Page 3 of Extended Bridge (Passionate Beats #2)

Chapter Two

B uoyed by the plan Court and I put together, I return to my car with the intention of stopping by Ma’s house. As soon as I turn the corner, paparazzi follow me.

Instead of giving up, I do the opposite. They are not going to get the better of me this time! As if Bennett were sitting next to me, I make quick turns into small streets. These reporters are, after all, in my playground.

One thing’s for sure, I can’t bring them to Ma’s house. I press a button on the screen and we’re connected. “Hey, Ma. I want to come see you but the media’s being a pain and following me. Think you can pick me up in town at Russo Real Estate?”

“No problem. I’m in the middle of something, though. Is it all right if I meet you there in about an hour?”

“Sounds good.”

Using some fancy evasive maneuvers, I dash to Angie and King’s agency and park. Fisting the steering wheel, I exhale all the air in my lungs. What am I going to do for an hour? Property listings line the window in front of me. Might as well use this time to my business’s advantage .

I scoot out of my car and zip into the nicely appointed real estate office, ignoring the tenacious reporters.

A sweet lady greets me and I ask to see Angie, whom I felt a camaraderie with while touring the mansions.

I’m led to a seat directly across from a messy desk, and Angie appears two minutes later.

She takes one look at me and gives me a hug.

“I hate those horrible tabloids.”

As I thought, a kindred spirit. “No argument here.”

“Try to do what King and I do. Ignore them.”

“I’m trying. It’s difficult.”

She nods. “So, what brings you over here? Don’t tell me you’re on the lam from the paparazzi.”

“Sort of.” I shrug. “But I do have a reason for bothering you. I need to find a new location.”

“You’re never a bother.” She rearranges some papers on her desk. “Are you moving?”

“No. I want to open another clinic, but don’t have a clue where to look.”

She twirls a lock of her hair. “You’ve come to the right place, Jenna. We have some great listings. Tell me what you’re looking for.”

Without thinking, I rattle off the requirements for my next location.

I give her my top ten list of hopes and dreams I’ve developed while searching for my other three locations.

Angie takes copious notes, asks questions, and consults her computer.

When I’ve finished my laundry list, she holds up a finger and leaves her desk.

A moment later, she returns with printouts in her hand.

“Here you go. I think any one of these would make an excellent location for your next clinic.” She passes me a stack of papers.

“Oh, wow. I didn’t expect all this.”

“Goes to show that you should’ve been working with me all along.” She smiles, her brown eyes dancing.

I flip through the pages. “I have to agree.”

She places her hand over mine. “I’m glad we met,” she removes her hand and I feel a sudden emptiness. “You and Bennett make a great pair.”

At her mention of the man who’s taking up so much of my head—and heart—space, I wince. “He should be whisking away to the City in under fifteen minutes.”

Angie’s eyebrows pull together. “Why on earth are you here with me, then, and not with your man?”

“He’s not my man. Not really. I don’t know.” I lean back into the chair. “The tabloids came out with some awful stories today.”

“I saw.”

“Lies.”

She does a slow nod.

“I’m trying to figure out my next steps.” I hold up the papers. “This is part of it.” Ma’s car pulls up to the sidewalk and I stand. “Thanks for listening to me, Angie, and for giving me these options. My ride’s here, so I have to leave. I’ll be in touch soon.”

“I’m here for you, anytime. As a woman who has gone through this before, I can at least commiserate.”

I hug her first this time. “I may take you up on your offer. You’ll probably be sorry you made it.”

“No way. I’ll always be your wingman.” She pauses. “Wingwoman.”

With a jaunty wave, I exit her office and hop into Ma’s car, kissing her cheek in greeting. We caught a break since the paparazzi tired of waiting. Or ran off to the helipad for Bennett. “Thank you for picking me up.”

“No worries. I can guess what’s got you rattled.”

“The tabloids have a knack for doing that.” I tuck the paperwork Angie gave me into my bag. “But I’m here now.”

