Excerpt from Scars and Stripes
excerpt from scars and stripes
Kelli
I knew what I was getting into when I moved home to the tiny town of Saddle Creek to start my own physical therapy clinic. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
I spent part of my childhood in Saddle Creek, every summer until I was thirteen, when my parents went through the nastiest divorce in the history of Houston family law, and full time after that.
Small Texas towns in the Hill Country are known for their good food, their hot summers, their stunning wildflowers, and their gossip.
Saddle Creek is no different. Everyone knows everyone and has an opinion about everything. In any given meeting of two or more people, you will have at least five bits of gossip to discuss and as many as ten opinions about it. Things have only gotten worse since some helpful citizen started the Saddle Peek , an online message board devoted to local gossip.
So, yes, I knew what I was getting into when I moved here after graduating from UT Southwestern’s Doctor of Physical Therapy program. I knew that I would know all of my patients. I knew that I’d hear all the gossip. All the time. I even knew that I’d occasionally be the topic of said gossip. After all, I was a key player in one of the most gossiped about events in Saddle Creek High’s history. Every once in a while, I’ll walk into the local HEB and hear someone yell, “Go Wildcats!” at me.
Because people think they are so funny.
Still, I moved back to Saddle Creek for the food and the views and because nowhere else has ever felt like home, despite the fact that my mom sold the house by the lake as soon as I left for college and it’s since been bought by some tech guru out of Austin, who tore it down and built an even bigger mansion on it.
Besides, knowing all of my patients isn’t bad, especially when they are as great as the woman I’m working on now, Callie Crawford.
“Are you even counting?” she asks me.
I give her a tight grin. “Of course I am.”
She laughs. “You are a terrible liar.”
Callie feels less like a patient these days and more like a friend. “Two more,” I say with authority, because while I wasn’t technically counting, I’ve been doing this long enough to know what ten reps of anything feels like through muscle memory alone.
She blows out a breath and shoots me a glare. “These elastic bands are from the pits of Hell,” Callie says.
“No one likes the bands, but they’re making your hip and your leg stronger, so quit your complaining.” I eye her posture as she completes the motion. “And, they would feel less like torture if you were consistently doing your at home exercises.”
“I do them!” she protests.
I grunt in disbelief. “Speaking of being a terrible liar…”
She makes a whimpering noise that I know is fake. “I’ve been busy.”
I snort.
A few months ago, Callie fell hard and fast for Roe Crawford. Or maybe he fell hard and fast for her and dragged her along with him. The point is, she’s newly married and ridiculously in love. I can’t decide if it’s adorable or annoying.
“Yes, boss.” Callie finishes her final exercise and collapses back on the table. “I think you’d be less mean if you got laid,” she murmurs.
Never mind. It’s annoying.
“I liked you better when you were prim and proper and all buttoned up,” I snark.
“No you didn’t.”
“You’re right.” I sigh. “You’re perfectly delightful either way. And I’m happy for you that you’re married to that ridiculously hot man who obviously adores the ground you walk on and sexes you up on a regular basis.”
I can say this only because Callie is, in fact, a wonderful person and truly deserves a hot guy giving her all the orgasms.
She laughs. “You don’t sound happy at all.”
I roll my eyes. “Whatever. This is totally my happy face.” I manipulate her body into the right position.
“Now for the good stuff.”
“You worked hard today, you earned it,” I say. Then I begin to use my training to press into pressure points that will relieve the most tension and pain for her. All of Callie’s injuries stem from a car accident she was in as a child. “I still think you should ask your doctor about removing some of the scar tissue. I think it would alleviate a lot of the stiffness you struggle with.” Because scar tissue is a bitch.
“Have you heard who’s back in town?” she asks as I dig the ball of my hand into her muscle.
“Hmmm.” I make a non-committal noise, hoping she’ll drop it.
She doesn’t.
“Wade Guidry.”
“Is that so.”
I phrase it like a question, but inject a serious note of drop-it-if-you-know-what’s-good-for-you into my tone. Because she’s a smart woman who should be able to pick up on social cues.
“Yep. He came into the library the other day. Apparently, he’s retired.” She pauses, leaving me enough time to chime in. When I don’t, she continues. “From the SEALs. Medical discharge. Meaning he’s back. For good. Moved into that little house in back of his parents’ property. You know the one, right?”
