Chapter 20

Even for a morning person like me, having Rhett in my house put some extra pep in my step. I practically jumped out of bed with a smile on my face. I can hear him moving around, shuffling to the bathroom down the hall, and when he limps into the kitchen, dark hair mussed, sleepy eyes, and shirtless with plaid sleep pants slung low on his slim hips, I have to white-knuckle the edge of the counter so I don't jump his ass.

"Morning," he mumbles.

How is he so effortlessly gorgeous? Some people are just born with it, I guess. "Breakfast is served."

Rhett stares at the tall glass with horror. "What the hell is that supposed to be?"

"A green smoothie."

"Yeah, but what's in it?"

"Collagen and vitamin C supplements, kale, carrots, cilantro, collard greens, and romaine lettuce."

His skin turns almost as green as the juice. "Not for all the love and money in Vegas. God himself couldn't get me to drink that shit."

Chuckling, I explain, "You need all of that to aid in healing your bones. It will speed up your recovery. Also," I grab the bottle from the cupboard and retrieve two pills, placing them on the counter. "Teriparatide. It's an anabolic med that increases the rate of bone growth by boosting the concentration of calcium in your blood."

"I don't know what all that means," he says skeptically. "But it sounds like good stuff, even though it looks disgusting."

The grimace on his face amuses me. He has a terrible poker face. "As long as you're staying under my roof, we're going to do things my way. That includes your therapy."

"I'm busting my ass in therapy!"

"It's not enough. We're going to make some changes, starting with these." I grab his crutches leaning against the counter and stow them in the hall closet.

"My crutches? You gotta be kidding me! How am I supposed to get around?"

"With your own two feet. The more you use them to walk, the quicker your leg will strengthen. As long as you're distributing your weight on crutches, you're slowing your recovery."

"Come on! Can't I at least get a walking cane? One of those badass ones with a hidden knife inside!"

His enthusiasm makes me chuckle. "Not a chance. You're walking from here on out. When you finish that juice, get dressed, and we'll swing by your place and pick up your mother."

I can't help but laugh at the face he makes as he gobbles down the smoothie, chased by a full body shudder. "I'll be ready in ten minutes," he swears.

On the drive to his apartment, he lowers the volume of the radio and turns to face me, his expression serious. "Riggs, I don't know if I'll ever be able to find the right words to thank you for all you've done for me. Not just with savin' my life, but the support and encouragement, kicking my ass in the gym, and now this shit with my mama. Even the supplements this morning. Everything you do is so selfless, and I know sometimes I give you a hard time. I'm angry and depressed, sometimes I just don't feel like I have it in me. But you're always right there to prove me wrong."

For all his wise-ass remarks and fuckboy nature, sometimes Rhett levels me with his sincerity. His gratitude leaves me speechless. I choke down the feelings that are trying to form words and spill out of my mouth. "I just want you to get better. That's all. Just get your life back," I say gruffly.

And when that happens, I pray to God I'm still a part of it.

Retta is dressed and waiting for us in the kitchen. "Dig in, boys. I made pancakes and bacon, and for my little pecan, I made honeyed peaches to top your pancakes."

"Yeah Mama, that's what I'm talkin' ‘bout! You can't believe what I had for breakfast earlier."

The urge to touch him is strong. When he mouths off like this, I find him irresistible, with his dimples popping, framing that lopsided grin. Fuck .

I sit beside him, and I don't know if I'm imagining it or not, but I can almost feel the pull between us, like a tangible thing.

"What?" he asks, suddenly looking shy. He feels it too.

The voices in my head become loud, coalescing into a deafening roar. I hear my conscience, or maybe just my insecurities, telling me to back off, to push him away. I also hear Brewer telling me to indulge in moderation, and Retta selling me on her son's virtues. I hear my body begging me to touch him. I hear his voice, through the filter of pain and tears, the first night I met him, asking me to hold his hand, to never let go.

Like a moth drawn to a flame, I'm begging to get burned.

