by Steph Nuss
Finally done, I swung down and let my body hang from the rings for a few seconds before dropping back down to the ground. With my hands resting on top of my head, I allowed my lungs to inhale the air they desperately needed. My arms felt like rubber now, worn out and tired, but damn, it was therapeutic.
“Here.” Maverick threw a white towel at me.
The hand towel wasn’t nearly big enough to clean up the mess of sweat covering every inch of my skin, but I ran it over my face anyway, making sure no sweat ran into my eyes. He handed me a water bottle and I rehydrated, and then I doused my face and stomach with water in an attempt to cool my body down faster and wash off more sweat.
Maverick turned the music off and I could hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears as I pushed away the remaining thoughts from my day at the hospital.
“Man, you hate the rings, don’t you?” he laughed, turning down the thermostat.
The asshole even made the room hotter during my workouts so my body worked harder. He’d explained all the benefits of warm workouts, but I didn’t really care about the science behind it all. Just as long as it kept me in shape, that’s all that mattered.
“Of course, I hate the rings.” I took a seat on the mats and started my cool down stretches. “I’m not a goddamn gymnast.”
The rings had been my most dreaded workout, definitely giving me a renewed respect for male gymnasts. To do that shit every day for sport, no thanks.
He laughed again as he lowered himself down to the mat. Maverick almost always stretched at the end with me. I chalked it up to him being a trainer and working out most of his day. Some days, he’d join in and do my whole workout with me. Other days, he spent the entire time pushing me.
“So, how was your first day of community service?” he asked, mid hamstring stretch.
“Okay…” The question threw me off guard. We hardly ever talked before, during, or after workouts, so I was taken aback by Maverick asking a question that wasn’t workout related. I was paying him to keep me in shape, not to be my friend or give a shit about my day. But I was tired of walking on eggshells around him and as the conversation from yesterday’s meeting with Paige and Harper filtered through my mind, I sighed.
Goddammit, Harper.
Even though it irritated me that she’d obviously talked to him, I appreciated it nonetheless. After that meeting, it was clear that I didn’t have many people I trusted, but it was time to let the little shit go and stop worrying about what or how everyone else around me felt.
I switched legs and eyed the laces of my tennis shoes. “Did Harper tell you to talk to me? You don’t have to make small talk with me just because your woman asked you to.”
“She did,” he said honestly with a chuckle. “But I’m not asking because she told me to. I’m asking because I genuinely want to know.”
Pulling my legs together, I stretched down, reaching for my toes. “It wasn’t too bad.”
“That’s vague as hell, man,” he said, shaking his head. “Look, Harper told me how your meeting went with Paige yesterday. I just want you to know that I don’t hate you. Any friend of Harper’s is a friend of mine, and you really proved that when she was in the hospital. You made sure all of us had food and drinks. You made sure we were comfortable.”
“She wouldn’t have been in the hospital if it weren’t—”
“You can’t control your fans, Max,” he interjected. “I never once blamed you for anything but kissing her.”
I glanced over at him and the serious nature of his words fell away as a smile broke out across his face. Our laughter cut the tension in the room, and I rolled onto my back and stared up at the ceiling still laughing.
“I’m still sorry about that,” I confessed, crossing my left leg over the right side of my body to stretch my back. With a few words, the contempt that I’d always felt from him faded away. “Community service isn’t so bad. The old guy I helped today is like the grandpa I never had. Telling me war stories and teaching me shit about boats that I’ll probably never apply. But the director of volunteer services … She’s hot as hell and she doesn’t even know it.”
“Whitley?” he asked as we both switched legs and stretched our right side.
“Yeah, do you know her? What’s her deal?” I sat up after the stretch was over and looked at him as he rested his elbows on his knees. “I gave her a compliment today because she looked nice, and she replied with some speech about not flirting and just keeping a low profile. It kind of pissed me off.”
He sighed and shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know her all that well. She has a son and loves doing community service. That’s really all I know about her. You’d be better off asking Justin. He and Tessa used to live in the apartment across the hall from her.”
“She has a kid?” I asked incredulously. An image of her from earlier today ran through my mind, precisely the moment when I teased her about giving me a compliment. I recalled how excited I got when she’d told me she had my assignment. I didn’t have much time alone with her, but it was enough time to realize how gorgeous she was. Her hair was dark and her olive skin glowed, making her mismatched eyes really pop. At first, I’d thought my own eyes were playing a trick on me, but with a closer look, her eyes really were two different shades. The left one was green and the right one was brown. Everything about her was petite. She had curves, but they were minimal. She stood just over five feet tall, her breasts were small, and her hips hadn’t looked like they’d carried a child. She had a big heart though; it was obvious in the way she talked about her work. But she still didn’t look old enough to have a kid. She also wasn’t wearing a ring, and I remembered, because I was sure to look. “Where’s the boy’s dad?”
“I don’t know.” Maverick stood and pulled me to my feet. “He’s not in the picture, but I’m not sure why.”
“You’re absolutely no help, you know that?” I stated jokingly as I walked past him to grab my bag.
“Have you looked in a mirror?” he called from behind me. “I’m the reason you don’t have any body fat! You’re welcome!”
