two
Phil
I ’m far from a knight in shining armor, and I know the phrase ‘damsel in distress’ isn’t acceptable in today’s world, but I just can’t walk by when a beautiful woman is sitting on a set of stairs, crying. Especially when I’ve wanted to meet her since the first time I saw her a couple months ago. Stuffing the receipt from Choco-Love in my pocket, I stop and softly ask, “Hey, everything okay?”
She tries to convince me, and probably herself, that she’s fine but she’s barely holding it together. I’ve coached too many young athletes with the habit of negative self-talk and this young woman exhibits the same symptoms. I didn’t help the situation when I brought up the Olympics.
The first time I saw Maya was on the beach outside a local bar, practicing for the first Love Beach tournament. I was drawn to her short dark hair and how her muscles moved under what I imagined was satiny smooth skin. Then she was injured and had to withdraw from the event. Out of curiosity I’d followed the news about her torn ACL, although after her partner started winning with another athlete, there wasn’t much airtime spent on Maya Davis.
Fucking shame, that’s what it is.
Now I’ve reminded her of what she’s lost, at least for now. She could be back on the beach in a year, or her injury might have sidelined her completely. Blown out knees are a tricky bitch.
When I mentioned the Olympics, she’d caught back a sob. I’m an idiot. Now I need to make her feel better. Sitting beside her on the steps, I’m surprised when she allows me to take her hand. “Shit, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made the reference.”
She tries to brush off my concern and bursts into tears. I did this to her and now I need to correct my fuck up. All these tears can’t be only because I mentioned the Olympics. How do I fix something when I don’t know for sure what I’m fixing. Taking a huge chance, I ease her into my embrace. “It’s okay to cry, baby doll.”
She sniffs against my neck. My cock stirs. What the hell? How are tears and snot an aphrodisiac? I haven’t been that long without a woman. When I can’t remember my last hookup, I’m forced to admit it has been a long time. A year? More?
Even though I knew Beryl wasn’t really the one for me, when she rejected me after her college boyfriend turned up in Love Beach, I wallowed for an unreasonable amount of time. I focused on training kids and when other professional sports teams in the area contacted me about building on to my gym to create space they could use, I threw myself into the expansion.
Guess I’ve ignored other parts of my life and now I have a stunning beauty in my arms. The only thing on my mind should be drying her tears, not kissing her.
She shrugs and presses the backs of her fingers to her nose. It’s not helping. Using the tip of one finger I lift her chin and use the hem of my tee to wipe away her tears.
“Oh don’t do that,” she complains and twists away. “I don’t want to ruin your shirt.”
“No worries, this shirt has wiped away a lot of tears.”
She gives me a disbelieving glare.
“It’s true. I coach kids. Some of them are still pretty little and their small hurts are huge to them. Or they haven’t figured out how to deal with the frustration of not getting a move right after fifty tries. Tears are a default reaction for many of them. Especially when their moms are around,” I end softly.
Tugging on the hem of her own shirt, Maya leans back and dries her face. “Okay, I’ll give you that. It’s the same with volleyball. I remember bursting into tears when I couldn’t serve the ball over the net.”
“And how old were you?”
She fights a smile. “That was last year.” Shaking her head, she continues, “No, I was six. My brother is older so he was already playing team volleyball in middle school. I wanted to be just like him.”
“And?” I prompt. Maybe she’ll talk herself out of her funk.
“Obviously, we both had successful college careers. He went to the Olympics on the National indoor team. Then he started coaching. He has a dream like yours though.”
What’s she talking about? “I don’t understand.”
“I know who you are, Phil. And I remember watching you at the games. You and all your gold medals. And now you’re helping young people discover and hone their abilities. Coaching future gymnasts. Even though he hasn’t really talked much about the possibility, I know my brother would like to do the same with volleyball. Set up a permanent facility for training and team development. I expect him to pursue that after Ellie wins her gold medal.”
Sadness tightens the skin around her eyes, but she sheds no more tears. There’s more she needs to say, but I know she won’t. I’m not sure how much she even realizes. “That sounds like a solid plan. They—your brother and Ellie are getting married? Is that what I heard before they left town?”
“Ha. Love Beach really is just a small town, isn’t it? All the rumors. I pushed for them to get married before they went back on the circuit. But Ellie insists it won’t happen until I’m able to walk the aisle as her maid of honor. That’s part of why I’m so damn weepy today. Therapy was hard. I hurt more than usual.”
She lifts the thick envelope from her lap. “Then I got this in the mail. She keeps sending pictures of dresses I’ll never be able to wear. I can’t. I don’t want to ruin her wedding by not looking presentable in any of her choices. And then… and then these steps. There’s so many of them and my knee just didn’t want to make the climb. I was resting when you showed up. So, there ya go. My life and today sucks.”
I’m inordinately glad I’d parked behind Choco-Love today otherwise I would have missed the opportunity to meet Maya. Hold her. Capture her tears with my shirt. Okay, that’s not a good point. However, I can give her a little help to make her day better.
“Allow me to help you up the stairs.”
