Saved

by Hazel James

  Last Thursday, I stayed late to finalize the budget for the new gym. Clay had an evening training session and must have forgotten I was still working at his desk. When he came back to his office and stripped off his shirt, I nearly fell out of his chair. That man gives “ripped” a whole new meaning. He apologized for startling me, but all I could think about was the eight-pack my fingers were itching to touch.

  “Leilani, why are you smiling?”

  I blink and focus on my phone again. “Huh?”

  “You got this faraway look and started smiling.” Mom’s eyes narrow. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I was just thinking about all the amazing things you’ll see on your cruise. Make sure you take pictures of the Sistine Chapel for me. And any hot Italian guys, too.” Giving myself a mental high five for quick thinking, I hightail it into the kitchen and prop my phone against a canister of flour so I can pour a bowl of cereal.

  Note to self: don’t fantasize about your boss, especially while on the phone with your mother.

  “No, something’s wrong. Your cheeks look flushed. Are you coming down with a fever?”

  “Mom, stop,” I call from the fridge. “I’m not sick, and my cheeks are normal. See?” I set the milk on the counter and lean toward my phone, giving her an eyeful of my face.

  She gives a quiet hmph, which, knowing her, translates to I’m not happy, but I’m sitting in an airport with a three-thousand-dollar trip ahead of me, so I can’t back out of it. “Just promise me that if you need someone, you’ll call Kiki. She said she’d drop everything and come to Moore if you need her.”

  “She’ll be here this evening. She’s coming for the weekend.”

  That appeases her enough to soften the lines between her brows, giving me one solid second of peace before she’s back at it. “You aren’t living off of Fruity Pebbles again, are you? That’s not good for your body. You need to eat well so you can stay healthy.”

  If she thinks this is bad, I have two other cabinets full of food that would make her cringe. Dad, on the other hand, would join me for a midnight snack. When I was in high school, I loved hanging out with him after Mom and Kiki went to bed. He’s the one who taught me to make s’mores with Nutella instead of milk chocolate and how to fry Oreos in pancake mix. It’s a good thing I spent so much time at gymnastics practice. These days, my saving grace is the weight I lost during chemo.

  “Mom, it’s six thirty in the morning. You realize this is a perfectly acceptable time to be eating cereal, right?”

  “Yes, I know that.” She sighs, her shoulders slumping forward, reminding me just how hard this year has been on her. Mom would’ve traded shoes with me in a heartbeat, even at the cost of her own hair and breasts, if it meant I’d never have to experience cancer.

  I think that was the worst part about my diagnosis—having to tell my parents. I’ll never forget the sound of Mom’s guttural sobs or the helpless look on Dad’s face. They both deserve a relaxing vacation now that I’m in remission, so I offer a dietary white flag to put Mom’s mind at ease.

  “Would you feel better if I only had cereal for breakfast and ate a salad every day while you were gone?”

  “Really?” She perks up.

  “Really.” The smile on my lips comes easy this time. Over the past few months, I’ve forgotten that Mom wasn’t always a nutcase. In fact, she was my biggest cheerleader when I was deployed. The people in my platoon loved it when she mailed care packages because she always packed extra snacks. She even sent mini mason jar cakes and cans of frosting for my birthday.

  “Thank you. And yes, I’ll take pictures of the Sistine Chapel and hot Italian men.” She glances to the left and wiggles her eyebrows. “Speaking of, it’s about time to board with my Mile High Club partner.”

  “Gross, Mom!” I clamp my eyes shut, but the damage is done. I’ll never be able to look at an airplane bathroom the same way again. “I have to finish getting ready for work. You two disgusting love birds have a safe flight.”

  “I’ll call as soon as we get home. Don’t forget to—”

  “I love you both. Bye!” I punch the red button, ending the call, and do the heebie-jeebie dance. Parents are so disgusting.

  Rebecca’s head pops up from her celebrity gossip magazine. “You brought doughnuts to a gym? Isn’t that blasphemous?”

