Saved

by Hazel James

  “How would I benefit?” She accepts the container without arguing about me helping her. It’s a small victory, but I’ll take it.

  “It’ll give you some perspective. I know you’re pissed about your surgery, and that’s completely understandable, but that’s the only shitty thing you’re dealing with right now. These kids aren’t even close to being that lucky.” I open my own container and lick the lid before dropping it in the trash.

  “I see where you’re going with this, but I never got my Belize travel fund off the ground. I don’t have enough money to buy a ticket to Hawaii four days from now.”

  I grin, knowing she’s already convinced. Now it’s just a matter of hashing out the logistics. “I’ve got it covered.”

  She cuts a glance at me. “I’m supposed to believe you have thousands of dollars to spare on someone else’s flight?”

  “Dollars, no. Every spare cent to my name is tied up in the new gym. But I do have a shit ton of airline points from my credit card.”

  “Where would I—”

  “Sleep?” I finish, scraping the inside of my pudding cup. “Volunteers are staying at a hotel right down the road from the community center. It’s not a five-star resort, but it’s clean and safe.”

  She finishes her last bite and purses her lips in thought. The only thing we haven’t covered is her work schedule, which won’t matter because I had this trip planned long before she came to Battles. Leilani nods when I tell her that.

  “You realize this is crazy, right? Normal bosses don’t invite their employees on last-minute jaunts to Hawaii.”

  I point my finger at her. “Let’s get one thing straight. I never claimed to be a normal boss. And this is no jaunt. It’ll be a working vacation. From 8 a.m. to 6 p.m., we’ll be up to our eyeballs in kids, sports equipment, and fitness challenges. In fact, if we’re both there, we can do some team competitions. That is, if you’re not too afraid of losing in front of everyone.”

  With a smug smile playing on her lips, Leilani wheels her chair to my desk and tosses her trash in the metal can. “I can’t wait to prove you wrong.”

  I give myself a mental high five for the Herculean task of containing my excitement. “Excellent. I’ll take care of your flight when I’m done with my afternoon sessions.”

  “Do you need my information for the ticket?”

  “I have it right here.” I hold up her paperwork before tucking it inside her folder.

  “I guess I should apologize about the goal thing. Do you want me to think of some new ones?”

  I study her face as I consider her question. If it was anyone else, I’d say yes; working toward something is a great way to stay motivated. But Leilani needs a project that will shift her focus from goals to gratitude. One thing I’ve learned over the years is the simple notion that by helping others, I help myself. I want that for her.

  “We’re going to do something different. For the next month, you’ll perform random acts of kindness. I’ll write down one word for each day and you’ll have to incorporate that in some way.”

  She scrunches her face. “What do you mean?”

  “Let’s say your word is ‘book.’ You could read to a child or write something encouraging and slip it inside a book.”

  “What about buying a book for someone?”

  “You could do that too, but the purpose of this project isn’t about spending money. It’s to get you thinking of creative ways to do something nice for other people.”

  Leilani tilts her head. “So, this takes the place of my goal sheet? I just have to do one nice thing every day for the next month?”

  “That’s it.”

  She nods and collects Rosa’s plate but pauses when she reaches the doorway. “Thanks for lunch and dessert. You’ve made my afternoon a hell of a lot better than my morning was.”

  “My pleasure.” We exchange smiles, and then she’s gone, leaving me to add up the calories I need to burn during tonight’s run. I already know I’ll spend my entire route thinking about how good her ass looks in those yoga pants. I’ll wait until my shower to think about how good she’d look out of them.

  Robin Hood

  FRESH AND CLEAN AFTER A three-mile run, I grab my laptop and sink into the sofa next to Rebecca, who’s on a video call with her mom.

  “I’m so proud of you, sweetheart.” From my position, I see her mom dab a tissue at the corners of her eyes.

  “You should hang it on the fridge, Grandma!” Bristol shouts as she twirls behind Mrs. Perry.

