Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
R iley had no idea it was possible to blush for twenty-four hours straight, but here she was, rocking pink cheeks that wouldn’t cool no matter what she did or tried to think about. What she’d been thinking when she kissed Antony’s hand? Then she’d practically sprinting out of his apartment after the incident, surely letting him know that she didn’t view him as a brother in any way shape or form.
Cleaning poopy kennels? Still blushing.
Scrubbing a muddy, hysterical cat? The blushing never wavered.
Aspen showing up with cake and demanding news about her brother? Well, in that case, the blushing got worse.
“He wants to what?” Aspen’s jaw dropped, and the forkful of cake almost did the same.
“He wants to run the Summer Fling.” Riley could hardly meet her friend’s eye. It was as if looking directly at Aspen would allow her to know every thought, every inappropriate thought, going through Riley’s head.
Surely even Aspen didn’t want colorful images of being held in Antony’s strong arms and being kissed by his full mouth. Aspen would probably gag if she knew how much Riley wanted to run her fingers through Antony’s hair and beg him not to cut it. It was thick and dark, and the curls were nearly irresistible.
No one needed to know that, which was why Riley kept her gaze on her food and prayed that Aspen thought the high color in Riley’s cheeks was from work.
Aspen’s cake landed on her lap with a dull thud. “Can he do that?”
Riley frowned, finally daring to look up. “Why can’t he?”
Aspen shrugged and shook her head. “I don’t know. I just worry, I guess. He’s still healing. I’ve heard him say that his skin, the burned skin, still hurts. And I’d be a little afraid that he’d shout at anybody who got in his way.” Aspen’s brows pulled together. “Has anyone ever actually raced in a wheelchair before?”
“Aspen,” Riley said with a groan. “People race in wheelchairs all the time. Haven’t you ever heard of the paralympics?”
“I know that,” Aspen retorted. “I was talking about here, in Seagull Cove. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anyone with any kind of handicap in the race.”
Trying to lighten the mood, Riley kicked Aspen’s shoe lightly. “There are plenty of people who are non-handicapped who don’t race it either.”
Aspen huffed and picked her cake back up. “Some of us are intelligent enough to know that our bodies need those calories.” She smirked at Riley. “It takes work to keep this voluptuous figure, you know.”
A beat went by, and the girls both laughed. “Not all of us have Italian heritage to help us with our curves,” Aspen said before stuffing a bite in her mouth.
Aspen shrugged. “And not all of us want as many curves as we have.” She sighed dramatically. “I suppose we’ll just never be satisfied.”
Riley nodded. “No one ever is.”
They ate in silence for a moment, and Riley threw a prayer of thanks heavenward that Aspen hadn’t asked anything too embarrassing. Sometimes she was a little too observant, though her extrovert behavior hid the skill.
“You think he should do it.” It wasn’t a question, but Riley felt compelled to answer anyway.
“I do.”
Aspen tilted her head, studying Riley. “And you’re going to run with him the whole way?”
“Of course.” Riley took another bite and spoke around it. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because the odds are he’ll be slow.”
Riley shrugged and shook her head, her ponytail hitting her shoulders. “So? It’s a fun run.”
Aspen chewed her bite slowly. “You’ve been in the top three for the last several years. It doesn’t matter to you?”
Riley chuckled. “No. Like I said. Fun. Run. Just because I’m getting old enough that there are fewer participants in my age range doesn’t mean I’m all that competitive.”
“Hmm…”
Riley willed her blush to go down, but instead of listening, it seemed to be getting hotter. Aspen was getting a little too close to home, and pretty soon, Riley’s unfiltered mouth would say something it shouldn’t.
She’d been very good at that lately.
“This is good,” Riley said, her mouth still full. “What kind did you say it was?”
Aspen glanced up. “Citrus cake with orange marmalade filling. The frosting is an Italian buttercream and has zest in it for a touch of zing.”
“Very springy,” Riley said with a smile. “Are you baking summer stuff next?”
Aspen huffed. “I don’t like to let the seasons dictate my work.”
“Aw, Aspen,” Riley said on a sigh. “Once a rebel, always a rebel.”
Aspen’s lips twisted around, clearly working to hide a smile. “ Speaking of rebels…” She glanced up from under her lashes. “Have you kissed my brother yet?”