There's a spark between us—more like an inferno.

I didn't ask for any of this. I didn't choose him. My heart did.

The harder I fall for him, the more I hate myself for being so gullible and careless, but I feel it. It's happening. My heart is getting wrapped up around him. No matter how much I try to fight it, it's inevitable.

This is going to fucking hurt.

"I think about you more often than I should," I admit, surprising myself with my daring.

Rhett's eyes pop wide, and he checks to make sure his mama isn't listening before he whispers, "I think about you constantly."

I've got to get out of here before I give in and kiss him. Jesus, I'm dying to kiss him. That first taste is going to be unforgettable.

"I'll see you at BALLS. Don't forget to grab your bathing suit."

When I pull into the parking lot at BALLS, I shut the truck off and sit there for a solid ten minutes, staring at my reflection in the rearview mirror. I can't believe I told him that, and yet, the world didn't end. I didn't spontaneously combust, nor did Rhett. It doesn't mean game on, all in. It just means I won't continue to lie to myself and him. Giving myself that small freedom feels like the greatest thrill, a rush of adrenaline straight to the heart. I'm actually nervous to see him again, which is fucking ridiculous.

Time to go in and face the music. I can just imagine the smug look on Brewer's face when I tell him I've stopped fighting myself. Or the pranks and catcalls from the Bitches. It's all in good fun, I guess. I've given the guys so much shit, I certainly have it coming.

"Good morning, Riggs," Margaret Anne greets cheerfully, offering me a steaming cup of coffee in a paper cup.

"Morning, MA. Don't you look fetching in that pink blouse?"

Of course, she blushes and smiles, which was my goal. "Have a wonderful day."

As I pass down the hall on my way to the gym, I read the posters taped to the walls. "Show off your BALLS at the Veterans Day celebration in Black Mountain!"

I can't hide my laugh thinking of Rhett's reaction to reading the posters. Another ball joke he'll find absolutely ridiculous.

"Hey, Riggs. You gonna show off your balls?" Jax asks, coming up behind me.

Smirking, I answer, "Only if you show yours first."

"Shit, I'll keep them tucked safely away, thank you very much. Actually, I'm riding with the ALR in the parade with Stiles and McCormick. I'll leave all that ball flashing to you Bitches."

The American Legion of Riders is a motorcycle club that does a lot for vets in the way of raising money to cover unpaid medical bills, keeping vets' houses from being foreclosed on, and buying Christmas gifts and school supplies for their kids.

"That's a shame. No one likes to flash their balls more than McCormick."

Jax cracks up and continues down the hall and I duck into the gym. West and Nash are training hard on the step climbing machines, trying to outpace each other. They're both going to complete the Warrior's Walk this quarter; the only question is, who will come in first place? It's never been a competition before, just a personal achievement, but leave it to these two nimrods to change the rules.

"I'll see you both in the pool in an hour," I remind them, making my way to the back of the gym to check on another patient.

Minutes later, I spy Rhett escorting his mama into the gym. He makes a circuit around the room, showing her the equipment and explaining to her his workout routine.

They stand and watch West and Nash compete with each other. "I'll never get there," I overhear him say dejectedly.

"Not with that attitude, you won't." He jumps at the sound of my voice and turns to me, a huge grin working its way over his face.

"Hi," he says in a breathy voice, totally giving himself away. My admission over breakfast turned his brain to mush.

"Did you bring your bathing suit?"

"Yeah, I've got it right here in my bag," he explains, hitching his backpack higher on his shoulder.

"Good, I'll meet you in the pool in an hour."

I try not to laugh at his otherworldly glow and get back to the business of helping people help themselves.

At twelve-thirty, I cut through the locker room to grab some towels on my way to the pool. No matter how many times they clean this place, it always smells like sweaty jockstraps.

