Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ARTHUR
I’m starting to think that Elliot was born to be a physiotherapist. She’s smart, strong, and exceedingly patient.
And her hands are so fucking cold they could pass as ice packs.
Her fingers trail up my calf, cold enough to make me wince.
“Did that hurt?” she asks, head tilting, concern flickering in her soft green eyes. She doesn’t move her hand. “I wasn’t using any pressure, so that’s…concerning.”
I’m lying on what she referred to as a massage table. With its flimsy build it looks more like a lemonade stand with aspirations of one day becoming a massage table.
But so far it’s managing to support my weight, so what do I know?
“The only thing I’m concerned about is you,” I mutter through clenched teeth as her fingers glide higher, still freezing.
“Me? Why?”
“Either you have really bad circulation, or you died three days ago and no one has had the heart to tell you.”
It takes a moment for her to understand what I’m saying, but when she does get my meaning she breaks into a fit of giggles.
“Sorry.” She laughs, shoulders shaking as she rubs her hands on her yoga pants to warm them up. I watch mesmerized as her hands move up and down her long, strong thighs. I picture my hands making that same journey, but slower, and with no barrier between us. Just skin to skin.
“Alright.” She presses her slightly warmer palms to my calf again. “Better?”
Thanks to the semi I’m pretending isn’t there, much worse. “Yes,” I grunt.
Her lips twitch, mischief lighting her expression.
“I didn’t think a big, strong man like you would be so temperature sensitive.
Should I turn up the thermostat? Or maybe fetch you a shawl?
” She leans in closer, voice dancing with amusement.
“Would you like me to knit you a pair of slippers for your next session?”
“You knit?”
“I do.” She presses a fingertip into the side of my calf, right at a tender spot, and I flinch. Her eyes lift to mine, wide and playful. “Does that surprise you?”
“No.” My voice is flat, but only because if I let anything else slip out, I might give away how much her gentle prodding actually hurts.
“I’m not very good at it,” she admits, lowering her voice like she’s sharing some great secret. Her lips curve and I can’t stop staring at them.
“That doesn’t surprise me either.”
Her laughter bursts free, bright and unrestrained, tumbling through the room. She tips her chin slightly, eyes shining as if she’s waiting for me to keep the joke going. But I can’t. I’m too busy watching her.
Of all the little sounds I’ve come to recognize in the short time I’ve known her—her quick gasp when she gets an idea, the low hum of concentration when she’s working, the breathy sigh she doesn’t even realize escapes her when she stretches—this laugh is my favourite.
It fills the space around us, warming something inside me I didn’t think could ever thaw.
I want to be the reason she makes that sound again and again.
“Okay, funny guy. Pop quiz time. Honest answers only.” She looks like she’s about to make me pinky swear.
“Shoot.”
“How do you feel the week went? Following your plan, that is.”
I sit up straighter on the table. “I think it went well. I was pretty sore for a couple days at the start of the week, but the pain eased as the week went on and I kept doing the exercises.”
“Was the plan easy enough to follow? I think it’s fairly balanced, but we can make adjustments based on your needs.”
I shake my head. “Honestly, I worked the exercises into my morning routine. Did as many as I could while I waited for the coffee to brew and finished the rest while I was drinking said coffee.”
Elliot beams at me. “That’s a really effective way to establish a habit,” she says excitedly with a little wave of her hands. “Pair the task you want to complete with one you already do everyday.”
“I almost hate to admit how easy it’s been.”
Her face tilts to the side in concern. “Why’s that?”
My sigh is deep as I stare at my hands in my lap.
“I could have been doing these for years. For a decade. If I’d taken care of myself, if I’d listened to the health professionals that were trying to help me, where would I be today?
I know I wouldn’t have recovered fully, but I’d be in a helluva lot better shape than I am now. ”
I’d been so bitter after my injury. Angry at the world and everyone in it. I pushed away anyone within arm’s length, not because I wanted them to go but because I was afraid of what they’d see if I let them stay.
The cool hand sliding into mine startles me, but I don’t pull away.
“Everyone has things they regret. Things they wish they could do over given the chance. But that’s all they are. Regrets and wishes. And if we spend all our time focused on our past, we’re going to miss out on right now. And on our future.”
I lift my gaze to find those impossibly kind eyes staring at our hands. There’s a faint blush on her cheeks and I wonder what caused it. The vulnerable words she’s sharing with me? The nearness to one another? The contact?