I do know the one. The Guidry’s had it built for Emmy’s mother and she lived there until she passed four years ago. When they built it, they hired me to consult to make sure it was ADA compliant, so that she’d be comfortable. So I’m very familiar with the house. It’s small and charming and comfortable.
But I make another noncommittal noise, hoping she will just drop it. Callie is a smart woman. She should know me well enough by now to know that this topic is out of bounds.
Apparently, she isn’t as smart as I think she is. Or she doesn’t know me well enough to take a hint.
“He’s the one right?” she asks, drawing out the question like she trying to tease a response from me.
Or maybe she’s just in the mood to piss me off. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I give her leg a pat and step back. “And we’re done here.”
She sits up, groaning a little as her muscles shift and tighten. “Don’t play dumb. The one?—”
“Jade can get you checked out up front. I’ll see you again next week. And this time try to actually do your at home exercises.”
She stands, giving me the side eye. “You’re really going to try to dodge the question, huh?”
I force a smile of benign ignorance. “I didn’t ignore the question. You asked if I remembered the house. And I said I did. Excellent use of adaptive elements. Nice view of the stream, too.”
Callie’s lips quirk to the side. “And no comment on Wade Guidry coming home after all these years?”
“I have no idea why I would comment on that.”
“Mmm hmmm.” Callie’s half smile blooms into a full on smirk, which makes me wish I’d made her do another ten reps with the rubber bands.
She would have had it coming.
My own tight-lipped smile gets tighter and more feral.
I plant a hand on her shoulder and try to steer her towards the reception area, without actually shoving her toward it. Because, shoving patients is frowned upon.
“Mmkay. See you later.” Suddenly, I’m rambling. Because, she walks slowly, but if I’m talking then that means she’s not asking more probing questions. “Do those exercises. Text me if you need more exercises. Jade can get you some bands to bring home if you want them. And get plenty of vitamin D.”
“Wait. What does getting vitamin D have to do with anything?”
“Most Americans are vitamin D deficient. Which can have all kinds of long last effects on your health. So better safe than sorry.”
And before she can say anything else, she’s in the reception area and I close the door between us. I lean back against the door and swallow a groan.
Fucking Wade Guidry.
Why?
Why did that man have to move back to town?
Okay, sure. He has family here. And he’s served in the military, defending our country. He’s a true American hero and all that stuff. Technically he lived here before I did.
But still … that man makes me crazy.
Well, in reality, I’ve never met that man.
The last time I saw Wade Guidry he was an eighteen-year-old boy, heading off to the navy after graduating from high school. The last time I saw him was about eight months after the incident , aka the football game that shall not be named, aka the most humiliating thing to ever happen in the history of humiliating things.
Wade was two years older than me in school. He played defense for the high school football team. Because he was enormous. Tall and broad and ineffably cool in that way that arrogant high school boys are.
Every girl I knew had a crush on him. I did, too, obviously. And that’s all it would have ever been if it hadn’t been for French.
We were both in French together, him as senior, me as a sophomore. Which also wouldn’t have been a big deal, if I hadn’t had the highest grade in the class and if he had bothered to do his homework, like, ever. But he was failing French and the football team couldn’t function without him, so I’d been roped into tutoring him.
Which was when I got stupid. Epically, disastrously, stupid.
Stupid, even by the standards of a nerdy sophomore with a crush on the coolest senior in school. Like, doodle our names together stupid. I was that girl.
That swoony, stupid, doe-eyed fool.
I convinced myself that I saw a side of him no one else did. That I knew the real Wade. That the smirky, arrogant asshole everyone else knew was just a facade. And even though he never even spoke to me outside of tutoring, I convinced myself he felt the same soul-deep connection that I did.
In retrospect, I know the truth. He tried to dodge all my hints. He tried to let me down easy. But I was young and oh, so very stupid.
I asked him to the Sadie Hawkins dance. In the most public, humiliating way possible. While dressed in the high school Wildcat mascot outfit. In front of everyone in town.
So, yeah. When I say it was the most humiliating thing in the history of humiliating things, I mean it.