Unexpected Entanglement (Echo #3)

17. Chapter 17

seventeen

Chris’ phone rang.

He sighed, hoping it wasn’t Rae again. Their earlier phone call had gone longer than he’d expected since Rae had demanded an explanation for his “good” news.

He shouldn’t be getting a kick out of this, but the situation was so ridiculous that he somehow had to find humor in it. He’d avoided long-term relationships for years because he hadn’t found the right partner. But it took Rowan less than two days to hook him into an engagement.

Chris checked his phone and saw “Dad” on the screen. George Sullens must have psychic power.

Would he be happy to hear I’m engaged? Chris mused as he answered the phone. He had to think hard to recall the last time his father had called him himself instead of having his assistant make the call.

“Father. Didn’t know you knew how to use your cellphone,” Chris said.

“Don’t be silly. I can press a button. It’s the typing messages thing I don’t get,” George Sullens replied.

“It’s called texting, Dad.” Chris gave a short laugh.

Ignoring him, George went straight to why he called, “When will you be home?”

Chris hadn’t considered their family’s Cape Cod house his home for a long time, but his father said home as if the house was still filled with their mother’s laughter and his grandparents’ chatter. His father himself wasn’t in residence very often. He spent most of the year in his apartment in the Boston Sullens .

“I won’t make it this weekend. I got held up,” Chris answered.

“Held up where?” George asked. “We have this weekend on the calendar for a year, Christopher.”

“I’m sorry, but don’t let me hold you if you need to go back to the city,” Chris said.

“I’m staying here for a while.”

“And bother Rosemary?” Chris questioned. “I hope you’re being nice to her, Dad.”

Rosemary was their long-time housekeeper who took care of everything around the house. Rosemary’s late husband had been their property caretaker. When Chris’ mother had passed away, the two had given him the care he’d needed when his father had been drowning in his grief.

“Rosemary likes having me around. We old people must keep each other’s company since you won’t visit.”

Rosemary had often told Chris when he was in residence that the house was too quiet since his mother had died. He agreed. Perhaps that was why he and his father had spent less and less time there over the years.

“Old? Rosemary is barely sixty. And you won’t turn sixty-five until July,” Chris pointed out.

“When you’re sixty, tell me if you don’t feel old,” George said.

Chris was pushing thirty-seven, and he’d already started feeling the fatigue of nonstop international work.

“How are your resorts doing?” George suddenly asked.

Chris knew that George Sullens had all the information about his resorts. But that he asked about them was shocking to Chris.

“They’re doing well. Thanks for asking, Dad,” Chris answered.

“I’d like to hear more about them when you come home,” George said.

Chris’ eyebrows rose in suspicion. “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“You hardly ever showed an interest in my projects in the past decade. Suddenly, you want to know about my resorts?” Chris pointed out the weirdness.

“Is it so wrong for a father to want to know what my son has been doing with his life?” George’s voice went high in incredulity.

Chris scoffed. “You told me, and I quote, ‘Unless it’s about The Sullens or when you finally decide to be a part of The Sullens again, we have nothing to discuss.’ ”

“Is it so wrong for a father to want his son to continue on the thing he has built, what his grandfather had started?” George demanded. “Especially now that you’ve shown me what you're capable of.”

“Here we go again.” Chris looked to the sky.

“Don’t you think it’s time for you to come home, son?” George asked.

A humorless laugh escaped Chris’ lips. “Now you ask me that, Dad? You never wanted me home. Not after she’s gone.”

There was a dead silence on his father’s side. This time, when his dad said “home,” Chris knew he’d meant The Sullens Hotels. But home meant more than a company or a house to Chris. And the real meaning of home had gone at the same time his mother had been taken from them.

“Son, I…” his father started again.

“I’m tied up until at least next weekend, Dad,” Chris cut it short. “I’ll try to get there after that if it’s all the same to you.”

Chris was expecting a fight from his father. George Sullens usually got what he wanted when he wanted. Chris was the only person who didn’t dance to his fiddle. But this time, his father just sighed.

“I’ll be here,” George said and hung up.

Chris let out a big exhale himself. Why did he get so worked up whenever he talked to his dad?

He looked out toward the cove and knew precisely what he needed. Jumping into a cart, he drove toward the cottages. He parked and made a beeline for the water as he pulled his T-shirt off and tossed it onto the pebbly beach. His shoes and socks followed.

Chris didn’t have to test the water. He knew New England water wasn’t for the faint of heart, even in the summer. He eyed an area deep enough and dove in. The chilly water shocked his system—exactly what he needed.

He swam under the clear water for a few strokes before coming for air. He gasped a lungful of breath before swimming along the curve of the beach. With each stroke and breath, he felt himself calming down. He wasn’t an easy man to rile up, but George Sullens had the golden touch. He just had to say anything, and it’d trigger Chris .

Does that make it his or my problem? Chris pondered as he swam back to where he’d started. He walked out of the water at the shallow side, ran his hands over his wet hair.

