The Hero (Thunder Point #3)(50)

She shrugged. “I played volleyball in high school. Our uniforms were kind of skimpy. But not that skimpy. And I ran track—again, we didn’t want much wind resistance so our gear was fairly brief.”

That made him smile. “You do like sports.”

“What’s not to like? Someday, when I get things together a little better, maybe I’ll get back into it.”

“No athletics the past few years, I take it?”

She laughed. “I lived on a small farm. Trust me, my muscles were worked plenty. But I’d rather play soccer or softball or run to get my exercise.” She turned to look into her little living room. “My pizza girl is out like a light,” she said with a laugh. “I’ll take her to bed and tuck her in.”

When she returned to the living room, Spencer was lying flat on his back on the floor. “Spencer!” she said, leaning over him.

“Did I mention my back is killing me? To say nothing of my knees, calves, shoulders?”

“Did you hurt yourself?”

He rose up on his elbows. “Yes. It’s the same at the start of every season, trying to keep up with boys half my age, trying to make them feel inadequate and competitive so they’ll push it a little harder. Quite frankly? I’m getting too old for this shit. But, God, it gives me a rush. Every new team gives me a rush but they’re killing me.”

She laughed at him. “Sounds like you’re the one who needs off-season training.”

“That’s just it, I keep up. I work out. They still hammer me when football training starts.”

She got down on her knees. “Roll over. And remember I don’t do this for everyone.”

He lifted one brow in question, but he rolled over.

She started to massage his shoulders, first softly, then with more depth and strength. “I don’t think there’s anything better than muscles that are stiff and sore from a good workout.” He groaned appreciatively and she laughed. “One of these years you’re going to have to stop showing off in front of the high school boys.”

“I have this fantasy—that each one of them thinks I can take him down if I want to. Don’t give me trouble, boy, because I can sack you.”

“Ego,” she said, drilling her fists into his back.

“Hmm. Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop. Lower.” He stretched his arms out above his head. And she worked his back harder, deeper, half tempted to try walking on it.

She went after the small of his back, which was tight as a drum. “You take anything for this?”

“Two Advil, one beer. I’m thinking about another beer.” Then he yawned.

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” she said.

And then in a swoop that she didn’t see coming, he rolled, grabbed her and she was on the bottom looking into those deep brown eyes as he leaned over her.

Those dark eyes seemed to glow a little bit. Her hands rested on his biceps and she was frozen, gazing.

“I didn’t know we’d end up like this,” he said.

“Kind of seemed like your intention....”

“The first time I saw you, six weeks ago or so, with your overalls and long braid, I didn’t know I’d kiss you. I didn’t expect to be holding you. I wasn’t looking for anything...”

“I know,” she said softly. “You’re a pretty new widower. I understand.”

“I don’t want to pry for personal details, but is he out of your life now? The man? Mercy’s father? Are you free from him?”

“I hope so.”

He tapped her chest above her left breast. “In here?”

That startled her; she didn’t realize just how much of a mystery her life was to him. “Oh, Spencer, that was over almost as soon as it started. I was afraid and confused and...I was vulnerable and he was very protective and loving. I didn’t realize he was a liar, that he didn’t care about me, only about possessing me, making me a part of his vision, his family, his ‘Fellowship.’ I haven’t been with anyone since Mercy was conceived.”

“And now, Devon? What now? Because I think you know—my feelings for you are getting stronger....”

She didn’t have to even think about it. “I just want a normal life. Like other people have.”

He smiled into her eyes. “Really?” he asked. “Normal like who? Like Rawley, an old Vietnam vet who spent a lot of the past forty years homeless, battling PTSD? Or like Gina, who had a daughter at the age of sixteen and raised her alone? Like Scott Grant whose wife died just after the birth of his second child? Leaving him the single father of two? Or maybe a normal person like me—widower who shares his son with another father? We’re all just a bunch of flawed people, trying to slap together decent lives with the few tools we have.”

She just stared at him, her mouth open slightly. She could feel her eyes threaten to tear and she swallowed. “God. I don’t know if I’m just completely naive or really insensitive. I’m not the only one who has challenges.”

He gave her a little kiss. “Your challenges haven’t been small,” he said in a comforting tone. “Look how far you have come.”

Twelve

The landscape of the hill behind the beach took on a ravaged appearance as the earth movers came in and began a complicated excavation for the new Cooper residence. The old switchback road from 101 to the bar was closed and would eventually disappear while two new roads would take its place, making things safer and more accessible. While he was at it, Cooper was enlarging his parking area, which would allow people easier access to the bar and the dock.