When I round a bank of lockers, I see Nash with his head in his locker, searching through his bag. He pops two pills in his mouth and slams the locker shut. Red flags freeze me in my tracks, making goosebumps rise along my skin. I watched Nash struggle through the end of his addiction and the beginning of his recovery, and if he's entertaining the idea of revisiting that hellish nightmare, I might just have something to say about it.

I plant my feet in front of him, arms crossed over my chest. He startles when he turns.

"What?" he asks. The look on my face tells him everything I'm not saying with words. "Oh, that? Ibuprofen, I swear." Nash reaches into his bag and pulls out the bottle to show me.

"It's not that I don't trust you, it's that I'm always going to worry about you." Last year, he was badly tortured in captivity and shot in the leg. After the bullet shattered his femur, he suffered fifteen more days without getting it treated. He walks with a slight limp now, but at least he walks.

"I know. I overdid it earlier in the gym."

"Well, the pool will be the perfect cool down for you. When you get home, ice your leg."

"I will. I promise. So, I heard Rhett's joining us today. Nice to have a new addition to the swim team."

"He's just starting out in his therapy, and though he needs to push himself to stay motivated, don't let him try to keep up with you. He's not there yet."

"I'll keep an eye on the little tyke," Nash teases.

When I walk out into the enclosed pool area, the humidity slaps me in the face and I breathe in the chlorine scented air, letting the steam open up my chest and sinuses. Nash is the first one in the pool, followed by West, and then McCormick. They sit on the edge of the pool, removing their prosthetic legs before jumping in the deep end. Today I have two other vets joining us for the first time, but they're further along in their recovery than Rhett.

When Rhett walks out of the locker room, wearing a very short and very tight pair of black swim trunks, I do a double take, failing to school my expression before he catches me. He's the second one who fails to hide his surprise.

"What's this? I thought you invited me to swim with you."

Nash cracks up and splashes him with water. "I fell for that once, thinking I was meeting Brewer here. Boy, was I wrong."

"This is aquatic therapy. The water acts as a resistant force without any of the impact on your body that the machines in the gym cause. Jump in," I add, eyeing his shorts once more. Jesus, what will they look like when they're sopping wet and stuck to his skin?

"Also known as the ‘ Bitches' synchronized swim team ,'" McCormick jokes.

"This better not be stupid," he grumbles, gingerly climbing down the ladder.

"For everyone but Rhett, take two full laps back and forth." When I blow my whistle, they take off, kicking and splashing across the pool.

"What about me?" he asks.

"I want you to hold on to the side of the pool and just kick your legs out behind you like you're swimming."

He does as instructed, and the move makes his butt breach the surface, popping out of the water. Because his bathing suit is wet, the thin fabric molds to his cheeks, highlighting the crack between them. My mouth waters for a taste of that crease. If we do this, if we go ahead with this relationship and get naked at some point, the first thing I'm going to do is drag my tongue through his ass and taste his hole.

By the time the rest of them finish their laps, Rhett is almost out of steam. "I'm fuckin' sweating in the pool! That's gotta be a first for me."

West swims up to him and grabs the wall. "It's harder than it looks, isn't it? But that's the point. Riggs says that when you find new ways to use your muscles, you use new muscles. The pool does for our bodies what the gym can't."

You have to love it when your patients start quoting you. It means they're listening. "Are you angling for my job, Wardell?"

"Hell no. I refuse to carry around that stupid clipboard all day."

"Move to the shallow end. Thirty jumping jacks, and then running in place until I blow the whistle."

They grumble and groan as they swim over to the shallow side of the pool. "Rhett, you can join them. But don't try for thirty. Just stop when you feel like you've reached your limit." I know for a fact, he'll push himself past what he thinks his limit is, which is fine with me. It's what he needs to do.

For thirty more minutes, they continue to push their bodies past what they think they can handle at the sound of my whistle. "Nash and Rhett, stick around and do a cooldown before you get out. Everyone else hit the shower." They're both experiencing inflammation today, and the least I can do is encourage them to treat their bodies right. The cooldown exercises followed by a cold shower and some ice packs will do the trick.

