Chapter 18
EMBER
I 'm cranky, sweaty, tired, sore, hungry, and sick of…well, everything. Connie, my physical therapist, worked me to the bone today—I'm still having balance issues, and now that my cast is off, I have to rehab the atrophied muscles in my leg. Fine motor skills—like holding a pencil, buttoning a shirt, tying shoelaces…they’re all harder than they should be.
Fucking racoon.
Fucking Amy whatever the fuck her last name is.
And fuck my dumbass for making the decision to drive when I knew damn well I was in no state to be behind the wheel. PSA, kids: driving while hysterical is just as dangerous as driving while drunk or texting.
I glare at Connie as she wipes the equipment down. "I hate you, you know."
She just grins at me, taking my ire in stride, as usual. "Honey, that's fine. Hate me all you want—my job ain't to make you like me, it's to get you mobile again. And you're almost there."
Connie is fantastic. She's a six-foot-tall Black woman with waist-length micro-braids shot through with pink and purple streaks that remind me of Faye. She has multiple degrees and more certifications than I can list, a wicked sense of humor, and a way of getting that last bit of effort out of me even when I'm at my worst. Which I am, today.
I love Connie.
I also love to hate Connie.
Today is the latter.
"I thought we were friends," I tell her.
"We're friends until your session starts and we're friends when it's over," she says. "During your session, I'm not your friend—I'm the taskmaster who's gonna whip your ass into the best shape of your life."
She's doing exactly that. Apparently, rehabbing my leg, lungs, ribs, and motor skills means working me like I'm training for the Olympics. I lift weights. I cycle on those medieval torture devices where you pull the handles and pump the pedals at the same time. I do burpees—fuck burpees, by the way. I do a lot of single leg work, balancing, lifting while balancing, and standing on one leg while holding a weight overhead. I swim. I jog. I blow into a machine to test my lung capacity. Run while connected to a bunch of shit to test my VO2 Max.
All that is three days a week. I also have speech therapy to help me stop flipping words around or smooshing them together. I have PT focused on my fine motor skills. I have talk therapy to help me past my freight train of emotional baggage—that was my idea, though.
And through it all, Felix has been my rock.
He drives me to all my appointments and picks me up. Takes me to ice cream after and listens to me bitch. He takes me to The Alt so I can hang out with the girls—Lainey and Layla, and sometimes Noelle and Raina—and do homework and study.
MSU, apparently, has a satellite campus in Three Rivers that operates out of the community college; I transferred my handful of credits and now I'm finishing my degree through them. Which means Felix is also taking me to school and picking me up twice a week.
We've established a kind of detente of sorts—we're more very good friends than anything, at the moment. Albeit friends who hold hands and occasionally share a kiss. It's been hard, if I'm being honest. I see him doing so many things for me—he cooks or brings food home most nights, drives me everywhere, and until I got my cast off, carried things for me, opened doors…and he never complains about any of it. Never acts like he's sick of doing it. Never asks for anything in return. He respects my space and privacy, my determination to fix my body, emotions.
But I live with him. I hear him shower. He walks around in nothing but a pair of shorts. We sit together and watch TV at night, and more often than not, my head ends up on his chest and his arm around me.
Basically, he's doing all the work of taking care of me, supporting me, and being there for me in every possible way—like a very needy live-in girlfriend—without the benefit of sex.
Like a friends-with-benefits situation in reverse: all the commitment, none of the fun.
"You're spacin' out over there, honey," Connie says. "Back to earth, now. Your man’s gonna be here any minute."
"He's not my man," I argue.
Connie tosses the antibacterial wipe into a trash can and levels me an incredulous head tilt/stare of disbelief. "Not—? Ohhh, lordy, help me. Not your man ?" She turns away, shaking her head in disgust. "Not your man. Child, I thought you were smart."
I frown at her. "Excuse me?"
"Yes, ex cuse you. That man has gone so far above and beyond, taking care of you. He brings you to every appointment, and you have to shoo him away or he'd be here holding you up instead of letting you do the work. He packs you a lunch for your classes. He cooks for you. He did your laundry—including folding your unmentionables. Honey, I've been married for fifteen years, and I can't get my man to switch the damn laundry, never mind fold my panties. 'Too slinky,' he says." She pokes the air in front of my face. "That man is head over heels in love with you. If you're tellin' me you've got his fine ass in the friend-zone, I might have to go old school on your ass and smack the stupid right outta you."
Defensiveness seethes through me. "He's not in the friend zone. Felix and I talked about this when I first moved in with him. I need time to focus on…" I waved a hand at the PT facility. "All this."
"He's runnin' a company and seeing to your every need." She leans closer. "Please tell me you're at least helping the poor man out once in a while. If you know what I mean. Givin' him a little somethin'-somethin'."
"That would defeat the purpose, Connie," I say, hearing myself snap and hating it, even as I fail to stop it. "I care about him. I'm doing this for him . I recognize how much he's doing for me, trust me. I just…I need to feel whole before I can put myself into a serious relationship."