  Laying my purse on her desk, I open the flimsy cardboard box and wave it in front of her. “Stop acting like you don’t want one.” We drove separately today because of my doctor’s appointment, which meant I had time for a detour.

  After thinking about Clay all morning, I realized I never got him back for the diarrhea medicine prank. If I play my cards right, my revenge will be nothing short of epic.

  Rebecca scans the sugary contents, her long fingers wiggling with anticipation, and selects a maple bar. “You’re such a bad influence on me.”

  “And it’s a badge I wear proudly.”

  “Did someone say doughnuts?” Marshall ambles toward the reception desk with Clay three steps behind him, both wearing boyish smiles.

  “Leilani’s in cahoots with the devil this morning. She practically forced me to take part in her calorie-fest.” Rebecca attempts a fake pout before giving up and stuffing her face. Getting her to go for the maple bar wasn’t hard. She has a sweet tooth that rivals my own and uses at least half a bottle of syrup on her waffles.

  “I’m always up for cahooting. May I?” Marshall points at the box.

  “Help yourself.” This is too easy. He wastes no time snagging the apple fritter in the back corner and leans against the desk beside Rebecca. Marshall wasn’t hard to peg, either. Every morning, he brings a thermos of steel cut oats with diced apples and cinnamon.

  “Clay, care to partake?” I tip the box in his direction and plaster an innocent smile on my face—the same one I practiced all the way from the bakery. He eyes me, then drops his gaze, zeroing in on the Boston cream.

  Bingo.

  “I feel like I’m setting a bad example,” he confesses, lifting his doughnut. “Maybe I should sneak back to my office to hide the evidence.”

  I set the box on the desk next to Marshall and grab a cruller. “Consider this a team-building exercise among veterans. It only works when there’s one hundred percent participation.”

  “Well, when you put it that way…”

  I school my expression as Clay sinks his teeth into the doughnut.

  Three.

  Two.

  One.

  “Ugh!” With an Oscar-worthy grimace, he rolls Rebecca’s chair to the side and reaches for the trash can to spit his food out. “What the hell? Is that… toothpaste?” He swipes the back of his hand over his mouth and tosses the rest of his doughnut in the garbage.

  I don’t bother downplaying my victorious smirk. “Pastries have a ton of sugar. I was just trying to give you a head start on brushing your teeth.” Marshall and Rebecca burst into laughter as I seal my lips around my cruller, savoring the first delectable bite just as much as Clay’s reaction to my prank. Victory is sweet and delicious.

  “I’m impressed, Leilani.” My name rolls off his tongue like honey, and for the briefest of moments I indulge in the fantasy of tasting the chocolate lingering on the corner of his mouth. “How’d you know which doughnut I’d choose?”

  “I found your stash of Boston cream pudding cups while I was organizing your filing cabinet.”

  Clay shakes his head and chuckles, accepting his defeat. “Well played. Shall we call a truce?” His brow inches upward as he locks his hazel eyes on me, a playful smile morphing into a smirk that makes it hard for me to swallow.

  “Not a chance,” I finally say, licking the glaze from my fingers. “I’m just getting warmed up.”

  Marshall leans toward Rebecca and whispers something, but I can’t hear it over the buzzing in my ears. Clay’s doing that thing where you’re the only person in the room, and right now I wish I was. Accepting this job has officially become the best decision I’ve ever
made.

  “Not fair!” Clay glances over my shoulder at the voice behind me and grins. Confused, I spin and see a curvy blonde woman scowling at the box on the desk. “Is this a trick? Are you going to dangle a doughnut in front of me on the treadmill?”

  “Hey, Paige.” Clay rounds the corner and kisses the woman on the cheek, landing a simultaneous sucker punch to my gut. Of course he’s taken. Just because he doesn’t share his private life with his staff doesn’t mean he doesn’t have one. “Don’t worry—we save the doughnut-dangling trick for the second session.”

  He shifts and points to me. “This is Leilani, my newest employee. She’s whipping my budget into shape before we open Battles 2. That’s Rebecca, the one you talked to when you started your membership. And that’s Marshall, your trainer. Guys, this is Paige Rhoads.”

