Out of the Ashes Page 20

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Presley

  I’ve never seen a man well over six feet tall, two-hundred-plus pounds of firm muscle, somehow manage to move so flawlessly. And know how to do the Cupid Shuffle. When he’d steered my back to his front, placing his lips to my ear so I could hear him over the music and whispered that he’d guide me through it, I think a tiny part of me melted into a puddle on that dance floor.

  This is how I end up with a former Navy SEAL teaching me to do the Cupid Shuffle. Even with a few missteps or the time or two when I accidentally step on his toes, he doesn’t fuss but merely grips my hips gently, redirecting me.

  By the time the song is over, transitioning to a new one, I’m out of breath from laughing. I’ve been enjoying myself so much—and when I turn to face him, the way he looks down at me, the lightness in his eyes with a hint of something indecipherable, I know one thing is certain.

  I haven’t felt this happy—this lighthearted—in years.

  Nearly the same moment I realize the new song the DJ’s playing is a slow one, Marvin Gaye’s “Let’s Get It On,” Hendy immediately snags my wrist, drawing me back to him.

  “I do believe they’re playing our song.” His mouth turns up in amusement, eyes sparkling, but everything changes the moment he pulls me closer, dipping his head to my ear. When he sings along—his lips grazing the shell of my ear—it takes all my effort to withhold the shivers.

  I’m painfully aware of the firmness of his pectorals beneath my palm. My other hand curls around part of his large bicep, allowing my fingertips to trace over the hard muscle beneath the sleeve of his polo.

  His body tenses beneath my fingers, and my breath catches at the realization he’s pressing hard against my stomach. That combined with the sexy, suggestive lyrics of the song has my nipples puckering into hardened peaks and my panties growing damp. The hands gripping my hips tighten slightly, one thumb grazing over my hipbone, and I can’t help but wonder if he feels the thin strip of my thong beneath my dress. Wonder if he feels this same awareness.

  When Hendy’s muscles suddenly stiffen beneath my touch, my eyes instantly dart up, taking in the dark expression on his face. Following the direction of his gaze, I, too, stiffen when I see him.

  Dylan.

  God, can the guy not get a freaking clue?

  Apparently not, because he approaches us, stepping away from the guys I recognize as some of his co-workers.

  “Presley.”

  Hendy releases me to step forward.

  “I’m starting to wonder if you have a memory issue.” He folds his thick, muscular arms across his broad chest, looking more imposing than usual. “I’m Hendy, former Navy SEAL.”

  “Kane Windham, Green Beret.” Kane steps up beside Hendy, adopting the same pose. All signs of his usual lighthearted and fun personality is gone, and in its place is a mask of serious intensity—one I’ve not seen before.

  Foster, who had been on the dance floor twirling his fiancée, steps up. “Foster Kavanaugh, also a former Navy SEAL.”

  “Which means, in ten thousand words or less”—Hendy leans in closer with a grin that speaks of pure intimidation, eyes cold—“we’re experienced in kicking ass.”

  Foster stares down Dylan. “Remember that dude we took care of who messed with my sister?” he asks Hendy and Kane while maintaining a hard glare on Dylan.

  “Yep.” Kane immediately answers easily. “I reckon he’s still eating soft foods. What with that jaw damage and all.”

  “And that guy who messed around on our friend Raine?” Foster prompts.

  Hendy answers quickly. “That dude still walks with a limp, hunched over.”

  Dylan pales.

  “So, the moral of the story is—” Kane starts.

  “You’ll end up the same way,” Foster adds.

  “If you come back and bother Presley.” Hendy’s the one to finish, fixing a lethally dark stare on Dylan.

  “Capisce?” Foster grits out.

  Dylan nods quickly—so quickly it appears his head’s become loose and is threatening to topple off.

  “Buh-bye now, darlin’.” Kane waves him off, and Dylan doesn’t hesitate before rushing away.