I allow my eyes to drop to her mouth for one moment. Two. Then I force myself to swallow and look back. “That would be a shame.” I give her hand the lightest of squeezes.
“I think so.” Her voice is quieter now.
I wait for her to pull away. She doesn’t but neither do I.
“Mom?”
Three things happen at the same time. Elliot turns toward her son’s voice as I push myself off the table to stand. Our movements are hurried and uncoordinated and she ends up running her elbow into my very solid chest. My arms instinctively attempt to steady her.
“Sorry to interrupt your session,” Sam says as he wipes his nose. “The landlord was pulling in the driveway just as I was getting back from walking Bruno and—”
Someone pounds—not knocks—pounds at the front door.
Sam looks to the door and back to his mom. “And he looks pissed.”
“Language, sweetie.”
He has the good sense to appear chastised. “Ben says it’s okay as long as the situation calls for it.” There’s a hint of worry in his face as he looks at his mom. “Does the situation call for it?”
Elliot’s shoulders fall as the pounding starts up again. “Probably,” she mutters as she starts for the door. “It’s okay, love. Why don’t you go up to your room for a few minutes while I talk to him?”
Sam looks hesitantly at me and I nod at him, silently letting him know that I’ve got her. He nods back and heads for the stairs taking them two at a time.
I follow just behind Elliot. She’s barely five feet from the door when it flies open, banging against the wall. Standing there is a red-faced, middle-aged man. His thinning black hair is combed stiff with so much product, likely to hide the bald spot spreading across the crown.
One thing about being six foot five—you get used to looking down at the tops of men like him.
And Sam wasn’t wrong. He does look pissed. Unfortunately for him, so am I.
“Elliot, I’ve had it up to—” He breaks off the second his eyes land on me. The fury drains right out of him as he actually stumbles back a half-step, craning his neck to meet my stare.
My jaw tightens, my hands curling into fists I force myself not to raise. My voice is calm, but my glare could peel paint. “To where?”
He blinks rapidly, Adam’s apple bobbing. “I—I’m sorry?”
“You should be.” My words are low, controlled, laced with heat.
“You just barged into this woman’s home without her permission.
Her home. Where she raises her child. That’s illegal at worst and disrespectful as hell at best. But let’s take this one step at a time.
” I advance, slow, deliberate. “You were about to say something to Ms. Baker when you stormed in here. I’d like you to finish your sentence.
So, let’s try again—” I tilt my head, letting the fury sharpen every syllable. “You’ve had it up to where?”
The blood that had his face boiling red moments ago has drained away, leaving him pale and clammy. Sweat beads along his receding hairline despite the chill that clings to the air from outside.
“I…I thought you were home. Maybe you didn’t hear—”
“Didn’t hear you pounding like you were trying to rip the hinges off?” My laugh is humourless. “Yeah, we heard you.”
I take another deliberate step closer, and he panics, stumbling back until his spine hits the screen door with a hollow rattle. His eyes dart side to side, wide and frantic, the look of a cornered animal realizing the cage has been bolted shut.
I’m about to press in farther but Elliot slips between us, her presence the only thing holding me back. My rage still simmers, thrumming under my skin, begging to be unleashed on a man who thought he could speak to her that way.
“Hi, Glen.” Elliot’s voice is bright, her sunny tone almost jarring against the tension still coursing the room. She smooths her palms against each other, nervous energy masked with practiced politeness. “How has your weekend been?”
“Fine?” His answer tilts upward like a question. His eyes never leave me, as though he needs my silent approval, waiting to see if he’s said the right thing.
“Great.” Elliot wrings her hands tighter. “And Francine and the kids? They’re doing well?”
Something flickers across his face—shame, regret, maybe both. He came barrelling in here, ready to tear into his tenant, but Elliot’s first instinct is to ask after his family.
“They’re good,” he admits, softer now, the tension draining from his shoulders. “Ava got accepted to the University of Toronto.”
Elliot gasps, hand flying to her chest, her eyes genuinely alight. “That’s wonderful! I don’t think I’ve seen her since I made cookies for her sixth-grade birthday party. Disco balls, right?”
A reluctant smile pulls at his mouth, smaller and more human. “That’s right.” He clears his throat, straightening as though resetting himself. “Look, Elliot. I’m sorry I came in here like that. It’s just…you haven’t been answering my calls.”