Smiling to myself, I flipped him the bird and headed out the door.
“Same time tomorrow?” he laughed.
“Yeah, yeah …”
Chapter Four
Zane and I spent our Saturday evening at his grandparents’ home. It was a five-story townhouse a block away from Central Park on 88th Street. The limestone facade, bowed windows, and wrought iron gate enclosure made Simon and Julia Eichler’s home stand out from the rest of its brownstone neighbors. It fit their personalities well. Welcoming and unique, nice but not overly luxurious. They lived in a wealthy area, but they allowed their home to be one where Zane could comfortably run around and play. He hung out here most days after school and during the summer months while I worked. After the death of their son, Adam, the Eichlers opened their home to me and helped me raise Zane while I earned my nursing degree.
They were still helping.
They’d probably help until they both took their dying breaths.
That was just who they were.
Simon Eichler designed computer programs before he retired. Back in the day, he’d designed the computer software most banking facilities still use on a daily basis. He’d sold it to a bigger software company and was living off the millions he’d made. Julia created the volunteer program at Langone, and passed on the job of director to me after she’d retired last year.
I went from being a full-time nurse to only working on an as-needed basis, and I did so unpaid, as a volunteer nurse. Simon and Julia may not have been my biological parents, but they instilled in me a need to help and give back to others.
God knows, I didn’t get that from my real parents.
They’d given me Adam’s trust fund after starting a separate one for Zane. So, Zane and I lived off the money from his dad’s trust and the money I made as director of volunteer services.
Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d ever step inside a h
ome near Central Park, let alone have dinner here on a weekly basis.
“Are you finished?” Julia asked Zane, eyeing his plate.
He groaned and tilted his head up to the ceiling. “Oma, you know I hate mixed veggies.”
She smiled and rolled her eyes. “One more bite.”
Zane grabbed his fork and looked over at me with beautiful blue eyes that matched his father’s, as if I’d let him off without eating his vegetables simply because he was cute.
“You heard her, Z,” I teased, ruffling his short, dirty blond locks. “One more bite.”
Standing from the dinner table, I retrieved the rest of our empty plates and took them to the sink. I started cleaning up the kitchen by gathering the dirty dishes to be washed, when I heard Simon say, “And you can’t just pick out the carrots.”
“Why do you guys do this to me?” Zane whined. “You know I don’t like peas!”
I laughed quietly to myself. Zane tried to negotiate everything. If I told him to do something, he retorted with doing something else instead. I’d warned Simon and Julia about it and reminded them to not back down. I knew it was hard for them to be both fun and strict grandparents, but they managed it well.
“Look,” Julia whispered to him, “I think Opa has some ice cream if you eat all of your veggies.”
“But you said just one more bite!” Zane protested. “One more bite and I can get ice cream.”
“No,” Simon said, his voice thick with a German accent. “Ice cream is only for kids who eat all of their vegetables. Why do you think Oma’s letting me have any?”
Julia laughed at her husband. “He’s right.”
“Do you have the pistachio kind that I like?” Zane questioned.
“Of course,” Julia said.
“Fine,” he muttered.
The sound of his fork scraping against his plate met my ears, so I went back to cleaning. I turned on the water, let it get hot, and then began filling the sink with soap and dishes. Julia joined me in the kitchen and grabbed a towel to help dry. Their kitchen had a state-of-the-art dishwasher, but neither one of them knew how to use it. I’d offered on numerous occasions to teach them, but they’d declined. If they wanted to wash dishes manually, I’d do it their way.
“That boy,” Julia laughed, throwing another towel over her shoulder. “He’s a spitting image of Adam, you know.”
“I know.” Adam and I had only been together for three months before I got pregnant. At that time, I’d been eighteen and living in a homeless shelter, and he would come by every day after school to help cook and serve dinner. Three months wasn’t a long time, but it was long enough for me to fall for him. We talked about our dreams and future. After graduating high school, he’d planned on going to Columbia on a full-ride scholarship and majoring in graphic design. The guy was a genius with a pen. Every time he visited the shelter, he drew a different design on me somewhere. Whether it was a fancy flower on my wrist or a girly star on my ankle, it made me feel like he was putting his stamp on me. He’d passed that creativeness on to Zane, only he was more interested in drawing comics. “His drawings are different though.”
Julia’s smile widened. “He gave me this yesterday.”
She pulled her sleeve up to reveal her decorated wrist. “Oma” was written in a pretty cursive script and shaded into a beautiful three-dimensional design that made it pop off her skin.
“Such an Adam-ism.” I laughed, shaking my head. We’d given that name to things Zane did or said that reminded us of him.
“Right?” She chuckled and rinsed the clean plate before drying it with a towel.
The two of us cleaned the dishes in comfortable silence, finding an easy rhythm of scrub, rinse, and dry. Zane finished his vegetables, and Simon rewarded him with his favorite pistachio almond ice cream. Unlike most kids who loved chocolate, Zane preferred saltier snacks like nuts and Chex Mix: another trait he got from his father because I loved sweets.
Simon and Zane retreated to the living room to watch TV, each of them carrying a bowl heaped full of ice cream.