She captures her bottom lip between her teeth and I swallow a groan. Eyes wide, her gaze darts around like she’s a trapped animal. I don’t mean to frighten her.
“Just some support for your tired knee. I know how difficult the physical therapy can be.”
“Have you had a knee injury?”
I nod. “Hmm. In high school. Damn near made me stop gymnastics. But somewhere I found my determination. Full recovery, except now sometimes when the weather changes it gets achy. Could be age, too, I suppose.”
Silent, I wait for her to make her decision. I want to help her. Almost feels like I need to help her. Need with a capital ‘N’. To protect her from further harm. To make sure she’s safe and comfortable. And most of all, just to be near her.
Is this warped or what?
“Um, okay. I’d appreciate the help. If you really don’t mind.”
“I have nowhere else to be—” I stop myself before calling her baby doll again.
She hands me her stack of mail and uses the handrail to pull herself to her feet. She grabs her cane and once I’ve risen, she turns and peers up the flight of stairs. “Here we go.”
Cane first. Then she lifts her uninjured leg. After making sure she’s steady, she lifts the repaired leg. Stepping with her, I keep the palm of my hand against the small of her back, supporting without being obtrusive. I glare at the steps as we climb. I’m guessing she’s far enough out from the surgery she should have more mobility and strength. I’ve known athletes who don’t consider themselves as talented as they are who self-sabotage their recovery by not doing the work.
I was completely focused and single-minded after my first injury, I never would have even considered not doing the exercises the physical therapist prescribed. In fact, they had to tell me to slow down. That I could do more damage by doing too much too soon. I listened.
I don’t know what Maya needs to hear or the best way to help her. I’ll figure it out as I get to know her better. Because now that is my focus.
We’re three quarters of the way to the landing when she stops with a whispered, “Shit, shit, shit.”
“Maya?”
“I’m sorry. I need to stop for a minute. To rest. I’ve done too much today. You can go ahead and leave. I’ll make it the rest of the way after a breather.”
Yeah, no. Not going to happen. This woman will be safely in her apartment, feet up with an ice pack on her knee before I’ll even consider leaving. I hand her back the mail. “Hang on.”
Mindful of her knee, I slip one arm behind her thighs, the other around her shoulders to lift and hold her against my chest.
“Wait. What the heck are you doing?” She drops the cane and wiggles to be put down.
“Getting you safely into your apartment.”
“You can’t lift me. Or carry me.”
I climb the last steps. “Really? Then what am I doing?”
“I’m too heavy. Too big.”
“Obviously not, baby doll. Now unlock the door and we can get you inside.”
“You’ll have to put me down so I can get the keys out of my pocket.”
The thought of slipping my hand into the pocket of her lightweight slacks is tempting but instead I carefully set her on her feet. “Open the door. I’ll get your cane.”
She’s pushed the door open and limped inside by the time I’ve rescued the cane from its tumble down most of the stairs. When I return to the apartment she’s made it as far as the kitchen island. “Thanks. I’m good now.”
Her face is pale and she’s standing so there’s no weight on her injured leg. She’s not okay. I take the cane to her then stand a mere twelve inches in front of her and cross my arms. She’s a couple inches taller than my five nine so I tip my chin up to stare into her eyes. “I am not leaving until you’re settled and comfortable. I do understand what you’re going through. And everyone needs a little help occasionally. When’s the last time you allowed anyone to do something for you?”
“Fine. What’s it going to take for you to go?” There’s a slight upturn of her tone at the end of the question she tried to make a demand. Deep inside she wants someone to take care of her but probably doesn’t want to appear weak or needy.
“You with your feet up. Water and snacks nearby. Something pleasurable to do while you’re resting. I see you have a cold therapy machine and it needs to be doing its job. Think we can handle that?”
Her shoulders slump. “Yes. That’s what I was planning. I’ve got some writing I need to work on. I’ll get everything set up and?—”
“I’ll take care of whatever you need. You go find your comfortable spot.” I wait until she’s settled into a large recliner with the cold therapy wrap in place and the machine running. “What would you like to snack on?”
“I don’t really need anything. Just some water.”
“You’ve expended a lot of energy. You need a snack. Cheese and grapes. Perfect.” There isn’t much in her refrigerator but those few grapes and a couple hunks of cheese from Landon Dairy Cheeses next door. A new plan forms in my brain. I put the snack on a small plate then set it and a large bottle of water on a side table next to her. After double checking the wrap on her knee, I cross toward the door.
“You don’t have anything here for supper.”
She shrugs. “If I get hungry I’ll order delivery.”
“What’s your favorite take out?”
She eyes me with suspicion. “Chinese. Why?”
“I’ll be back later with supper. Happy Family okay? Egg drop soup?”
“You don’t need to bring me food. You don’t need to do anything else for me. I appreciate your help, but I can take care of myself.”
I suppose she can, but she doesn’t need to. Not when that’s my job now. The realization and truth of that feeling settles like a warm blanket around my heart. I smile and her determined expression softens to questions. She can argue all she likes. She’s not winning this one. “I know you can, baby doll. You just don’t have to.”