Thank goodness for a sunny day. The warm rays felt good on his chilled skin. But he wasn’t done. The initial cold jump helped him control his sudden anger, but he had two decades of frustration to release.

Chris looked around the beach for things he could use to exercise. Most times and in most places, it was easy for him to find alternative tools to use for his calisthenic workout. He didn’t need any equipment to keep up with his squats, push-ups, handstands, and other bodyweight exercises.

He found a couple of large smooth stones and placed them firmly on the sandy part of the beach. They made good makeshift bricks he could grip on now that he felt limber.

After testing the firmness of their placement, Chris grabbed the stones and focused on using his arms and core muscles to hold his weight in the air in a sitting position with his legs straight out. He felt his core burning as he held the position, but he kept himself steady.

With control, he folded his legs at the knees toward his chest and slowly dipped his torso forward to bring his legs under, then behind his arms. He paused at a frog stand where his folded knees rested on his triceps above the elbows.

He straightened the legs behind him in a straight line while he pushed halfway down on his arms. Sweat covered his skin, and every muscle in his body screamed, but it was a good scream. It felt good to control his body this way and simultaneously train his mind not to give up when things get tough.

He was halfway up to a full handstand when a loud crack and a yelp came from somewhere around the cottages behind him.

“Son of a bitch!” someone yelled in pain.

What the fuck just happened?

Rowan felt the hard ground under her. The thick grass didn’t soften a fall much when you fell from a few feet up. Her back definitely felt it. She pushed herself up with her hands, and a pain shot up her left leg.

“Fuck!” she groaned.

“Rowan! Are you okay?” Chris came running toward her only in damp shorts and skin.

Shit, here comes trouble.

Now, Rowan remembered what had happened a few seconds ago. And it was all Chris Sullens’ fault.

He dropped to his knees next to her. “What happened?”

You happened! Rowan couldn’t help but shoot daggers at him.

She’d just come out from Honeymoon Cottage No. 2 when she’d spotted Chris on the beach in front of the cottages. From her higher vantage point on the porch, she’d seen him doing unbelievably controlled movements with his body. She admitted she’d been gawking at him and those working muscles on display. Jeezus, who knew mister smiley was that ripped.

And while her eyes had been on him, she’d stepped off the porch and, in the next second, found herself on the ground.

Rowan scanned the porch and the few steps she would’ve stepped on and saw the hole. She pointed. “My foot went through that.”

Chris’ gaze followed her direction. He stood up and walked over to inspect the hole closer.

“What the hell?” he muttered.

“Oww…” Rowan moaned. The pain seemed to concentrate around her ankle, but it radiated up to the rest of her leg.

Chris turned back and kneeled by her foot. “Easy now. Let me check it.”

Carefully, he pulled her boot and sock off and cradled her foot in his hand. He barely touched her ankle when Rowan swore through gritted teeth.

“That hurts?” he asked.

“Like a bitch!”

“I think you sprained your ankle. We should take you to a doctor.”

Rowan shook her head. “No, I can just ice it.”

“You might’ve torn a muscle or something, then you’ll have a worse problem if that’s not handled properly.”

“You’ve had a lot of experienced with sprained ankles?” she retorted .

Chris gently touched the ankle, and it looked like it was swelling. “Not ankles, but I’ve torn a muscle or two exercising. Let me tell you, it wasn’t fun.”

“I bet it wasn’t,” she muttered under her breath.

Chris put her foot down slowly and stood up. “Be right back.”

He ran back to where he’d come from and returned in less than two minutes with his T-shirt and shoes back on, to Rowan’s disappointment.

“Can you stand? Don’t put weight on that leg.” Chris crouched next to her and put her arm around his shoulders. But their discrepancy in heights made Chris stoop to her level as she held on to him to stand.

“Don’t bite my head off,” Chris suddenly warned and scooped her up in his arms.

“What are you doing?” Rowan yelped. “Put me down. I can walk by myself.”

“You can barely stand.” He started toward the cart he’d driven because hers was on the other side of the cottages. He ignored her protest, deposited her on the seat, and went to the driver’s side.

“You know what we could use right now? Walkie-talkies,” Chris suggested.

Rowan, grimacing in pain, nodded. “I thought about it, actually. But we all have cellphones.”

“With spotty signals.” Chris drove straight to the main house, carefully avoiding bumps that would jostle Rowan’s leg.

“God dammit. My phone!” Rowan tapped the back of her shorts. “It must’ve fallen out of my pocket.”

Chris scanned her person, and his gaze lingered on her snug jean shorts for a few seconds. “You could fit a phone in those?” he asked fleetingly. “We’ll send someone to get your phone. Mine’s in the box. Call Alex and tell her to bring out the key to your truck.”

“I’m not going to the doctor. Ice and elevation, that’s all I need,” Rowan stubbornly argued.