Her lips tick up. “Let’s get you home.”

We enter the small but orderly ranch house Ma moved into a few years ago.

It doesn’t hold the memories of the home I grew up in, but framed photos on every surface and on the walls go a long way toward recreating the old place.

Ma said the four-bedroom was too much for her now that my sister Kara and I had left.

“Let me get you some tea. Ginger, peppermint, or hibiscus?”

I love that she rattles off a variety of herbal teas. “Peppermint, please.”

Her eyes crinkle as she smiles. “You got it.”

While she’s preparing the tea, I wander around to the various photos.

My sister and me playing in the sand on a beach when I was five and she was fifteen, two weeks before our parents announced their divorce.

I move to the next one, of the three of us sitting in front of a tent in the backyard.

In the stands when Kara graduated high school.

Me waving to Ma from the stage holding up my physical therapy degree.

Simpler times. Before the media twisted me into some sort of villain. And now, a killer arachnid.

I collapse into “my” chair. How did my life get this messed up? Ma comes into the room and passes me my tea. I blow on it while she drags her chair closer to me.

“Talk to me, Sweet Pea.”

Her use of my childhood nickname calms me. “I really hate that my original diagnosis of Bennett was wrong.”

“As I told you before, you didn’t have any machines or anything to verify your instincts. Plus, it’s a low-grade stage three, right? Almost a two.”

Gotta love Ma. She always sees the best for me. “You’re right. Still, it eats at me that I got it wrong.”

She places her teacup into its saucer. “I wouldn’t know you were my daughter if you weren’t a perfectionist.” She smiles to take away the sting of her truth.

I grab a throw pillow with a gerbera daisy embroidered on it and place it over my lap. “I’ve been Bennett’s physical therapist for almost two weeks now.”

She nods. “He seems nice enough.”

I rush in. “He is. He works really hard at his therapy and has come so far in such a short time. Then something catches him off guard and he reinjures himself.”

“Again. Not your fault.”

“You’re right, but I hate seeing his progress upended. It’s like one step forward and three back sometimes.”

“That’s the nature of therapy, right? Healing the issues and offering coping mechanisms for the unexpected.”

I take another sip of my tea. “I’ve taught you well.” Staring into the hot liquid, I add, “I made a commitment to him when I took on his case. I promised he’d be stage ready.”

“I’d say you’ve upheld your end of the bargain. Doesn’t he have his opening concert tonight in the City?”

“He does.” I toss the pillow onto the sofa. “However, he’s not even seventy percent healed, no matter what the stubborn man would tell you.”

“What are you saying, Sweet Pea?”

I glance at a framed photo of Ma and me smelling flowers in a local botanical garden. “Bennett’s asked me to go on tour with him to continue his PT.”

“Oh.” She picks up her tea and puts it back down. “His idea?”

I rush in. “His doctor prescribed physical therapy for the next three months, and Bennett says he wants me to do it.” In more ways than one, but I’m not going to share this with her.

“How do you feel about this? What about your clinics here?”

I switch the cross of my feet. “I’m the one who started his therapy, and I should continue it. Especially since I misdiagnosed him at the beginning.”

Ma gives me a pointed look. “You know what I think of that crap.”

“Fine.” I recross my legs. “I still began his therapy.”

“You did. Another therapist could read your notes and start up with him.”

I flick my fingers but don’t respond. After all, she’s not wrong .

Since this truth remains unchallenged, she prods in a different direction. “Your clinics?”

“Are stable at the moment. Court has a handle on one and Felipe the other. I got the bank’s go-ahead for the third, so it needs to be built out, which will take a minimum of four months.

With my pay for working with Bennett, I can open a fourth clinic.

” I point to my purse. “While I was waiting for you to pick me up, I met with Angie Hunte of Russo Real Estate and she gave me a few different options to check out.”