  A wave of relief washes over me when I hear the last name. She’s not Clay’s girlfriend, she’s DH’s wife. The one who had a baby a couple months ago.

  Marshall pushes off the desk and leans forward to shake her hand. “You’re early. I like that.”

  “These days, I’m either ten minutes early or thirty minutes late.” She traps her curls in an elastic band and props her hands on her hips. “Where do we start? I’m tired of feeling like Snow White and the Seven Post-Partum Dwarfs.”

  Rebecca snickers. “The seven what?”

  “Post-Partum Dwarfs. Lumpy, Bumpy, Frumpy, Dumpy, Pimply, Dimply, and Bulge,” she replies, ticking the names off her fingertips.

  “Come on, Snow White.” Marshall throws a thumb over his shoulder. “Let’s go consult the mirror on the wall and see what we can do about that.”

  With Paige in good hands, Clay turns his attention to me. “Are you up for a new project? I cleared my morning schedule, but I could still use your help.”

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  “I’m getting new computers delivered next week. I need to make sure everything is backed up before then.”

  Translation: Want to sit next to me for the next four hours so you can stare at my arms while making sure I don’t delete important files?

  Abso-fucking-lutely.

  “No prob. I’m leaving at three for my doctor’s appointment, but the rest of my day is wide open.”

  Rebecca catches my eye as I gather my purse and doughnut box, but I ignore her silent questions. We can gossip about my harmless crush later. Right now, I have more important things to do, like stare at Clay’s ass all the way to his office. Why can’t the hallway be longer?

  When we reach the doorway, he pauses to let me in first. “How are you liking it so far?”

  His ass? On a scale of one to ten, it’s a solid twelve. “It’s awesome. I love it.”

  I’ll take Things You Can Say About Your Job and Your Boss’s Butt for six hundred, Alex.

  “Well, you’ve been a great asset.”

  “Thanks.” I smile and focus on stowing my purse in the filing cabinet to keep from commenting on his assets. “You were right about the job—it beats the hell out of working at a bank.”

  He laughs and rolls an extra chair to his desk. “I’m glad I could save you from long days in stuffy business clothes.”

  Hmm. Clay in a suit. I’d gladly suffer through pencil skirts and heels if it meant I got to see that every day. Talk about a benefits package.

  My eyes drop to his crotch, wondering what else his package has to offer. The loose fabric of his gym shorts doesn’t reveal anything, but based on the size of his feet, there’s nothing to complain about.

  “Do you mind if I turn on the fan before we start? It’s a little warm in here.”

  Muted country music carries through the paper-thin walls, making the one-stalled bathroom look even more depressing. In my haste to forget the last half of the afternoon, I opted for availability—the Angry Buffalo or Bison or whatever it’s called has a fully stocked liquor shelf and it’s only two miles from my apartment. As soon as Kiki pulled up, I hopped in her 4Runner and told her where to drive.

  I’d left Battles on cloud nine. Clay and I had spent all morning side-by-side, and then we got salads for lunch at a place across the street from the gym. Our conversation flowed effortlessly, whether we were talking about payroll documents or the best chow hall food in Afghanistan.

  When I’d walked across the parking lot of the doctor’s office, I’d thought about how great it would be to finally have boobs again. Then maybe I could have a shot at starting a relationship with Clay, or at the very least, find out if he tastes as good as he smells.

  But no.

  Thanks to a mind-boggling level of ineptitude, I’d left the doctor’s office ten minutes later with a half-hearted “good luck” and more questions than answers. I was supposed to have a consult for a breast reconstruction. That’s what my doctor ordered when I saw her two weeks ago. How that changed to a mammogram referral, I’ll never know. Who the fuck orders a mammogram for a woman who has no mammies to gram?

  The VA hospital, that’s who.

  Now I get to fight the system, which will take God knows how long.

  Bastards.

  I twist the faucet on the pedestal sink and wash my hand with a pea-sized glob of soap, then use my jeans as a towel. Now that I’ve broken the seal, I’ll be back in here every fifteen minutes. It’s a small price to pay for alcohol-induced amnesia.

