“What’s next for us then?”
“Now, we celebrate being right here.” He sets his plate on the coffee table. I follow suit. His next confession causes me to lower my walls a bit more, “You have an incredible life you’ve built in this amazing community, Amy.”
The pride in his voice makes my heart flutter. I redirect the question to him. “And you? What do you have?”
“I have a home. I’m alive. I’m really enjoying mentoring the kids here.” His voice turns raspy. “Yes, I’m in therapy. That’s a good thing. But the best part is having time with you.”
His words warm my core. I touch his arm and feel the crazy sparks leap through us both. “Are you happy?”
His muscles tense beneath my touch. A thrill runs through me at how I still affect him. “Yes, especially when you look at me like you don’t hate me. Truly, I feel like I’ve been given a new lease on life.”
My hand strokes his bicep unconsciously. “That’s a lot.”
“You’re not responsible for fixing us but I’m asking you to give me a chance.”
Brennan deliberately rests his hand on the cushion between us, palm up. Not demanding.
Offering.
I don’t hesitate before sliding my hand off his arm into his. His fingers close gently, like he’s holding something precious. “What do you want from me?”
“Only what you’re willing to give.”
The words shouldn’t land like a warm embrace, but they do. They’re offering trust without expectation. I stand before ordering him, “Turn around.”
His brows lower. “Why?”
“Trust me, Brennan.”
He shifts until his shoulders face in the direction of where I was sitting. “I already do and I’ll never forget I should have.”
His openness causes tears to prick at the back of my eyes. I step behind him. Up close, it’s obvious how tightly wound he is. Like his muscles are permanently bracing for impact even though the hits are over.
“Tell me if this hurts,” I say quietly.
“Okay.”
I rub my hands together before placing them on his shoulders. Letting warmth seep into his muscles. He exhales. His shoulders drop half an inch. I knead gently, thumbs pressing into the knots at the base of his neck. “You’re so tight.”
“I thought about getting a massage but…” his voice trails off.
“Stop fighting your instincts.” The moment the words leave my mouth I realize I should probably take my own advice—especially when it comes to Brennan.
His breathing changes. “It’s like my body never got the memo that my game days are over.”
I knead a bit harder. “You have to take care of yourself.”
His “I will” comes out in a rush of air.
A long silence follows, filled only by the soft sound of his moans before even those quiet. Minutes pass. His body tips forward slightly.
“Brennan?”
No answer.
I lean closer. His eyelashes rest against his cheeks. His jaw is slack. The tension in his shoulders loosened under my hands gave him much needed relief. So much so that he’s fallen asleep.
Something in my chest aches sharply because this is what he needed tonight. Not an inquisition about a past that is starting to matter less and less. Not worrying about the future.