“Sorry about that, Glen. I’ve been buried between the new job and the old ones, and…” Her voice trails off, softening into a tired sigh.
His expression pinches. “We need to talk about your rent.”
Her shoulders drop immediately, as though the weight of those words are pressing her down.
“I hate to increase it. Really, I do. But I haven’t had any luck renting out the other side of the duplex, and things are tight. Francine’s hours got cut last year, and next fall I’ll have two kids in university.” He rubs the back of his neck, weary. “It’s either raise your rent or sell.”
This hits her like an aftershock. Her whole frame trembles for a heartbeat before she steadies herself, spine straightening by sheer willpower.
“Of course. I understand.” She casts me a quick, furtive glance over her shoulder, before turning back to him with a steadying smile.
“I’m just in the middle of a training session. Could I call you as soon as I’m done?”
“Absolutely.” He nods quickly, probably eager to get away from me. “Again, I’m very sorry for how I came in here. You’re an excellent tenant, Elliot. I hate to put this on you, especially with everything else you’ve got going on.”
“I understand,” she says again, quickly, her hands fluttering in a small wave, as though she could brush the whole conversation aside like dust.
Glen leaves quietly, a far cry from the way he barged in. The air seems to breathe easier once the door clicks shut.
“Sorry about all that.” Elliot laughs, but the sound is thin, brittle, stripped of her usual warmth. She won’t look at me, her gaze fixed somewhere over my shoulder as if she wants to pretend none of this just happened.
“You don’t have anything to be sorry about.” I want to reach for her, to make her hear how much I mean it. She shouldn’t carry the weight of his behaviour, not for a second.
“Let’s get back to the session?” She aims for brisk, professional, but she’s struggling.
I hesitate. My mind is still spinning, the mere thought of her flinching under his voice enough to set me burning again. But I school my tone. “Sure. I just have to grab something from my car.”
Her eyes flick to mine, suspicious. “Oh?”
“Just an exercise band I brought from home. I like the tension better than the ones you’ve got here.”
She feigns offence, lips curving in a small, weary smirk. “Rude.”
It almost works—almost makes me forget how close she came to being cornered by that bastard. I shove my feet into my shoes and slip out the door, silent as a shadow.
So silent that the landlord doesn’t notice me until I’m right beside him.
“Jesus!” Glen jolts, nearly going down on a slick patch of ice. His arms flail for balance.
“Just grabbing something from my car,” I say evenly. He stares like he expects me to come back with a weapon or a body bag.
I glance toward the house, confirming what I already knew—Elliot is watching at the window making sure I don’t decapitate him. I open the passenger side door and lean in, fingers closing around the resistance band lying in plain sight, but I don’t pull it out yet.
“What’s the rent on the place next door?” I ask casually, eyes fixed on the glove compartment.
“What?”
“The rent,” I repeat, sharper. “On the other half of the duplex.”
“Oh. Uh, it’s…two thousand a month.”
High, I think, considering the cracked siding and dated windows, but about right for the neighbourhood.
“I haven’t raised Elliot’s rent in two years,” he blurts quickly, like the confession might soften me.
“Do you have a card?”
He blinks. “Excuse me?”
“A business card. Some way for me to find you.”
His throat works hard, the swallow so loud it cuts the cold air between us. “Why would you want to find me?”
Am I really that terrifying? I rein in the sigh crawling up my throat. “To contact you,” I deadpan. “I may know someone interested in renting the other half.”
Shock flickers across his face, then morphs into something more hopeful. “Really?”
“If I find someone willing to rent it, will you keep Elliot’s rent the same?”
“Definitely.” His hands shake a little as he digs into his jacket pocket, finally producing a crumpled card. “She really is a great tenant.”
Of course she is. She’s great at everything. A great physio. A great mom. A great person.
I take the card, slip it into my joggers, and finally pull out the resistance band. “I’ll be in touch.” I close the car door, then pause.
“One more thing, Glen.”
He smiles at me, like the last twenty seconds has turned us into friends. “Yeah?”
I step closer until I can see the bloodshot whites of his eyes.
My voice is conversational, but there is an undertone of menace that is very intentional.
“If you ever enter Elliot’s home without invitation or raise your voice to her again”—I hold his gaze, letting the silence stretch, ensuring the words land—“I will find you.”