  “That’s a great idea, dear.” She chuckles and pats the chair beside her. “Come say goodnight to your mom while I help Grandpa tuck Blake in.”

  Bristol sits in front of the screen and launches into a story about the next-door neighbor’s dog who got out of the fence and pooped on the Perry’s front porch.

  “No way!” Rebecca wrinkles her nose.

  “Yes way! Grandpa had to get the hose to wash it off. Hey, do you think we could get a dog when you live with us again? I could train it to poop in the backyard.”

  She hides her sadness behind an overly enthusiastic smile. “I can’t promise we’ll get one, but I promise to think about it, okay?”

  Bristol nods, and after a volley of blown kisses, Rebecca ends the FaceTime call.

  “She’s right,” I say, pointing at the Wells Fargo bank statement. “You should put that on the fridge.”

  My roommate stares at the paper, her face a mixture of disbelief and pride. “I know a thousand dollars isn’t much, but I never thought I’d see that number in my savings account. I guess that’s what happens when I don’t blow it at the casino,” she jokes before shifting her attention to my laptop. “Are you buying boobs on Amazon Prime?”

  “Yup. And a bathing suit to go with them.”

  “For what?”

  “For my trip to Hawaii.” I click on an image of a nautical one-piece to confirm the top has pockets for my breast forms, then add it to my cart along with a matching cover up.

  “You went from being screwed over by the VA to going on a trip to Hawaii?”

  I nod. “It’s been a strange Tuesday.”

  “So, when are you leaving?”

  “In four days.”

  Rebecca raises an eyebrow. “Interesting. I’m aware of someone else who’s leaving for Hawaii on Saturday. Would you happen know anything about that?”

  The corners of my mouth tip up. “Maybe.”

  She shrieks and smacks the couch cushion. “Spill it!”

  “It’s not as sexy as it sounds,” I say, holding up a cautionary hand. “I’m just helping him with the summer camp.” I repeat the words in my head as a reminder that while it’s nice to fantasize, I don’t need to get carried away. This is strictly a business trip—one I likely wouldn’t be on if I wasn’t an amputee or had taken my goal sheet seriously.

  “Not as sexy, my ass. The man you have a massive crush on made an excuse to bring you to Hawaii, where there’s a one-hundred-percent chance he’ll see you wearing—” She grimaces when she looks at my shopping cart. “Why are you buying a muumuu?”

  “It’s a cover up!”

  “That covers you from your neck to your knees. And a one-piece? Really?” She shoots a playful side eye at me.

  “I don’t want to worry about my boobs falling out.”

  Rebecca commandeers my laptop and types mastectomy bikini in the search bar. “See? They do exist. And with that body, you’d be a fool to pass up a chance to make Clay’s tongue wag.”

  “I appreciate your vote of confidence, but I’m playing it safe.” I reclaim my computer and click the checkout button before she gets any ideas about adding stuff to my order.

  Clay walks into his office wearing a faded “I did it all for the cookie” t-shirt, complete with Cookie Monster wearing a red ball cap, and heads straight for the package of water bottles on top of his filing cabinet. With a twist of his wrist, he opens the lid, downs half of it, and collapses onto the chair in the corner.


  “Clients kicking your ass this morning?” I tease.

  “It’s my fault for scheduling two milestone sessions back-to-back, especially when one of them was Dustin.” I’ve never heard of a trainer turning the tables on himself, but Clay has discovered how motivating that opportunity can be. When his clients reach a milestone in the gym—be it a personal record or a breakthrough in counseling—Clay rewards them by switching roles.

  “What’d you have to do?”

  “Two hundred sit-ups for Elisa and the Murph Challenge for Dustin.”

  I wince knowing how taxing that workout can be. My amputation has prevented me from doing the prescribed one hundred pull-ups and two hundred push-ups, but I have done the remaining steps—a one-mile run, three hundred squats, and another one-mile run, all while wearing the required twenty pounds of body armor.