  Once he’s out of sight, the three of them exchange fist bumps, grinning smugly. I cross my arms, schooling my expression and waiting for Hendy to turn his attention back to me. Once he does, I watch as slight apprehension edges into his features, wondering if I’m upset with him. Crooking my index finger at him to come to me, he steps forward as Kane and Foster walk off to rejoin the others. Stepping closer to him, I lift on my toes to speak into his ear.

  “You need to take me home now.”

  He leans away, eyes questioning. “Right now?”

  “Right now.”

  He tips his head slightly. “Because you’re…?”

  Mad? That’s what he’s wondering. And he can’t be further from the truth.

  “Because I’m about to take advantage of you right here and now if you don’t.”

  He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and I watch as his entire face morphs into an enormous grin. Slipping a hand to the back of my head, he brings me close, angling his head to press his lips to mine in a perfunctory kiss. “Let’s say goodnight to everyone.”

  Hendy hands off what appears to be a considerable amount of money to Foster, donating extra to the cause, and it only increases my admiration for him. After saying our goodbyes and giving our well wishes to the soon-to-be wedded couple, Hendy links his fingers with mine as we walk through the other sections of the multi-room bar and head toward the exit.

  “Just so you know,” I yell to be heard over the music from the live band playing in the room we’re passing through, “I sometimes dance walk.” I add some dorky movements to each step as I walk, and Hendy laughs, totally unbothered by my ridiculousness.

  And I’m made aware, yet again, at how different Hendy is compared to Dylan. How he accepts me—my quirkiness—the way Dylan never did. The way my parents never have. The way they never will.

  On the drive back to my house, I feel an overwhelming fluttering in the pit of my stomach, and I realize exactly what’s happening. Realize that this is the moment—the moment I’ll never forget.

  It’s the moment I’ve realized I’m officially head over heels, crazy in love with Cristiano Hendrixson.

  Now all I have to do is hope he’ll love me back.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Hendy

  Two weeks later

  I’ve already had my final allotted adjustment from Presley earlier this morning, and I picked up some sushi for our lunch to celebrate. The VA will assess her feedback and go from there.

  Stopping in the doorway of her office, I watch her for a moment. She’s pulled her light brown hair back into a no-nonsense ponytail, and she has that cute little crease between her brows as she concentrates on typing something on the computer.

  “Hey, gorgeous.”

  My voice causes her to start, jumping in her chair, a hand flying to the center of her chest. “Hendy! You scared me.” Her eyes dart to the screen before returning to me.

  “I noticed.” Giving her an odd look, I ask, “You okay?”

  Letting out a long sigh, she nods. “Yes, today’s schedule’s been so heavy with patients and people who aren’t feeling well or tweaked something in their necks.” Rising from her chair, she gives me a weak-looking smile. “Glad to see you, though.”

  I close the distance, my hand sliding to the nape of her neck and tugging her in for a kiss. When she sighs against my mouth, I tug gently on her bottom lip. “Too bad we can’t eat lunch and then have a dessert of our own,” I whisper against her mouth.

  “Presley.” Lucia’s voice trailing down the hallway has us drawing apart. She appears in the doorway, flashing an apologetic look. “My newest client is interested in becoming a new patient, and Clara gave her the info packet, but if you have a moment, she had a quick question for you before she leaves?”

/>   Presley’s eyes dart to mine. “I’ll be super quick. Promise.”

  “No problem.” I give her a quick wink, and she heads off down the hall with Lucia.

  Setting down the bag of takeout on her desk table, I turn to get Presley’s large thermos of water from the far corner of her desk where she’d been working moments earlier. Reaching for it, I freeze as soon as I see what’s on the screen.

  Cristiano Hendrixson has experienced much relief through regular chiropractic adjustments, and aligning his spine has greatly affected his overall health. His mood has improved, and full mobility has returned. My main concern with this patient is not necessarily from a physical standpoint but one which is emotional and psychological.

  Mr. Hendrixson does his best to hide his scars from others, especially the more severe ones located on the left side of his face.

