Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Valentina, AKA Landry
I think I might go crazy if I stay in this town too long.
First of all, there’s no noise. Like, none.
I don’t count the chirping of birds or the occasional riding lawn mower that fires up somewhere around the neighborhood.
Seriously, the loudest thing I hear is a neighbor calling hello as they walk by on their daily lap through the neighborhood.
The only upside is that I’m sleeping better at night.
I just feel like I’m going to lose it during the daytime.
I pull another floral dress over my head and study myself in the full-length gilded mirror set up in the corner of Deuce’s guest room.
Is death by florals a thing? My hands smooth down the bodice, my head tilting to the side, taking it all in.
I feel like I might just smother and die from the flowers smiling back at me from this material.
It’s weird to wear flowers, isn’t it? It reminds me of overgrown toddlers who want some fun print of a kitty cat on their onesie.
The burner phone Bettina gave me pings from the nightstand. I rush over, hoping it’s her, telling me she’s cleared everything up already, and I can head back to my life.
It’s not Bettina.
Unknown Number: I’m going to go for a run, then head over to Rhett and Mary London’s to visit the new baby. You want to go or hole up here?
I save Deuce’s contact info and text back.
Me: I can’t listen to more birds.
Satan’s Right Hand: Okayyy. So, is that a yes?
Me: Yes, I’m coming.
I already have the dress ripped off and one leg into the shorts I brought with me, thinking I could at least still get my workouts in even if I’ve been banished to the sticks.
I toss on a sports bra, socks, and tennis shoes, and I’m thundering down the stairs before Deuce leaves me in this godforsaken house with nothing to do but count dust particles and the wallpaper panels required to cover the entire guest bedroom.
Deuce is stretching on the front porch, his lean but muscular physique on full display in a pair of black running shorts and matching tennis shoes.
Apparently he doesn’t need to wear a shirt around here when he goes on runs.
I’m sure the neighbors love that. He’s nice to look at, I’ll begrudgingly give him that.
His head pops up, startled. He pulls headphones out of his ears and stands to his full height. “What are you doing?”
My face contorts. “Do you have early dementia? You just asked me if I wanted to come along.”
Deuce huffs and shakes his head. “To see the baby, not on my run.”
I’m embarrassed I got the invitation wrong and even more embarrassed that I look so eager to spend time with him. I’m just that bored. “Afraid I’ll run faster than you?”
Deuce shoves his headphones back in his ears. “Just keep up, Valentina.”
“It’s Landry,” I remind him. He ignores me.
He takes off down the sidewalk at a fast clip and I follow, wishing I’d had a chance to stretch first too.
Not that I’ll bring it up. He runs like a goddamn deer, leaping with each stride like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
I’m no slouch either though, and I keep up with him until we hit a park almost two miles away.
He stops at the little kid’s jungle gym, barely breathing hard. He puts both hands on the tallest bar.
“You can rest while I do my strength training.”
God, he’s so condescending! Irritation creates a surge of energy that has me reaching for the shorter set of bars. “I don’t need to rest.”
Deuce shrugs and belts out two pullups before I’ve wrestled my eyes away from the ripple of muscles in his back. When I realize I’m checking him out, I punish myself with my own pullups. I get in five before I have to take a break. Pretty sure Deuce is on fifteen, but who’s counting?
I can see him side-eyeing me. His smug little smirk is annoying as fuck. He keeps going with the pullups, clearly showing off now. My gaze snags on a light pink scar just below his ribs, a perfect line, just wide enough to come from a small knife. My mouth goes dry. Is that…? Is that scar from me?
I head to the monkey bars instead of pondering if I’m the woman that marred that perfect physique and swing my legs up and over.
I tuck my feet under the parallel bar and let go with my hands.
I lower my torso until I’m upside down, held in place by my legs.
Deuce drops down from his bar, hands on hips, watching me.
I belt out at least a dozen sit-ups, my ponytail swinging.
By the time I jump down, he’s moved on to pushups right there in the bark.
Naturally, I drop down in front of him and start my own pushups.
He lifts his head and glares at me. Our pushups sync and now I can’t quit.
We hit twenty-five and I’m on the struggle bus.
My arms are trembling and my chest is on fire.
Deuce is finally breathing hard. We do five more, our pace slowing dramatically.
We finally both collapse on the next pushup, bark biting into our skin.