  “Maybe I should re-think my goal sheet. I could get on board with making you sweat.” Oh God. Heat floods my cheeks as I realize the double meaning behind my words. “Um, in the gym, not…” Clay chuckles while I stare at the floor wishing I could get a do-over for the last ten seconds of my life.

  “I’ll make you a deal. If you get through my random acts of kindness challenge, I’ll do anything you want.”

  My gaze shifts from the worn carpet to his face. I already agreed to participate, so I’m not sure why he’d offer me a milestone workout, or why he’d say he’d do anything I want. Is this him playing to the competitor in me because he thinks I’ll fail otherwise? Or does he know I have feelings for him? His eyes don’t offer any hints either way, so I clear my throat and steer the conversation back into safe territory. “Okay. What random acts you come up with, anyway?”

  Clay hops out of the chair and nudges me back so he can open his top drawer. “I wrote down the first thirty words that came to mind.” He passes me a sheet of paper from a Battles notepad and sits on the corner of his desk. The first several seem easy enough—wheels, red, and flower—but numbers ten, seventeen, and twenty-four turn my cheeks pink all over again.

  Wet, sticky, and dirty.

  What was he thinking about?

  Before I have time to speculate, he raises his brows and says, “I called the airline last night. Please tell me you don’t have any plans on Friday.”

  “Just packing, why?”

  He lets out a relieved sigh. “Thank God. They didn’t have any available seats on Saturday, and we can’t travel on Sunday because we have orientation. I sort of assumed you didn’t have anything going on and booked us on a Friday morning flight instead.” A sheepish smile plays at his lips.

  “I almost never have weekend plans. My life basically consists of working, eating junk food, and exercising.” I pause. “It sounds so sad when I say it out loud.”

  “I know how to cheer you up,” he says, voice low and eyes sparkling.

  Why yes, a strip tease would be nice right about now. “How?”

  He tips his head toward me. “Ask me where we’re sitting on Friday.”

  “Where are we sitting?”

  “First class.”

  My mouth falls open. “Are you sure? Those seats aren’t cheap.”

  “Airline points, remember? It didn’t cost me a dime.” Clay uncaps his bottle, leans back, and chugs the rest of his water as Marshall enters the office. Per usual, I’m hit with the same wave of familiarity. We’ve talked about our time in the military over the past month, but thanks to chemo brain, I’ve yet to pinpoint where I might’ve seen him before. It’s so annoying.

  “You survived!” Laughing, he claps Clay on the back and slides the empty chair to the desk, turning his attention to me. “You ready to rock and roll, Short Stuff?” Marshall set some time aside this morning to help me get our new computers up and running. The system he’s used for the last couple of years is more complicated than it needs to be, but I suppose that’s expected from someone who was never formally trained.

  “I’m just about done.” His wide-eyed expression makes me grin. “I’ve already transferred the employee profiles to the new computer and created the financial spreadsheets for Battles 2. I just need your help with a few more things.”

  “I’ll leave y’all to it.” Clay gives us a quick wave and heads for the door while I pull up the program we use for tracking our hours. I’ve just started my questions for Marshall when Clay peeks his head back in. “Hey. I’m heading out tonight to grab a few things for the trip. Want to come with me?”

  My traitorous cheeks threaten to turn crimson again, so I pretend it’s my dad at the door asking if I want to join him for a round of golf. “Sure,” I say, proud of my calm voice.

  “Great. Pick you up at six?”

  “Sounds good.” The corners of my mouth find a happy median between casually pleased and hell-yes-can-we-leave-now-instead. When Clay disappears again, I turn my attention back to Marshall, trying to focus on what he’s saying.

  Too bad it doesn’t work.

  I’m ready fifteen minutes early. With Rebecca at Bristol’s ballet recital, I pass the time by rotating between peering through the wood blinds, going pee, and checking my reflection in the mirror. Tonight, I’m leaving the house without anything covering my head, a first since I lost my hair. Forget butterflies in my stomach—these are dueling pelicans.