“Do you really want to risk it? We have a week before the wedding party arrives. If your ankle isn’t a simple sprain and worsens over time, you’ll be out of commission. And then I have to deal with everything,” Chris said.

“You’ll probably do better than me,” Rowan admitted grudgingly .

“Don’t say that. This place is you, Ro. I don’t have a connection to it like you do. We’ll still need you.”

Rowan didn’t understand why a few firm words from this man could soothe her ruffled disposition. After losing faith in some people she thought she could trust, one would think she’d be more careful.

Chris had made her life easier in the short two days since he’d been there. Except for that first night, she could breathe easier since Chris had moved in. He knew what he could do without her having to ask. He created an easygoing environment for the staff to learn and work together instead of them having to absorb her constant state of stress. And he could calm her down with a slight touch. But it didn’t mean he could make her do what she didn’t want.

“Instead of getting mad at me for taking you to the doctor, why don’t you channel your anger at whoever is sabotaging this place,” Chris said.

Whatever words she had ready at the tip of her tongue vanished. She stared at him.

What the hell is he talking about?

“You didn’t think that step breaking right in the middle is suspicious?” Chris frowned at her as if the answer should be obvious.

“No, I didn’t think that.” Rowan waved at her ankle. “I was a bit preoccupied. Still am, by the way.”

Chris glanced at her ankle that had ballooned and pressed harder on the accelerator. Did he think the cart could suddenly go beyond 16.5 mph?

“We’ll talk about that later,” he said. “Let’s get you checked out first.”

“I’m fine,” Rowan insisted. “Why do you think someone is out sabotaging us?”

They were approaching the main house, and he gunned it at full speed to the parking area and stepped on the brake at the last second, jerking it to a stop.

“Jeezus!” Rowan lost her grip on the cart’s frame and flew forward, but a muscular arm stretched out in front of her chest, preventing her from hitting the windshield, and it rested on top of her heaving breasts .

“Sorry.” Chris retracted his arm as quickly as he’d extended it. The next second, he ran toward the house, calling out, “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

“I’m fine, for god’s sake!” Rowan yelled back in frustration, but he was halfway to the porch.

Grumbling at his insistence on taking her to the doctor, Rowan started getting out of the cart and shrieked in pain when she moved her foot.

Damn it! I don’t need this. I’ve never sprained anything in my life. It has to be this week?

Rowan examined the swelling ankle and prayed it was just a sprain. And that some ibuprofen, ice, and elevation would reduce the inflammation.

What a week of injuries. Rowan turned her palm up and studied the healing gash she’d had yesterday. It didn’t bother her much anymore, but it made working with tools difficult. And now this?

What are the odds? Rowan wondered as Chris’ earlier word rang in her head: sabotage. What would cause that break? Everything about the cottages was new. There was no rotting wood; everything was weather-treated to the max. Nothing should break, yet this wasn’t even the first incident.

“Got the key.” Chris rushed back to her and handed her a bag of ice.

He was about to scoop her back into his arms, but Rowan quickly stopped him. “I can get up on my own.”

She pulled herself up by holding on to the cart and kept the injured foot off the ground. She stood unsteadily on the right leg as she gauged the distance to her truck.

“Put your arm around my waist,” Chris suggested and scooted closer to her.

Reluctantly, Rowan did as he said while he put an arm around her back, supporting her under her other arm as she hobbled to the truck.

“It’d be easier if you’d just let me carry you,” he said.

“I’m not a baby.”

“There’s nothing wrong with accepting help, y’know.” His voice was gentle.

“You’ve done enough already. You don’t need to be my personal caretaker, too,” Rowan replied without her earlier annoyance. “This is embarrassing enough. ”

Chris opened the passenger door and assisted her into the seat.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed,” he added with a grin. “You are my fiancée.”

Rowan’s lips lifted at one corner in a reluctant smile. “Right. We probably should discuss some ground rules about that.”

“Probably. One second.” He took his phone and called Alex. “Hey, you’re in the barn? Rowan twisted her ankle. I’m gonna take her to urgent care. Can you—”

Rowan could hear Alex’s voice cutting off Chris, asking if she was okay and what had happened.

“I’m fine,” she shouted for the third time so her friend could hear her. “But our resident doctor here insists I see an actual doctor.”

Ignoring her, Chris continued, “You can handle today’s training, yeah?” After a beat, he added, “We’ll fill you in later.”

He hung up, went around the hood, and got in the truck. “Boy, that friend of yours is relentless.”

“Kinda has to be as a female chef,” Rowan off-handedly said as she struggled to put the ice on her ankle.

“Here.” Chris grabbed her left leg by the calf and pivoted it toward him over the bench seat.

His innocent touch sent a straight zap to her loin, and Rowan’s voice turned squeaky. “What are you doing?”

He laid the ankle over his firm right thigh before gently spreading the bag of ice over it. “You ask that a lot. Have a little faith.”

Sure. Though the ice helped numb the feelings on her ankle, it didn’t cool the heat pooling inside her.