“I talked to Sophie today,” Julia stated from beside me. “She said your summer volunteer session is going well.”
“It is,” I said, nodding in agreement. Julia had hired Sophie shortly after she created the volunteer services program. They were long-time friends who talked on a weekly basis.
“She also mentioned a certain volunteer who just so happens to be single and gorgeous. She even texted me a picture of him, and I have to agree, he is one fine gentleman. Way better than his pictures in the magazines.”
“Oh, please, Julia,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Not you, too.”
It was bad enough hearing it from Sophie every day.
“What?” she asked innocently with a shrug of her shoulders. “When’s the last time you went on a date?”
“Nine years ago.” I scrubbed vigorously to loosen the barbecue sauce that Zane had let harden on his plate. “And I’m perfectly fine with that. I don’t need you two setting up dates for me.”
“Oh, Sophie never mentioned setting you up, but that would be—”
As I dropped the plate I was washing back into the sink’s dirty water, the clanking sound interrupted her sentence and I glared at her. “No.”
She scoffed and went back to drying silverware. “You know, if situations were reversed, wouldn’t you have wanted Adam to find someone else, someone to share his life with?”
“Of course.” I brushed a hair out of my face and sighed. “I’d want him to be happy.”
“Then you know he’d want the same for you.” She stacked the plate on top of the others and then turned to face me, leaning against the counter. “Are you happy?”
“Yes!” I insisted. “How can I not be? I have a wonderful son who is my world. I have you and Simon and friends who love me. I have a great job that I actually love going to every day.”
She grabbed my arm and made me look up at her. “But you don’t have a Simon, sweetheart.”
“Maybe I don’t need one,” I replied in an uncertain tone.
Julia chuckled softly and shook her head. “Well, I don’t know what I would do without Simon. He’s my rock. Before him, I’d been with a handful of men who just wanted to date Miss New York. They didn’t want to get to know me. They thought I was just some pretty pageant queen who would shut up and look good on their arm. But not Simon. Simon asked me out on a dare, and I think I surprised him when I agreed. Back then, he was this quiet, good-looking guy who didn’t recognize me from being on TV. That gave us the opportunity to really get to know one another, and he never treated me different after learning about the pageant.
“I think you’re a wonderful mom, Whitley, and you do so well on your own, especially with Zane,” she said in a sweet tone. “I just think you deserve a man who loves you both, someone who can share in your trials and triumphs, so you don’t have to do it all alone. Just think of the example you’d be setting for Zane by taking risks and putting yourself out there.”
“I had a great guy, and he died.” I finished washing the last dish and handed it to her before drying my hands off. “And there’s such a double standard against single moms. If I date, I’m the selfish, slutty mom, but if I don’t date, I’m the sad, lonely woman. I’m neither sad nor lonely, and I think Zane knows that.”
I started toward the living room in search of empty ice cream bowls when Julia’s words stopped me. “Does he?”
Before I faced her, I took a deep breath and then turned. “Does he, what?”
“Does he know that you’re not sad and lonely?” She filed the silverware away in its drawer and gave me her attention. “Because he’s asked us.”
Taking a seat at the kitchen island, I furrowed my brows. “Asked you what?”
“If you’ll ever date, or why you don’t date. At school, he has some classmates whose parents are divorcing, dating, remarrying, switching teams—whatever, you name it. He sees dating in movies and TV shows. He hears ab
out it in songs. I don’t think he fully understands what it entails, but he’s in a world that ties relationships to everything.”
“He’s never talked to me about any of that. Sure, he’s mentioned his classmates’ parents from time to time, but nothing else.”
She joined me at the island and smiled. “It’s just something to think about. I know you still miss Adam—we all do—and time will never lessen how much we miss him. But he can’t be your Simon now. As a parent, you have to set an example in everything you do and say because you never know when Zane’s watching and listening.”
“I can’t date Max,” I replied, shaking my head. “He’s in one of Zane’s favorite movies. He’s a freakin’ celebrity, who has actual stalkers and security. He doesn’t want anything to do with a single mom whose son lives for comic books.” I unfolded and refolded the dishtowel anxiously. “But let’s say I do take a chance, and he breaks both of our hearts, what happens then?”
“You show Zane that heartbreak doesn’t last forever. You teach him how to forgive others.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and sighed. “I feel like you just made me eat my veggies.”
She laughed and threw her arm over my shoulders, giving me a side hug. “Hey, I was a freakin’ pageant queen winner who wanted everything to do with the smart computer guy, and it worked out pretty well for us. Get to know Max. You may like who you meet. What’s the movie he’s in?”
Resting my head on her shoulder, I laughed. “Some Marvel one. He’s one of the superheroes, I—”
Rushed footsteps halted my train of thought, but he hadn’t missed what I’d said.
Zane entered the kitchen, set his bowl and spoon on the counter, and then spun around to face us and asked quizzically, “Which superhero is part of the Marvel Universe, Mom?”
“Um …” I pretended I didn’t know and gazed around the room, pondering. “Captain America!”
Joy blanketed his cute, boyish features as he nodded his head excitedly. “Good job, Mom! You’re getting better!”