  I’m at the pantry shoving a granola bar into my purse when I hear Clay’s engine rumble to a stop outside. To make it look like I haven’t been stalking my window, I toss my bag on the table, scurry around the couch, and turn the TV on, then wait a slow count of eight before I answer his knock.

  “Hey,” I say, slightly breathless, my eyes raking over his body. He’s traded his gym gear for jeans and a simple dark green t-shirt—a combination I could see on any department store mannequin, none of which would turn my head like the man on my doorstep.

  “Wow. You look… wow,” he says, the ever-present smile curving even higher, chasing away the unwanted creatures flapping around my insides. “You ready?”

  “Yeah, let me grab my purse and turn off the TV.” I spin on my heels and hear him chuckling behind me. “What’s so funny?” I call over my shoulder.

  “What are you watching?”

  I glance at the entertainment center and, to my utter embarrassment, hear two characters speaking Spanish to each other. I haven’t Español’ed since my junior year of high school. The only thing I remember from that class is how to twirl a pencil between my fingers, but even that skill is useless because I don’t have that hand anymore.

  “Research for my Belize trip. I decided maybe that goal wasn’t so bad after all.”

  He smirks. “You sure about that?”

  “Of course.” With feigned smugness, I click the remote, lock the deadbolt, and follow Clay down the stairs. “The yellow car? What’s the occasion?” We reach for the handle at the same time and our fingers tangle behind the strip of metal.

  “Manners, not inability,” he says with a gentle undertone.

  “Right.” I step back to give him room to open the door, but mostly to keep my hand from touching the blond stubble covering the lower half of his face. He’s always been clean-shaven at work. This new development adds one more entry onto my reasons-my-boss-is-freaking-hot list.

  He waits until we’re both tucked inside to answer my question. “I won’t get to drive it while we’re gone, so I’m making up for it tonight.”

  “Aw, you’re going to miss Buttercup?”

  Clay turns his head, arching a brow. “Buttercup?”

  “Don’t men pick girly names for their cars?”

  He chuckles at the sweet smile I send his way. “Some do, yes. I was thinking of something more masculine though.” His fingers tap a beat against the steering wheel. “What about Bumblebee?”

  “The fuzzy thing that flies?”

  “Clearly, you’ve never seen Transformers.”

  “Big Bird?” I offer. “He’s a dude who can fly, at least in theory.”

  “Wolverine,” he counters, drawing the n
ame out for emphasis.

  I shake my head. “How about Princess Consuela Bananahammock?”

  Clay barks out a laugh. “Princess what?”

  “Clearly, you’ve never seen Friends.” We continue tossing names back and forth, each more ludicrous than the last, while picking up jump ropes, wrist bands, collapsible water bottles, and tote bags for the kids. When we’re done, I tip my head at the small mountain of shopping bags in the backseat. “How are you going to get all this to Hawaii?”

  “I’m paying for another checked suitcase. It was cheaper and quicker to do it that way.” Clay reverses out of the parking space but stops short at the end of the lot. “Want to grab a bite before I take you home?”

  Nestled in a small table near the back of Cattlemen’s Steakhouse, I tell Clay about my first and only trip to Hawaii while we wait for our food. “My sister and I were five or six, and my mom told us we were going there to bury my grandpa. All the relatives wore white the day of the funeral, which is common for Hawaiians. Apparently, that confused Kiki because when it came time to leave for the ceremony, she threw a fit and said she wouldn’t go.”

  Clay leans forward on his elbows. “Was she close with your grandpa?”

  “No, we hardly knew him. Kiki just thought we were dressed in white because everyone was marrying Grandpa and she refused to kiss a dead guy.”

  His laugh pours over the table as the waitress delivers our meals, causing her to chuckle along with us. Once my plate is in front of me, it’s all I can do to stifle my moan. We both ordered the Hawaiian chicken breast, and even though it doesn’t look like anything my mom’s ever made, it smells amazing.

  “Was it hard to re-learn stuff like that after your surgery?” Clay nods at my stump, which is holding the end of my fork upright while I cut my dinner.