was no use.
The camera case sitting in the easy chair in the corner of his office caught his eye. He hadn’t opened the thing in three weeks.
And why?
Because his brother was a selfish son of a bitch.
He had an hour and a half before his next appointment. He could duck out now and get a few pictures. Nothing noteworthy probably, but the feel of the Nikon in his hands might very well be just the thing to cool his anger and center him.
He buzzed Denise at the front desk.
“What can I do for you, Dr. Powell?” she asked, the dull sound of clicking and the muffled chatter of the other receptionists taking phone calls in the background.
“I’m headed out for a bit, but I’ll be back in time for my one o’clock.”
“Is it your dad?” she asked, concern lacing her tone as the clicking came to an abrupt halt.
He needed to remember that just because his brother didn’t give a shit, there were people in his life, in this practice that did, and it went beyond collecting a paycheck. “No, nothing like that. I’m just taking an extended lunch with my camera.”
“Oooh, yes, please do,” she said, her excitement easing the tension in his shoulders a fraction. “I’ve missed seeing the magic you capture with that lens of yours.”
“I don’t know if it’s magic, but—”
“Pssssshhhhh, bull. Definite magic. And maybe if you hadn’t been saddled with the bulk of the work with this business, you’d have time to pursue it.”
“Lecture received,” he said with a light laugh.
“No, no lecture. An acknowledgment. You’re a wonderful doctor, Aiden, but there’s another part of you, a talent that you don’t get enough time to nurture. You can’t continue to take care of everyone else if you don’t take time to care for yourself.”
And wasn’t that just the problem? He had the same twenty-four hours in his day as everyone else, and they weren’t nearly enough. Enough to work through the never-ending to do list.
He had just enough time to keep the practice afloat, but not thriving.
Maybe if he and his brother managed to find their way back to being friends again, something they’d lost when his mother left, he’d have a shot, but right now, it felt like he was running on ice and getting exactly nowhere.
He’d been avoiding going over Anthony’s head and hiring someone because it seemed like a decision they needed to make together, but no more. Aiden needed to have a talk with his dad and make sure all the legalities were in place so Aiden could make the decisions alone...since that seemed to be how Anthony wanted it.
But first, pictures. Aiden slid on his wool jacket and grabbed the strap of his Nikon before heading out the back door of the office into the woodlands just behind the building.
Chapter 8
“YOU CAN’T BE SERIOUS?” Mara asked, freezing at the threshold of the living room, their wine glasses in her hands, dangerously close to sloshing over the rim of the crystal and onto the carpet.
“Like he’d never even seen me before,” Nikki said, needing something a whole lot stronger than the wine. She flipped a switch, and the fireplace flared to life.
She loved having a fireplace, but she wished more than anything it were a wood-burning one. The light scent of wood mingling with a hint of smoke just made her want to curl up in a blanket with a good book.
Or maybe a warm man, with a day’s worth of scruff and strong hands.
“And he’s still breathing?” Mara asked, handing Nikki her glass and pulling her out of her wandering thoughts.
“Of course. I mean, what was I supposed to do?” Nikki said as she eased down onto the couch and took a sip of the sweet moscato. Her fatigued muscles protested both her strain, the word she’d adopted over Mara’s preferred term boom-boom-bruise as she’d called it in the get-well card she’d brought to Nikki’s door. Between the two, her muscles almost gave out, landing her harder on her butt than she’d intended.
“I can think of half a dozen things, all of them leaving him walking funny. No wonder you were desperate enough to call me,” Mara said.
“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” Nikki asked, turning to her.
Mara shot her a brief glance before taking several gulps of wine. “Uh, well, it’s just—well, we’re not exactly close. Well, we’re close, I mean I know what you look like before we make you over and what your favorite mascara is, but not close, close. Does that make sense?”
Nikki rolled her lips inward, unsure of what to say. She couldn’t really deny it, but she didn’t want Mara taking it personally either. “I haven’t always been so good at being close to people. If I gave you the idea that I didn’t like you—”
“It’s not that. Please, it wasn’t a criticism. If I were you, I’d be guarded, too,” Mara said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “You’ve had a lot of people drift in, trying to get close to you, and when there wasn’t some kind of payoff in th
e end other than the benefit of a good friend, they flitted out. I really always kind of felt sorry for you.”
“Ummm, thanks?” Nikki said, wondering if she should be offended.
Did they all see her like that?
Mara sighed. “I’m not acting like someone who really wants to keep her job, am I?”
Nikki shook her head with a self-depreciating laugh. “You’re being honest. It stings, but I appreciate it.”
“Well, while you’re in such an appreciative mood, I have a question for you.”
“Shoot,” Nikki said, letting her head sagged against the back of the couch as she watched the flames dance from behind the glass of the fireplace.
“Why do you go through everything you do just to be Nikki Lane?”
She blinked and turned to Mara. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“You know, the meticulousness of it all: the music, choreography, and persona, the hours you spend sitting in a chair so we can make you look like, well—not you, all to give your fans this, this...well, this person that you’re not.”
“Who says I’m not Nikki Lane?” she asked, but she knew just what Mara meant. Only she hadn’t realized she had been so transparent. She’d spent years trying to keep the heart of her locked away from the hurt and devastation she’d witnessed that usually came with the music business and fame.
How many times had she seen people she respected and genuinely liked get sucked into the trap of drugs and alcohol just to fit in with their peers? And how long after had it been that their addiction and need to fit in, to be liked and desired, destroyed them, leaving them broken and lonely, their fall from grace a public spectacle that would follow them around until the day they took their last breath?
The idea of getting sucked in like that—god, her lungs grew tight, and tears swelled in her eyes at the thought.
And what of love? What if she fell for someone trapped in the cycle, and it broke her heart for good?