  My suggestions would be to have the patient undergo more intensive therapy sessions with a psychiatrist to assist him in fully moving past the “new” version of himself and

  “Phew! Sorry it took me so—”

  A feeling of betrayal rushes through my veins as I slowly meet her eyes. That feeling only gets worse when I witness her guilt. Her gaze darts back and forth between me and the computer screen while various emotions flit across her face before she steps toward me.

  “Hendy, it—”

  “Don’t.” I wave a hand, gesturing to the glowing screen of her computer. “You’ve said enough here.” Stepping around her to head to the door, I feel the walls closing in on me and want to escape this damn office—to escape her—but the feel of her palm on my forearm stops me.

  “Please don’t be like this. You know I’m required to assess you in all areas and—”

  I whip around to face her, my tone steely, lethally quiet. “And you what? Didn’t think it would make any difference to mention that to me? That you”—I break off, nodding back toward her computer—“think that?”

  “I have told you!” She tosses up her hands, frustration etching her features. “I told you from the start that this would be tricky. And you promised to understand. To understand I have to maintain professional standards. That I—”

  “You sure maintained those well when you were sucking my dick.”

  The words fly out of my mouth before I can even register the devastating impact of them. Watching her head snap back as if I’d slapped her is proof of the effect of my words. But hurt and pride prevent me from apologizing.

  The hurt vanishes from Presley’s face as anger comes to the forefront, her lips pressing firm into a thin line as she advances on me. Poking her index finger on my chest in sharp jabs, she punctuates her words. I swear I feel each one deep within me, creating a brutally painful ache in my chest.

  “You.” Jab. “You hide from everyone!” Jab, jab, jab. “You hide from me!” She backs away, waving her hands and gesturing wildly. “You think I don’t pick up on the fact that you turn your face away from me? Even after I’ve told you I think you’re”—her voice cracks, and she looks away—“perfect the way you are.”

  Staring at the wall, her expression is so desolate it makes my chest feel impossibly tight. “I’ve told you so many times that I see you.” Her head turns, and the moment her eyes meet mine, I feel like I’ve just been sucker punched as her eyes pin me with an impenetrable stare. “I’ve told you that I see you. I’ve begged you to let me see you—”

  “And I did. I’ve taken my hat off—”

  “You don’t get it!” she cries out. Pain lines her features before she lets out a long, sad sigh, and shakes her head. “You just don’t get it.”

  Stepping forward, she lays a palm on the center of my chest while her eyes avoid mine. Instead, her eyes focus on where she’s touching me, where I can feel the heat of her hand beneath my shirt. She swallows hard before she speaks. “I fell in love with the man beneath all this.” Her gaze rises, meeting mine, and they’re glistening with unshed tears. “With the man who made me laugh, made me realize what had been missing from my life all along.”

  Slowly, she lets her hand drop, taking a resigned step back.

  “But if you don’t find a way to love the man you are now—to love yourself the way you are—then you’ll never be able to truly love in return. And let’s be honest here”—Presley lets out a humorless laugh that sounds more brittle than anything—“if I learned anything from my relationship with Dylan, it’s that I deserve more.”

  She takes the few steps it takes to make it to the doorway, and though I refuse to track her movements with my eyes, I feel her stop at the threshold.

  “You deserve better, too, you know. Even if it’s not me.”

  With those softly spoken words, she disappears down the hallway.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Presley

  “Cucumbers are muy bueno.” I hear a loud crunch from Lucia as she takes a bite out of a slice. “Not only for your swollen eyes but for your health.”

  “Why do I not have a partner?” I groan. “I need a partner. Then I would be able to shove my patients onto them on a day like today.”

  Lucia, upon seeing my face with tears trailing down my cheeks after I left Hendy in my office, hustled me straight into one of her massage rooms and told me to lie on the table. After ensuring she’d locked up after him, she placed some cucumber slices on my eyes and massaged my arms and upper neck.

  She’s also cussed up a storm in Spanish. And I’m pretty sure she called Hendy some bad names.

  Once she’s done her best to relax my muscles, attempting to ease the tension, I hear her take a seat in the chair in the corner as the lull of the relaxing music plays softly in the background.