“You’ve been working really hard ever since...well, since Darren died. You haven’t taken any time away, you just threw yourself into creating and expanding your PT empire.”

My cheeks inflate at her descriptor.

“A vacation might not be the worst thing.”

“It wouldn’t be a vacation, not by a long shot.

For one, I’d be working with a patient. Two, I’d be away from home and would miss you like crazy.

Also, I’d be back on the UC bus, dealing with lack of sleep and laundry, fending off the paparazzi, and awful groupies, At Your Service PT would only be on autopilot, and not growing.

” I finish my almost top ten list—ignoring the big fact of facing the other members of the band.

“What does your gut tell you?”

I close my eyes. “To complete what I started.” My eyelids rise.

She tips her teacup upward. “I loved Darren. I loved his jokes and his great sense of humor. Most of all, I loved how he loved you.”

Memories of our time together wash over me. “He was amazing.”

Darren was the definition of fun. Always with a ready prank.

When I was around him, I was the center of all his attention, which was heady.

Our happy memories are replaced with more recent ones of me with Bennett, who is less engaging with the world while being more real.

Grounded and guarded. He’s hiding more than he’s shared with me, I’m sure of it.

Instead of being repelled, though, I want to peel back his layers.

Even in such a short time, our relationship is much deeper than what I had with Darren. I’m impelled to find out why.

“Darren was one of a kind.” Her eyes turn soft for a brief moment. “However, it sounds to me like Bennett needs your physical therapy expertise and you need a break. Three months isn’t all that long in the overall scheme of things.”

A yearning to uncover more about Bennett compels me to reply, “That’s true.”

“If you go, I do have one word of caution for you. There’s something off about this Bennett. He’s concealing some truths. Plus, you said it yourself during dinner, he’s reckless. I mean, he pulled his groin doing a crazy jump onstage. Darren never would’ve done anything bonkers like that.”

No. He only overdosed.

Ma continues, “The things he said about not being close with his mother worry me. Every son needs his momma.”

"I have no idea what went on between the two of them," I reply truthfully. “I’ve been working on him about her. I’m sure he blew a situation way out of proportion.”

“How deep are you in with him?”

He told me he loves me. He stirs something up in me I’ve never felt before. He’s played my body unlike anyone else, including Darren. I whisper, “I’m not sure.”

“I was afraid you’d say that. Darren was an amazing man, and you both were so in love.

Like Kara and her husband.” She beams at how far her family has risen—from the ashes to a PT owner of soon-to-be four clinics and a husband-and-wife cosmetic surgeon and anesthesiologist power duo with two kids.

“Be careful with Bennett. He looks as if he could rip your heart out and eat it as paté.”

“Ma!” Her analogy shocks me.

“What? I’m telling you how I see it. He has danger written all over him. He doesn’t get along with his mother. Seems to be a loner in the band. My daughter doesn’t need to be mixed up with someone like that. Not after what you had with Darren. ”

“But, but . . . you were so nice to Bennett at dinner.”

“Because I’m a lady. I don’t think he’s right for you, so if you think by going off on tour you’re going to coax him into marrying you, I don’t want you going.”

I rub my left arm while her words soak into my heart. Is he as bad for me as she’s portraying? “I’m not looking to marry the guy. My goal is to help him heal properly.”

“So long as that’s all it is, fine.”

“Fine.” We stare at each other for a minute. “I have to admit the idea of taking a step away from all these responsibilities is alluring.”

“A break you deserve,” she concedes. “I don’t want to see you end up the way you did before, though. The media’s all over you already. Are you sure this is the best decision for you?”

“I hate the reporters for contacting Darren’s family and stirring the whole mess up again. Seems like their job is only to create headlines and get clicks. I’m trying to ignore them.”

Ma stands and walks to me, placing her palm on my cheek. “I know you’ll do the right thing, Sweet Pea.” She gathers our empty cups and disappears into the kitchen.

But what if the right thing means giving in to my feelings for Bennett?