“I still did more…than you. Started first,” Deuce gasps as he tries to suck in enough air.
“I only quit…because I didn’t want you…to feel bad,” I gasp right back.
He doesn’t have a rebuttal, but that’s probably because we’re still trying to breathe and bring our heart rates down. After a few minutes, we stagger to our feet, eyeing each other wearily.
“Another round?” I say with forced cheer. Please God, no.
“Nah. The jog out here was a good warmup though. Let’s sprint back.”
Fuck me. Sprint? I was already sprinting on the way to the park.
Deuce takes off and I have no choice but to follow him at a pace that will surely kill me if I keep it up for more than a block or two.
He starts to pull ahead after half a mile.
Eventually, the lead stretches further. I don’t even have the breath to call him back.
My legs are two stumps of lead weight and my lungs have dipped down to hell where they’ve caught fire.
Mentally I go to my happy place, but not even that imagery can separate me from this excruciating pain.
Someone is wheezing badly. That someone is me.
A side stitch hits and I grab it with one hand, the other pumping harder to keep the same pace.
His block comes into view and if I didn’t have sweat running into my eyes, I’d cry from sheer relief.
Deuce plops down on the stairs, and a few seconds later, I drop down next to him.
We’re both breathing like we’ve run a marathon while being chased by lions.
I lie back, thinking that’ll release the side stitch, but all it does is cause a hamstring cramp.
Deuce rolls onto his stomach, still splayed across the porch steps.
“Need…water,” he manages.
I inhale, intending to answer. Nothing comes out but a wheeze.
Deuce pulls himself up the steps and makes it onto the porch.
I hear the screen door squeak and then he slithers inside the house in a broken army crawl.
I flop onto my stomach and try the same thing.
I can’t stay out here in this heat and humidity. I’ve lost too many fluids already.
By the time I make it inside and back on my feet, Deuce appears in the hallway, two bottles of water in his hands.
He holds one out to me and I crack it open and drink it down like a desperate woman.
I drain it, then screw the lid on and wipe my wrist across my lips where I’ve spilled some of the water, sheepishly looking around at the framed pictures on the wall.
Deuce holds up his own water bottle that he’s sipping from like a civilized human. “This is my second one.”
I nod, unable to look him in the eye. Why do we do this shit? Why do I feel the need to compete with this man? No one else brings out this animalistic need to one-up as if my life depends on it. It’s stupid. My brain knows it, but then there’s my mouth spouting off that I can do it better.
“Shower,” I say simply, heading in the direction of the stairs.
My legs scream in agony as I make my way up. My thighs shake like a virgin on her wedding night. My calves threaten mutiny. My only consolation is the guttural moan I hear from Deuce as he starts climbing up the stairs behind me.
“Can’t wait to meet another one of your girls!”
Deuce shuts off the car in the driveway and swivels to give me a dirty look. “Be nice, please. Mary London and Rhett are good people. They had to overcome a lot to be together, and especially with a newborn, they deserve kindness.”
I press a hand to my floral chest. “I would never be rude, assface.”
His flat expression tells me exactly what he thinks of my lie.
I hold my hands up. “Fine. I’ll be a gracious Southern belle.”
He climbs out of the car and sticks his head back in. “Maybe not that far. Just…be nice and curb the cursing, okay?”
I roll my eyes, but wait for him to come around and open my door.
I’m determined to sell our story. A girlfriend would let her boyfriend open her car door.
Deuce’s hand stays on my lower back as we walk across the porch of a very similar Victorian house.
Theirs still needs some work, but you can tell it’ll be gorgeous when it’s all done.
Deuce knocks softly on the front door. I rear my head back at his thoughtfulness about not waking the baby if she’s sleeping. I didn’t know he had it in him to be so kind.
The door clicks open and a man about our age steps back to let us in. He looks tired, but his whole face is stretched in a grin under that cowboy hat. He’s got a bundle of pink in his arms.
“Hey, Deuce. Meet little Ophelia.”
Deuce removes his hand from my back to stroke his fingers down the baby’s cheeks, cooing nonsensical words in a softly pitched voice.
I gape at his back. Is this the same man who took me on a death march this morning with zero concern for my wellbeing?
Eventually, he pulls back, clapping what must be Rhett on the shoulder.
“Congrats, man. She’s beautiful. Thankfully looks just like her mama.”