Air. Riley needed air. That sweet cake, which had been so light and fluffy only moments before, was now lodged like a two ton brick in her throat and refused to budge. Her chest heaved, and she tried to cough, but not enough oxygen was moving through her windpipe and all she managed was some weird wheezing sound that could have been misconstrued for a dying alley cat.
“Geez, Ri.” Aspen set her cake down and ran to the mini fridge in the corner, grabbed a bottle of water, and brought it back, twisting off the top. “Wash it down.”
Riley obeyed, gulping the water until she felt full enough to burst. Gasping, she slumped in her seat and sucked in air, selfishly hoping she would hyperventilate enough to pass out without ever acknowledging Aspen’s question.
Aspen’s response started out as a chuckle, but quickly turned into a full belly laugh as she sat back down in her seat after the incident.
“You think nearly choking to death is funny?” Riley snapped, trying to appear fierce, though her raspy voice made it impossible.
Aspen shook her head and wiped at her eyes. “If I thought you were in real trouble, I’d be concerned. But Ri…your reaction says more than I thought I was asking for.” She blew out a breath, slowing down the laughter. “When did this happen? I had no idea you thought of him as anything more than an annoying older brother with too many rules.”
“There’s nothing going on between us,” Riley’s response was quick, too quick. She dropped her eyes again and tapped her finger on her thigh, anything to distract from the discomfort this conversation was bringing and the reminders of all the stupid things Riley had done to embarrass herself in front of Antony. “I’m like a kid sister to him.”
Aspen was quiet for several long moments. “Are you sure?” she whispered.
Riley’s head came up. “Have you heard something? ”
Aspen’s smile was kind, but bordered on sad. “Not really. Mom says that your name comes up often when they talk, which is miraculous at all. The talking, I mean. He’s been closed up tighter than Fort Knox since he got home, and now Mom manages to get a few more minutes out of him every time she calls.”
“He’s still sleeping on the floor,” Riley blurted out.
Aspen waved a hand in the air. “I know. He’s still stubborn and it’ll take time to convince him to act normal, but, Ri…no one has managed anything close to what you’re doing.” She leaned forward, resting a hand on the edge of the desk. “The fact is, he’s actually trying to do something. He’s answering his phone. He’s trying to run a race for heaven’s sake. He’s trying .” Aspen leaned back. “And I don’t think someone who’s just a kid sister to him, would be able to get that kind of response.” She tilted her head. “Do you?”
“Come on, Griffin.” Antony leaned forward to push the door open and scowled. Dang this Oregon weather. It was pouring buckets outside. Just his luck.
Riley had told him to rest for the day, but he was too restless. Simply put, he had nothing else to do.
“Think it’ll ease up?”
Griffin yipped.
Antony nodded. “Yeah…you’re right. No pain, no gain, right?” Wheeling backward, he went to his room, stepped out of the chair, and hopped along the wall until he reached his closet. Grabbing the first baseball hat he saw, he threw it on his head and hopped back to the wheelchair. “Here we go.”
Antony would never admit to how long it took him to work his way up the ramp and out onto the sidewalk. It was so easy when Riley was pushing him, and even Antony’s crutches were more navigable than going upward in his wheelchair .
“If there are hills in the Summer Fling,” he grunted. “We’re in for it.”
Griffin whined, ducking his head.
“I know, but,” Antony responded. “I don’t like the rain either, but we need to practice and we can’t let a little thing like the weather hold us back. Besides, what if it’s raining on the day of the race? We’ll just have to learn to deal with it.”
By the time Antony was all set up on the side of the road, the rain had slowed down, and he grinned. “See? Nothing to worry about.” He put his still wrapped hands on the wheels and leaned forward. “Ready?” With a heave, he shoved himself off, and Griffin broke into a jog.
Pain immediately erupted into his hands, but Antony shook it off. He wasn’t going to let a few blisters hold him back. As the air began to move against his wet cheeks, his smile grew.
Nothing quite compared to having the wind beat at his face. The air smelled of freedom and wet dirt, and Antony was going to revel in it. Raw hands were a small price to pay.
While he pushed, he let his mind wander a bit. At some point in time, he would need a job. But what? What in the world could he possibly do?
Riley had mentioned trying two arm crutches, the kind that connected at his forearms. Antony had seen pictures of those before, but he’d never tried them. His goal in therapy had been to get in and out as fast as possible.
No matter how nice the physical therapist was, they had made Antony feel like an invalid. A sensation that made him want to spit rocks.