"Yo, Riggs! I was told I'd find you in here."

"Randall fucking Mallory, how the hell are you?" My former patient, who I haven't seen in some time, strolls in looking tanned and healthy. Much like Rhett, he broke his leg on a jump gone wrong, and I worked with him for months until he was strong enough again to continue risking life and limb by jumping out of perfectly good airplanes.

"Better than expected," he grins. His dark hair is showing threads of silver around his temples and forehead, and the laugh lines and crow's feet that kiss his skin hint at his sunny, lighthearted demeanor. Randall is an easy-going guy who loves to laugh and lives life to the fullest.

Rhett and Nash finish their cool down and jump out of the pool. "Hey Randall, good to see you again," Nash says on his way to the locker room, shaking the guy's hand.

But Rhett stops beside me, joining the conversation. "Hey, I'm Rhett Marsh. Good to meet you, Randall."

Randall's eyes travel down Rhett's dripping body before returning to his face, and I have to restrain myself from throwing him in the pool.

"Good to meet you, Rhett. How'd you hurt your leg?" he asks, checking out the maze of dark red and purple scars that zigzag across Rhett's leg.

"82nd Airborne. My chute got shot down and I hit the ground too hard. Shattered the right leg and fractured the left." He slides his arm around my shoulders, getting my shirt wet as he pulls me tightly to his side. "Riggs saved my life."

Every time he says that, I have to fight the urge to blush.

Randall squats down and brushes his fingers up Rhett's leg, touching his scars. "You sure made a mess of it, kid."

"You should've seen it before they sewed it up," he teases.

My blood pressure spikes, and I feel the heat rise to my face. My fingertips feel numb. Randall Mallory has exactly half a second to remove his hands from Rhett's leg before I go fucking ballistic.

His survival instinct must kick in because he stands and straightens. "I'm 82nd myself, retired now. I own the flight school out of Asheville Regional Airport. Well, flight and jump school. You should come by, check it out. Maybe I'll take you up in the air," he offers. "I bet you miss it."

"Hell yeah I do. It's in my blood. Chasing that thrill, it's what I lived for."

"Lived, not live? I'll tell you what. You stop by and I'll take you up in the air, and then maybe we'll grab some lunch, see if we can't get that thrill back."

I'm gonna fucking blow a goddamn blood vessel and have a stroke right here on the pool deck, clutching my clipboard. He's blatantly flirting with Rhett, who either doesn't seem to realize it, or is so desperate to get back up in the air again that he's going along with it.

"That's the best offer I've heard in months," Rhett grins, sticking out his hand. Randall doesn't take it. Instead, he pulls Rhett in tight for a hug, clapping his back.

"It'll be a cold day in hell before he ever jumps out of a plane again," I snap, gritting my teeth.

"You're about as much fun as a wet blanket," Randall jokes.

I swear to God the man has no idea how close he is to death. A violent death.

"Don't let that stop you, kid. Come on by and we'll get you up in the air. You don't have to jump. Maybe I'll teach you how to fly instead."

My legs move on their own accord, and I lunge for him just as Rhett moves to hug him again, blocking me with his body.

"I can't think of anythin' that sounds better than that. I'm gonna take you up on that offer real soon. I gotta get out of these wet clothes, but I'm so glad I met you." Then he turns to me. "I'll see you later. I've gotta work tonight, so don't wait up."

I know my face is red because I can feel the heat warming my skin. Randall laughs lightly. "You're sleeping with him? Your patient?"

My heart beats furiously from the rush of adrenaline coursing through my blood. "I'm not sleeping with him, and technically, he's not my patient. He utilizes the gym here and takes advantage of the services of all the physical therapists on staff, just like the rest of the vets here do. Just like you did."

"Oh, so when he sleeps over, you two just sit up and play cards at night?" He laughs like it's a joke, a joke that I don't find funny.

"Is there a point you're trying to make?"

"Not at all, Riggs. Not at all. It was good running into you again. I'll see you soon."