Connie shakes her head. "All that may have been true at one point, but I think now you're keeping him at arm's length for a different reason. I see the way he looks at you—like the sun rises and sets with you. When will you be whole? How will you know? When will you be ready to take that chance? How long is he supposed to wait?"
"It's been eight weeks, Connie, not eight months or eight years."
"When you're living in his house, being driven around, cooked for, provided for, and taken care of like a queen, eight weeks is an eternity to live with unrequited love."
"It's not unrequited!" I snap. "I requite it."
"Oh yeah?" she asks, doing the head tilt again. "Does he know that?"
"I thank him all the time."
"That's just manners."
"So I should thank him sexually—is that what you're saying?"
"It's not about sex, Ember. And it sure as hell ain’t transactional, so don’t gimme that shit, either.” She gets close and holds my gaze. "It's about opening up to him. Letting him in. Giving back to him."
I turn away, angry and guilty. "It's not that fucking easy."
"You needed time. I get that, and I'm sure he does, too. I know he does, actually—because he's given it to you." She moves around in front of me. "This is me as your friend, honey. There's no good time. It's never gonna get easier or less scary. You gotta just…jump."
"I'm starting my life over, Connie," I whisper. "This is the longest I've ever been any where in my whole life. I…I have friends. I'm going to school—in a building, for the first time ever. I'm relearning…it feels like everything. Everything is different. It's scary. It's taking everything I've got to not run away. You know how many times I've woken up in the middle of the night wanting to get into Pumpkin and just drive away? Go back to the life I knew? But I haven't. I’m still here. And that is me trying."
"Alright, alright, I hear you." She pats my cheek. "I just wonder if maybe he needs to hear all that."
She's right. God, she's so right.
Someone calls Connie's name. She gives me a quick hug. "I gotta go, boo. I’ll see you Friday for our last session. But you think about what I said. Maybe it's time for you to take things to the next step with Felix."
"Wait—last session?"
She grins. "Yeah, baby, you're done!" And with that, she's gone, her track pants zip-zip-zipping as she hustles to greet her next victim—I mean, client.
Great. Now I'm cranky, sweaty, tired, sore, hungry… and feeling guilty.
I snag a towel from my bag, top my water bottle off at the filling station, and exit the facility, dabbing at my face as I wait for Fee.
He's as punctual as ever, and this time his truck is dripping wet from the car wash, the gold paint sparkling. When I climb in—on my own, because I told him last week I needed to start doing it on my own—the interior has been vacuumed and detailed.
"Wow," I tell him. "Truck looks great!"
He grins, shrugging. "Gotta clean 'er up once in a while." He pulls away from the building and turns onto the street, heading for The Alt, where I'm meeting Noelle and Raina for lunch. “How was your session?"
I sigh a laugh. "Oh, y'know, brutal as usual. Single leg deadlifts, pistol squats, curtsy lunges."
"Last session on Friday."
"I know! Connie just said that. I'd forgotten. It feels…weird. Like, what do I do with myself without P-T three days a week?"
"Whatever you want?" he suggests. "Sleep in. Get a job. Go on a road trip."
"Felix, do you resent me?" The question pops out before I even realize I was thinking it.
His frown is one of utter perplexity. "What? Resent you? Why the fuck would I resent you?"
"Or…feel taken advantage of is maybe a better way to put it."
He squeezes my knee, smiling at me reassuringly. "No, Ember. I do not resent you or feel taken advantage of. Why do you ask?"
"I…" I have no idea how to answer that.
He searches my face as we sit at a light. "Is this about…us?"
It's the closest we've come to addressing the status of our relationship since I came home from the hospital.
I nod. "Yeah."
He shifts into first and then second. "I don’t expect anything. My feelings haven’t changed—if anything, they've grown. But until and unless you're ready, I'll keep my distance. Keep the status quo. Ball’s in your court, sweetheart.”
"But you've done so much for me," I protest. "Too much."
He doesn't answer for a bit, thinking. "Do you think if it was Riley, or Cole, or Nyx that was in your situation, I'd do anything different?"
That stings. "I…I guess not." I duck my head.
“You've become one of my best friends. I'd do anything for you, Ember."
"So…friends, then." I know how petulant I sound, and how stupid it is since I chose this.
He shifts gears, then adjusts the dirty, battered ball cap on his head. "You asked me to wait for you, Em. I am and I will. But I…I have to put you somewhere…In my head, or my heart, or whatever. I have very strong feelings for you and I'm doing my fucking best to keep that shit to myself and just be your friend, because I can't live in a quasi-not-really-but-sort-of state with you. Maybe I'm just not strong enough. I don't know." He glances at me, and his gaze is a little distant. "I don’t resent you. I don't feel taken advantage of. Everything I've done for you, I've done because I luh—" his teeth click together. "I care about you as a human being, and as my friend. If there's ever gonna be anything else, it's gonna happen on your time, in your way. You know how I feel, and I'm not gonna push that on you when you made it very clear you're not ready."
"Fee," I whisper.
He shakes his head, tugging the curved brim of his ball cap lower. "Don’t do that."
"Do what?"