His breathing began to speed up, and soon Antony was more focused on his gasping than his future. At the rate that he was heaving, he might not even have a future.
Griffin was trotting comfortably, keeping an eye on the road ahead, and it ticked Antony off.
The dog was doing fine. Antony was about to keel over from loss of oxygen.
Gritting his teeth, he pushed harder. This is what military men did. They pushed harder than anyone else, which was why they were so good at protecting their country. It was why Antony had been so good at his job.
He imagined gathering all the anger and feelings of being useless into a big pile in his brain and began to feed it to his arms. Arms which were aching and screaming for a break.
“No,” Antony snarled. “Not yet.”
He hadn’t gone far enough for a break yet. He needed to push. Needed to do more than last time. The only way to get better was to take limits and crush them.
As if the weather gods had heard his determination, the rain began to pick back up, and Antony turned his head slightly when a gust of wind slapped him in the face.
Water began to pool in the seat of his wheelchair, and Antony could barely see in order to keep going. The clouds were growing darker overhead, letting him know the light fall rain was over, and a true storm was settling in.
Cursing under his breath, he considered stopping. Maybe Riley was right. Maybe he needed to let his hands heal a little, which would let the weather system pass through as well.
His right hand slipped, and Antony cried out as his palm lost some skin.
Griffin barked and rushed forward a little as if to see what was wrong.
“It’s fine,” Antony told the dog, but the words were lost by the ensuing storm.
It wasn’t fine. Not even a little bit, and Griffin’s continued frantic behavior told Antony he’d gone too far.
Hating the heavy weight of defeat on his shoulders, he stopped pushing the wheels and allowed the chair to slow to a stop before turning around .
Griffin barked again, and Antony turned his head at the sound. The movement jerked the chair just enough that it started to drift, and before he could correct himself, Antony found his right wheel catching a pothole, subsequently sending him tumbling onto the ground.
As he skidded to a stop, Antony had never been more grateful for his thick, Oregon weather-proof jacket and the last minute hat he’d slapped on his head.
“Ow.” It took a moment for Antony to open his eyes. The first thing he did was shove Griffin’s concerned face out of his own. “I’m okay,” he told Griffin. “I’m okay.”
Griffin whined and snuffled around Antony’s head before stepping back and searching the street.
“Ow,” Antony groaned again. He didn’t think he’d hit his head, but he felt around just in case, finding nothing too concerning. His shredded jacket caught his eye, and Antony fingered the fabric. “Crap.” This time his head did hit the ground as he dropped it back. “Ow.” He closed his eyes as the rain tried to drown him.
Griffin barked, and Antony heard the leash drag across the asphalt as he ran off.
“Perfect.” Antony turned his head to the side and spit out rain water. “My leg is gone. The dog is gone.” He patted his pocket. “My phone is gone.” He cracked open an eye. “And the wheelchair’s gone. Perfect. Just perfect.”
Griffin was still barking and Antony thought about trying to call the dog, but it hurt too much to move. He felt like he’d been hit by a Mack truck. It would be a miracle if he didn’t end up back in the hospital for this.
“Antony!”
“Aaand, it just got more perfect.”
“Good boy, Griff.” Riley’s voice was shaking and growing closer. “Antony,” she breathed, dropping to her knees beside him. “Can you hear me? Antony?”
“I’m alive,” he grumbled, turning and spitting out more rain water. “Don’t ask me how and I’ll admit, it would be a relief not to be, but I’m alive.” A noise that was half sob and half laugh hit his ears. It made him want to open his eyes, but even his eyelids hurt.
“Well, you might regret that you’re alive,” she said, her voice still trembling. “Because I’m ready to kill you.”
“I might let you,” he groaned. “But can we get out of this rain first?” Mutterings came from Riley as she began to feel around his body. Suddenly a laugh broke free, only for Antony to stop and hold his ribs. “Did you just curse?” he wheezed.
“I’m going to do a lot more than that,” she snapped. “I’ve got your chair, but I can’t lift you, Tone. You’ll have to help me.”
“I don’t think anything’s broken,” he assured her, doing his best to push past the whole body ache. “Roll me onto my side.”
“This better work,” Riley said, her voice full of tears. “Otherwise, I’m calling Gavin.”
Antony grit his teeth. If Gavin came over, Antony would never hear the end of it. He’d been humbled enough in the last couple of years. Having Gavin come lift him from the street was not happening. “It’ll work.” Ow, ow, ow… “It’ll be fine.”