Page 18 of The Love Ambush (The Sullivans #1)

“Maybe someday,” Daphne says. “Not anytime soon. Brodie’s happy with his job in Denver, but I’ve definitely thought about opening a law office in Bend, one that helps people less able to afford representation.”

“Brodie said you’re a lawyer, but he never told me what kind.”

“I’m a defense attorney,” Daphne says. “I work for lower-income folks as much as I’m able.”

So, she might work sixty hours a week, but she probably doesn’t make much money. It now makes so much sense to me why Brodie wouldn’t want to keep sending us money. Especially if they want to buy a house in what I assume is a very expensive area to live.

My shoulders sink. I can’t ask Brodie to give that up. He’s right. He didn’t think taking over guardianship of the girls was a good idea. He voted to send them to our aunt, but he fully supported me when I insisted on taking care of them and staying in Mom and Dad’s house.

The sad thing is, I’m not at all sure I made the right choice.

Our aunt is only in her sixties, and she’s very kind. The girls might have really enjoyed living with her in Florida.

“Here we are,” Daphne says, arms spread wide in front of the entrance to the spa. “Get ready to be more relaxed than you’ve ever been before.”

As soon as we step inside, we’re taken back to a locker room where we change into robes and then into a room with three massage tables already set up. They tell us to leave our phones, but I keep mine with me in case the girls need me.

Before I slide my phone into the pocket of my robe, I check the girls’ location on the map. They’re already about halfway to town.

They’re fine. They’ll be fine. Ivy and Eden seem nice, and my sisters are teenagers. Nothing to worry about.

“Everyone good with starting with a massage?” Daphne asks.

“Hell, yes,” Liza says. “It’s been years since I’ve had one, and I’m in desperate need.”

“Everything going okay?” Daphne asks.

“Everything’s great,” Liza says. “Just the normal busyness and stress. I need to be better about making time for myself.”

“Anytime you need to get away for a bit, you’re always welcome to stay with us.” Daphne turns to me. “How about you, Gentry? You good to start with a massage?”

“I’ve never actually had a massage before,” I say. “I’m up for whatever.”

“Oh,” Daphne says, her focus intense. There’s a feeling from her every time she looks at me, like she’s really interested in everything I have to say and really cares. Brodie is a lucky guy. “You’re going to love it. Massages are the best thing on the planet.”

“And we get massaged together?” I ask. “Or do we, like, take turns?” It’s probably a stupid question, considering there are three massage tables, but I need to know what I’m getting myself into.

“I thought it would be fun if we all got massages together at the same time. That way, we can chat if we feel like it. But if you aren’t comfortable, I’m sure we can get you a private massage.”

“No, I’m fine.” That didn’t come out right. “I mean, this is great. Thank you so much.”

Daphne smiles and drops her robe. She walks to the table completely naked, grabs the towel there and covers herself as she lies down.

I swallow. Am I expected to do the same? I still have my underwear on. Am I supposed to be completely naked?

Ugh, I hate this already.

“Daphne is an exhibitionist,” Liza says, giving me a friendly, conspiratorial smile. “I’m not so brave.”

Liza keeps her robe on, walks to the table, and turns her back to me before dropping the robe and wrapping the towel around herself. She climbs carefully onto the table, and I let out a sigh of relief to see she’s also wearing undies.

I do exactly as Liza does, but I’m still nervous as I lie on the table, waiting for the massage to begin. I hate being in situations where I have no idea what’s going on. Especially when I’m with people I’d very much like to impress for my brother’s sake.

“I’m not an exhibitionist,” Daphne says. “It’s just us girls here.”

Liza laughs. “You’re right, exhibitionist was the wrong word. You’re comfortable in your own skin. Most people would feel at least a moment’s hesitation before getting naked in front of someone they just met.”

“It’s not like it’s anything Gentry hasn’t seen before.” Daphne turns her head to look at me. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“As long as I’m not expected to do the same, I’m totally fine.”

Daphne’s smile is beatific and guileless.

She and Liza chat with me, asking questions about Catalpa Creek and my schooling to be a nurse.

I don’t tell them I’ve failed after three semesters and have to wait a few months to try again.

I don’t tell them how much I hate the sight of blood and needles, or how scared I am of being terrible at the job and hurting someone.

Thankfully, the massage therapists come in before I have to think too much about any of that.

The therapist working with me is a tiny woman with a wide, cheerful smile. She looks to be less than five feet tall and is so petite she probably has to shop in the children’s section. Daphne’s masseuse is a tall, muscular man, and Liza’s is a broad-shouldered, intense-looking woman.

Maybe this won’t be so bad. Surely the masseuse assigned to me will have a touch so light I’ll barely be able to feel it. “Hi,” she says. “I’m Belinda, and I’ll be your masseuse today. Do you have any special requests?”

“No. This is my first massage.”

Her smile widens. “Great. I’ll go easy on you, okay? And you let me know if anything hurts or is too intense.”

“Okay.”

She starts at my shoulders with a light touch. “Just relax. You feel very tense, but massages are meant to be enjoyed. There is nothing to be nervous about.”

I pull in a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to do as she asks. I’m not sure how to turn off my nerves about a stranger’s hands all over me in a room where two people I very much want to impress will notice if I don’t respond in whatever the right way to respond to a massage might be.

“You are very tight,” Belinda says. The other masseuses are silent, and I feel that everyone in the room must be listening in on this critique of my relaxation status.

“I’m going to try to work this knot out here.

” She strokes a light finger over my upper back muscle.

“It’ll hurt at first, but should feel better as it releases.

You let me know if it’s too much, okay?”

“Uh-huh.” My nerves ratchet back up, because I hate to cause a scene or be difficult. She’s just a masseuse doing her job, right? I’m sure she knows what she’s doing, and I don’t want to be the woman who wimps out first on the massage table.

Is that a thing?

Maybe I’m overthinking this.

Belinda presses down hard into that spot on my back, and it hurts. It really hurts.

But it’s a manageable pain. It’s nothing I can’t handle.

What’s not okay is that the knot she’s working out of my back seems to have moved into my throat, and it’s making my eyes burn.

She pushes and rolls the heels of her hands over the knot, and it’s like she’s pushing tears out of my muscles because they’re leaking out of my eyes. A storm of tears is rising, and I grit my teeth hard against it.

I want to ask her to stop, but I can’t speak around the sobs I’m holding in. I definitely don’t want to be the woman crying on the massage table next to two women I just met, but I can’t hold it in.

A whimper escapes and is followed immediately by another one.

Belinda stops massaging and asks in a calm voice. “Is the pain physical or emotional?”

“It’s fine,” I say. “It doesn’t hurt. I don’t know why—” A sob interrupts me.

“It happens sometimes,” Belinda says. “Our tears get caught up in the knots and they have to come out.”

And then, she goes back to massaging my back. It hurts so much, but it feels oddly good at the same time.

Except I can’t stop crying.

I sniffle and try to get a hold of myself, but another sob erupts.

“Oh, honey,” Daphne says. “It’s okay. Let it all out.”

Mortification washes over me. I’m the woman crying on the massage table, and everyone’s going to know what a train wreck I am. They’re going to look at me with pity.

I pop up, swing my legs around, and slide off the table, keeping my boobs covered as best I can. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”

“It’s okay,” Daphne says. “It’s good for you.”

“We can get you a private room,” Belinda says.

I grab my robe, throw it around myself, and I run.