"That sad, hurt whisper. The way you say my name when you don't know what to say." He pulls into the parking lot of The Alt and into the handicapped spot nearest the door, leaving it in gear, idling. "I'll wait as long as you need. But you can't ask me for emotional vulnerability too. It's too hard. Too complicated. So yeah. Friends. And no, throwing sex into the mix is not the answer. That would just confuse me more, because I can't—I wouldn't be able to separate my feelings from the sex."
I nod, hoping my stupid, irrational, selfish hurt doesn’t show. "I understand." I push open the door and slide to the ground, landing easily and without pain or wobbly balance.
He tips his head back, groaning. "Em, wait."
I look at him—he's grown his beard out and it suits him. His hair is longer and shaggier than ever, almost long enough that he could pull it back. The beard, though. Hot, rugged, manly…woof. I bet it would scratch and tickle when he went down on me—
I squash that thought. Or at least bank it for later.
I wait for his reply, and it's a long moment coming.
His glacier-blue eyes are piercing and intense. "I'm just trying to give you what you asked for."
"I know," I whisper. "Haven't you ever gotten what you wanted, only to realize it's not what you thought it'd be?"
He sighs, scraping the hat off to scratch at his scalp before settling the hat back on one-handed. "If you want things to be different, Ember, they can. In a heartbeat. Right the fuck now." He grips the shifter, his gaze intense. "Just…be sure. Okay? I'm hanging on by a thread, and I couldn't go back if we—if you…I just couldn't go back."
"Felix, I…"
His phone rings. "I gotta go. Call if you need anything."
"Okay. I'll see you later, Fee." I step back, but don't close the door yet.
He stares at me for a moment, and then closes his eyes, shakes his head, and then opens them and stabs the answer button. "See you, Em," he says to me, then puts the phone to his ear and shifts into reverse. "Hey, Bear. Brennan show up yet? No? For real? Fuck. Alright, I'll swing by his place and see what's up. He's never even been late, let alone a no-call-no-show."
I shut the door, and he immediately reverses out of the spot and is gone in a cloud of diesel fumes. Heart aching, eyes burning, body, heart, and brain giving me wildly mixed signals, I head inside to find Noelle and Raina waiting for me at a four-top.
"Hey, girl!" Noelle says, all sunshine and eager joy. She shoots to her feet and hugs me as I approach the table. "Did Connie break you?"
"Nearly," I mumble.
Raina—Noelle's friend, and now mine—rises as well and embraces me. Raina is a couple inches taller than me and similarly built, with long, thick black hair and brown skin. She's funny in a dry, reserved way, and far more conservative than I am, having come from a very traditional Iranian family. She moved up here a few years ago to forge her own path, and is now a dental hygienist at Three Rivers' best dental office. I adore her.
She's also very perceptive. "What's wrong?"
Lainey sweeps over, wearing an ankle-length floral skirt and a tight white tank top, her short hair held back by a headband with a big bow. On anyone else, it'd look sorta silly, but she pulls the giant bow off, somehow.
"Here ya go, Sparky." She sets my usual order on the table—chicken pesto sandwich and a small Greek salad. "Last sesh on Friday, right? Bet you're ready to be done with that."
I cock an eyebrow at her. "Sparky?"
She shrugs, giggling. "I dunno. Ember? Sparky? No? Never mind. Enjoy!"
The sisters still won't let me pay. I've tried stuffing twenties into their tip jar, but I always find them returned to me somewhere, somehow.
"Actually, Lane," I say, acting on an idea as it pops into my head. "Do you guys need any help? Once I'm done with the P-T and all that, I'm gonna need a job, now that my vlogging days are over. I've gone through a good bit of my savings."
Layla is at the till, counting ones—she and Lainey trade glances, and then Layla nods. "You're hired."
I grin. “Really? That would be cool. I love this place, and I love you guys."
Layla smiles back. "Absolutely. We’ve been tossing around the idea of hiring someone, but everyone we've interviewed hasn't been a good fit. And you, my dear, are perfect."
Raina turns me to face her. "That's great. Back to me, though."
I shrug her off. "I'm fine."
She taps my nose. "If you were Pinocchio, your nose would have just grown a foot."
I groan. "I'm hangry, Raina. Let me eat and then we'll talk."
She sighs. "Fine. Be all needy and human, if you must."
I feel eyes on me as I eat, but I ignore them. What I'm feeling is complex and weird, and I don't know what to do with it.
I let Raina and Noelle's idle, friendly chatter wash over me as we eat, and I occasionally chime in, but mostly, I'm thinking about Felix.
The distance in his eyes. How he said he was 'hanging on by a thread." The sense of hidden pain.
When we're done eating, Noelle gathers our plates and silverware and brings them into the kitchen—we're all here so much we're not really even regulars anymore—we're more like fixtures. We take our various beverages and go sit outside in the sun under the pergola.
Noelle smacks my knee as she passes me to sit on my left while Raina sits on my right; the cafe is empty, so Layla and Lainey pull an ottoman over and squeeze onto it together, facing me.
"So," Noelle says. "Why are you upset?"
"Who said I was?" I ask.
Lainey traces a line down between my eyebrows. "Your elevens."
"My what?"