  Not bothering to look at my reflection in the dingy mirror, I yank the door open to rejoin Kiki and her Coke Zero at our high top. Given everything that happened today, she’s gladly playing the role of responsible twin and I love her for it.

  I slide my hand along the wall for balance and make my way across the bar, hoping my next Crown and Sprite is waiting on me. What I find is much worse.

  Clay. At my table. Laughing with my sister.

  The one with deep caramel hair cascading down her back.

  The one with perky boobs and a fit body.

  The one who has everything I’m missing.

  Lies That Hide the Truth

  EASING MY TRUCK TO A stop behind a short line of cars, I nudge Marshall’s knees aside and pull a quart-sized Ziplock bag from my glove box. It doesn’t have much—just some granola bars, a five-dollar grocery store gift card, a small tube of toothpaste, and a toothbrush—but for people who have nothing, a small something can mean everything.

  “I can’t believe you still do this.”

  “You should try it sometime.” I crank my window down and wave to the man holding a cardboard sign. He scuffs his way over, his worn boots clomping with each step.

  “What’s your name, sir?” I ask.

  His stubbly jaw drops an inch, like he can’t believe I’m speaking to him at all, let alone asking his name. “Um, David,” he sputters.

  “It’s nice to meet you, David. I hope this helps.” I pass the bag, taking note of his hands. I should add some fingernail clippers to my kits.

  David surveys the contents and grins, tears pricking his eyes. “Thank you, sir,” he whispers.

  “My pleasure. Take care.” He steps back as the light turns green.

  “You’re too trusting,” Marshall chides after I close the window. “He’s probably not even homeless.”

  “Based on his appearance, I’d say that’s not a concern. And even if he wasn’t, I’m only out a few bucks. People waste more money than that in the Starbucks drive-thru.”

  “So why not give him cash? You afraid he’d spend it on booze?”

  I shake my head. “Did you see the look on his face when he realized someone planned ahead? That’s why. What matters is making people feel important. It doesn’t take a lot of time or money to give someone hope.”

  Marshall clutches his chest. “Clay Prescott, always the Boy Scout.”

  I lift a brow. “I seem to remember someone else who benefitted from my compassion.”

  He chuckles. “Yeah, yeah.”

  Two years ago, I met Marshall through a mutual friend. He’d just gotten out of the Army and found himself on the wrong
end of a bogus job offer. He was in great shape and knew his way around a gym, so I gave him a spot at Battles until he could find something permanent. He ended up being a perfect fit and became a certified personal trainer.

  My clients responded well to having another veteran on staff, and I got a break from the boring shit when Marshall volunteered to take over the books. I never cared much for that, especially when it cut into my counseling sessions, but lately it hasn’t been so bad. Thanks to Leilani, I’m a few weeks ahead of schedule for the grand opening.

  And it doesn’t hurt that she’s better looking than Marshall.

  But more than that, she has a spirit unlike any woman I’ve ever met. Leilani is a competitor to her core. It doesn’t matter if she’s on the treadmill, organizing the office, or sneaking junk food when she thinks no one is looking. She’s always on a mission to do it better, faster, or stronger. It’s that attitude that drove her decision to amputate her injured arm.

  Rollovers are dangerous enough, but having a fully loaded ammo box crush the tissue below her elbow meant her chances of regaining full use of her arm were next to nothing. Two months after her accident, she told the doctor to cut it off and didn’t look back.

  Her cancer, on the other hand, is something she’s still coming to terms with. She hasn’t had any more breakdowns, but I catch her looking at Rebecca every now and then, no doubt comparing their physical traits.

  I just wish she could see how sexy her grit and determination are.

  “That reminds me,” I say, pulling into the parking lot of the Angry Bison. “I need you to sit down with Leilani next week. I want to make sure she’s tracking on what needs to be done while you’re on vacation.”

  Marshall and I staggered our vacation time this summer, starting with my trip to Hawaii next Saturday, but I’d feel better knowing she’s up to speed before I leave.