The Falling (Brightest Stars, #1)(61)

I used my forearm to apply pressure to the knot under his biceps, where he had a scar that looked like an unfinished M. The pink-tinted skin was puffy and soft. It took everything in me not to run my finger over it again. I tried not to think about the pain he must have felt when it happened, whatever it was that had cut at his body.

The scar was deep, like from the lashing of a serrated knife. It made my heart ache for him. I slid my fingers down his forearm, the part of his body that was the deepest in pigment. He had a soldier’s tan, which was like a farmer’s tan, but worse, because they were in the desert getting baked by the sun. No rain, no fresh air to breathe in. Just smoke and IEDs. Body and mind damage. I couldn’t even imagine what he’d gone through . . . I lifted his hand into mine and pressed my thumb against the base of his palm and held it there. I felt his fingers go slack and moved the pressure along the center of his hand.

Was it only the night before that we sat together, side by side on my childhood bed, with alcohol washing over our thoughts and tongues? I started to think about Mendoza, wondering if he was okay. He hadn’t been gone very long when Kael got the phone call.

“That feels so good,” Kael said to me when I bent his wrists, pressing against the sides, slightly pulling at the same time.

“I just learned it,” I told him.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I saw a YouTube video and tried it on myself first. It felt great. Especially for people who use their hands a lot.”

“Wait, you learned it on YouTube?” he asked me, lifting his head a little. I gently pressed my palm against his forehead to lay him back down.

“Yes. It’s helpful.” I was proud of myself for mastering a new technique. The internet was usually a flaming dumpster of you never know what you will get, but welcome to the party!

“You’re such a millennial.”

“So are you.” I positioned his arm back at his side and moved around the table to the other.

“Technically, I think we’re Gen Z.”

“Ew, no one actually says ‘Gen Z’ out loud.” I rolled my eyes back.

“At least tell me you have an actual license and didn’t learn everything on YouTube?”

“Of course I have a license. And you should let me finish my job, your time is almost up.” I moved to the top of the table and applied gentle pressure to his closely shaved scalp. As I grasped his ears to release tension, his lips parted and he breathed deeply. I ended every treatment this way, and I was usually glad to be wrapping up. But now I wished for more time. With him. Just like last night . . .

“All done. Happy birthday, by the way.”

“Thanks. It’s just another day for me.”

Kael swung his long, muscular legs off the side of the table. The stoic soldier had returned. He paid, tipped well, and left without another word.





CHAPTER FORTY-THREE




I was never so relieved to be done with customers for the day. Mali had asked me to take a walk-in after that confusing session with Kael. I don’t know if it was my general distraction or if it was the client, but nothing I did was good enough for her. The pressure was too light, then it was too heavy. The room was too cold. Could she have two blankets—but when they made her feet too hot, could I take one away? And could I please blow out the candle because the fragrance was giving her a headache?

And though the session felt like a test from the universe, she could do little to keep me from thinking about Kael. My mood had improved and my imagination started to invent a sympathetic story about this woman. I made every accommodation and even tried to rationalize her behavior: was she overworked or in a shitty marriage? Maybe this was the only time when she could let her anger out. Better me than her kids, or family, or even herself. I started feeling sorry for her; everyone has a bad day. Even when she said my nails needed to be clipped . . . but then she left without giving me a tip and I may have flipped her off as she walked out the door.

The new client Mali gave me for one o’clock was okay, thank goodness. The walk-in after that was fine, too—a pretty young woman from the yoga studio the next block over. Her skin was soft and she fell asleep almost as soon as she lay down, no tense muscles to work out.

I was happy to call it a day and to be heading home. Thank God. Mali had offered me some ibuprofen, and that helped turn down the volume in my throbbing head. But I still felt like complete crap. I was anxious and annoyed and nothing was helping. All I could think of was flopping down in bed with the blinds drawn and the covers over my head. After a full day of appointments and such an emotionally turbulent week, I craved darkness and quiet.

I walked along the alley and as I rounded the corner to my house, I saw him waiting for me on the porch. My biggest problem and biggest relief wrapped up and delivered directly to my front door.

Kael.

He seemed distracted by something, sitting there with AirPods in and a faraway look in his eyes. He was so in his own world, he almost didn’t see me approach.

“Did you come for a refund?” I asked, trying to keep it light. I wasn’t at all bothered that he was there. I wasn’t nervous. No, I wasn’t. Nope. Not at all. I was cool. I hadn’t let him get to me, not the way he thought he did. Not me.

“No refund,” he said, shaking his head. “I think we should finish our conversation.”