“I already ice my knees.”
His grumbly tone makes me shrug. “Buying your vitamins, then.”
One of the thin straps from my pajamas tilts precariously close to falling over the edge of my shoulder, and Trevor’s quippy response dies in his half-open mouth. A thrumming energy swirls between us, as incessant as cicadas on a summer day. I’m torn between letting the soft fabric fall off my shoulder, knowing he’ll surge over to kiss me, and tugging the strap up so I can help alleviate his back pain.
Being kissed senseless is why I’m here in the first place, but caring for Trevor takes priority. Pulling the fabric higher on my shoulder, I pat the weight bench. He nods, his reluctantdisappointment as clear as the advertising billboards in the stadium. Once Trevor is seated and I’ve been given instructions, I get to work soothing his muscles.
Trevor’s head dips forward as a low grunt escapes his lips.
“Is this okay?” I ask. “I’m not making it worse?”
“No, that’s incredible. But maybe just a little bit more pressure.”
The blissful noise he makes after I make the correction zips straight to the soles of my feet. Taking my time, I focus on the left side of his lower back before moving to the right. I’m probably being too meticulous, but Trevor doesn’t complain. His eyes remain closed as a peaceful expression crosses his brow. Every once in a while, he’ll wince, so I spend extra time in those spots.
When I’m done, I turn the massager off, stand in front of him, and run my fingers through his hair until his head lifts and his gaze crashes with mine.
“Payment time,” I chirp, bright and cheery.
Trevor’s slight flicker of confusion melts away when I crawl on his lap. Then his hazel eyes trace my face with such heart-wrenching devastation that my lips curl into a smile. I don’t think I’ve ever felt more beautiful than when Trevor looks at me with that absolutelylostexpression.
“You’re a dream, you know that.” The words are murmured over my lips. “Kenzie—”
But Trevor doesn’t get to finish his sentence because my impatient mouth silences him.
Chapter 25
Trevor
“Hey, Christina,” I say warmly when my oldest sister picks up the phone the next day. “How are—”
“I have ten minutes until I need to be scrubbed in the OR. Can it wait?”
I haven’t called my sister in almost a year and a half. We send half-hearted texts on our birthdays and Christmas, but that’s it. It’s been even longer since I’ve spoken to my two other sisters. I think Christina reaches out more out of some eldest-daughter obligation more than a desire to actually keep in contact with me. My heart sinks as I turn the steering wheel, driving toward the stadium for today’s home game.
“Trevi, can it wait?”
Her use of my childhood nickname sends a frisson of hope weaving between my ribs. Various medical machinery pings in the background. Christina is probably in a hospital unit, making last-minute rounds before her next surgery. She’s busy. That’s the only reason she’s being curt.
“Yeah. It can wait. I just wanted to invite you and David to come out over Labor Day. We’ve got home games and—”
“David and I will be in Saint-Tropez then.” Her flat tone hits me like a bat to the jaw. “No. That patient should still be in traction. It’s clearly detailed in my orders,” Christina says to someone beside her. “Was that all you wanted?”
It takes me several seconds to realize that her last question might be directed at me.
“Excuse me?”
An irritated sigh bursts over the line, and instantly, I’m eight again. I’m asking Christina to help me with multiplication because none of the numbers will line up. There should be a pattern, but I’m not recognizing it, and I know my fourteen-year-old sister can help. She’s always getting shiny awards for her grades, especially in math. But just like then, Christina is too busy.
“Was that all you wanted?” she repeats.
No. Not even close.
I want to not feel like a burden for asking my sister to visit me. I want to not be considered a disappointment because I excelledin something other than medicine. I want a family, a real one, like the kind Kenzie has.
But all I get is this brief—I glance at the call’s time stamp—forty-second conversation with my distracted sister. A small part of me wonders that if I call back at a different time, when she’s at home perhaps, I might get a different response.
My head shakes on its own. I might get a slightly softer delivery, but the answer would still be the same.