  “Want to discuss it now or later?”

  “Definitely later,” I mumble. “I need to keep it together for the next round of patients.” Thank goodness my schedule is packed solid for the next three hours. That will at least help pass the time quickly. Never have I been so glad it is Friday.

  “Then I’m coming over tonight. And I’ll bring extra cucumbers.”

  Rising to a sitting position and catching the cucumber slices as they slide off my eyes, I offer a weak smile. “Deal.”

  * * *

  “So, what are you going to do?”

  Shrugging, I pull my knees up, wrapping my arms around them, my eyes downcast. “Not much I can do. I mean he’s stuck.” My sigh is heavy. “He’s still hung up on his looks and can’t seem to move past it. And if I can’t help him with that, if I can’t make him realize his looks aren’t what matters…” I trail off when a knock sounds on the door.

  My eyes fly to Lucia’s in alarm, who instantly rises from her seat to stalk over, rigid spine proving she’s ready to take on whoever is at the door. Oddly enough, when she looks through the peephole, her shoulders deflate a bit.

  Opening it slightly, she speaks with a sharp tone. “What do you want?”

  Expecting it to be Hendy, I’m caught off guard at the sound of Kane’s familiar thick, Southern drawl. “Now, darlin’. Is that any way to greet a gentleman who’s come bearing gifts?” I hear the familiar crinkling sound of plastic bags.

  “Presley?” Lucia calls out in question.

  “Come on in,” I answer with a sigh.

  I hear their hushed voices before Lucia reenters with Kane’s broad form following shortly behind her. And I certainly don’t miss the way his eyes canvass her form in appraisal.

  Setting the bags on the kitchen counter, I watch as he pulls out two bottles of wine and holds them up in offering. “Chardonnay or Merlot?”

  “Chardonnay, please.”

  Snuggling into my soft chenille blanket on the couch, I watch as he and Lucia work together, her showing him where the wine key and glasses are located. Once Kane pours the two glasses of wine, Lucia brings them over to set them carefully on coasters on the coffee table nearby where I’m seated. Kane then slides three large containers from the other bag, and I recognize the takeout packages from The Circle.

&
nbsp; “Here’s some shrimp and pasta.” He holds up one container. “And these two are large spinach and cheese calzones.” Setting them on the table alongside the wine with a bunch of napkins, he winks at me. “You, obviously, get first choice, darlin’.”

  Choosing the pasta with shrimp, I move the container closer and remove the lid. “Word travels fast, huh?” Lucia hands me a fork, and I concentrate on digging into my dinner, absolutely famished since I’d lost my appetite earlier and didn’t eat the lunch Hendy brought.

  “And by word, if you mean this Colombian morsel of gorgeousness calling me, then yes.”

  My head whips up to stare at him before turning my eyes to Lucia who appears to be far too enthralled with her calzone. Returning my gaze to rest on Kane, I raise my eyebrows. “She called you?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” There’s no mistaking the male pride, his chest puffing out ever so slightly. Lowering his voice conspiratorially, even though Lucia is sitting right beside us, he winks. “Thought it was time to call in the big guns.”

  Shaking my head with a tiny laugh, I stab a piece of shrimp with my fork and freeze at his next words.

  “That’s more like it. We need to see those pearly whites.” There’s a pause. “Plus, now that he’s out of the picture, I get the two most beautiful ladies in Fernandina to myself.”

  “Ay, Dios mío,” Lucia mutters, but there’s no heat behind it.

  “One thing’s for certain, though.” Kane’s unusually serious tone, devoid of his normal use of darlin’ and heavy Southern charm, draws both my and Lucia’s attention. “You’re the best damn thing to happen to him, Presley. If he doesn’t—can’t—see that, then it’s his loss.”

  Nodding slowly, I fiddle with my fork, staring down at my dinner, my voice sounding small, hollow. “If only I could somehow believe that it’s Hendy’s loss.”

  Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I watch as a lone tear drops onto one of my shrimp, my vision blurring. “Because when he left me today, it felt like he took a part of me with him.”