Page 11 of Knot Yours

“Thanks. I think I will.”

With my new ID secured in my wallet, I leave the facility and do some shopping for things to spruce up my work environment.

Three hours later, my car is loaded down. I’ve picked out matching desk supplies, artwork, a large, sealed terrarium and stand, a lamp, a small side table, and a comfortable reading chair. I probably went a little overboard, but the investment is my way of burning the ships. I’m going all in and plan to be here for a long time.

Come morning, I’m eager to get started. Enough that I don’t think about sitting outside to watch for my new neighbors. My office at the lab is a clean slate. The soft gray walls make the perfect backdrop for the impressionist painting of the Tree of Life.

I set the terrarium, reading chair, and side table on the same wall. The opposite side boasts a large picture window overlooking a creek and woods beyond. The view, real wood furniture, natural light, and the green patterned carpeting exemplify the ideal workspace for employee wellbeing. This is a company that practices what it preaches.

It takes four hours and three trips to the supply room to get the office set up and ready for use. Once I’m done, I travel home to load up the books I’ll use to heal. Pharmacology books, biology tomes of plants and animals, and humans, and many others fill my trunk and back seat.

By five, I’ve made multiple trips to load and unload the books, organized them on my shelves, and am now collapsed in my office chair. I’m ready, exhausted, but ready. I float home, dancing in my seat like a kid before Christmas. I even want to go to bed early so the morning arrives faster.

Austin’s truck isn’t in his driveway when I drive past to pull into mine. I go inside and look for Piper in the backyard but don’t see her. I try to convince myself I’m not disappointed, but my efforts are a failure.

I distract myself by making dinner. Afterward, I clean up and settle on my sofa with the newest issue of the JPET, a pharmacological journal. I could be featured here one day. Not that being published is my goal. I won’t be creating new drugs to patent. I’ll be researching various combined medicinal and homeopathic remedies and even working to discover previously unknown uses of natural elements to heal diseases.

Happily tired, I get ready for an early bedtime, but there’s still one thing I must do before putting my head on the pillow. I pull a plastic-wrapped garment from my closet and rip open the protective covering. Years ago, I would have been unveiling a new dance costume ahead of a grand performance. Tonight, my smile is bittersweet as I run my fingers over my name embroidered in the white lab coat—a gift from my father. Dr. Marisol Borrero.

The navy-blue stitching above the medical symbol is nothing like the sparkling bodices and flowing skirts I always thought would be my uniform. No, it’s not a tutu, but I can be happy in this.

As my light winks out, I smile as if my brother could see me. “I’m doing it, Cordero.”

Austin

“You’re an idiot.”

Piper barks, and I look her way, slamming the door behind me. “Not you.”

I release the buckle of my tool belt, letting the whole thing fall to the floor with a loud clang. My eyes close in defeat, and I brace my hands on either side of the sink. What the hell is wrong with you?

Since coming back from my run, I’ve been utterly useless. I only sealed one of the new storage built-ins before fucking off to play with Piper. No, you didn’t. You fucked off so Marisol would watch you playing with Piper.

Me, the man who swore off women, abandoned my work to catch the eye of a gorgeous one, only to find out she’s eleven years younger.

My attraction to Marisol wasn’t just based on her looks, but I can’t deny that when I returned from my run this morning, I experienced instant and unfamiliar stirrings in my chest. Dammit.

For years, the untrustworthy muscle had been dormant. I liked it that way. I hadn’t realized how much joy Amber’s presence had sucked out of my life until she was gone. My life is less complicated without relationships and drama.

Since divorcing Amber, I’ve enjoyed my freedom, but let me get one look at my gorgeous, way too fucking young for me, tenant, and my useless heart wakes up and takes notice. God, she’s not but thirty years old. Well, thanks, Universe. It’s good to know you aren’t through screwing with me.

I kick the heavy belt, scattering screwdrivers and other tools across the kitchen floor. Great. Now I’m throwing fits like a teenager. Refusing to pick up the mess, I stalk to the living room and resume sealing the stupid built-ins.

Four hours later, I finish applying the last coat of urethane and dump the applicators in a bowl of mineral spirits. The solvent does its job while I gather my shit. I had planned to keep working until late, spend the night, and head to Knot Corp from here in the morning, but I need to get out before I do something stupid. The level of stupidity could range from busting up the cabinets I just finished to asking the kid next door if she wants to have dinner with me.

I look toward the wall separating Marisol and me no less than twenty times before finishing all my cleanup. Herculean effort is needed to keep from walking over and knocking on her door. After ensuring all the blinds are closed—except for the broken set in the kitchen—I walk out to my truck and drive home.

Dinner is fast food picked up on the way home—a mistake. Having to cook would have been a decent distraction. Now, I’ll have to come up with something else to kill the evening. “Hey, Piper. I think it’s about time you had a bath.”

I report to the compound at five AM like usual. Piper’s coat is clean and shiny, but I look like shit. And why wouldn’t I? I made an absolute turd of myself yesterday. Thinking an extra shot of caffeine would help, I down two cups of coffee before putting in a workout.

Neither does me any good. Now, along with looking like shit, I’m all jacked up. I give up on functioning normally and figure I’ll head for the showers and at least be clean for the day’s training.

The operatives already on the floor are doing some light stretches, getting ready for the day. Precisely at six, they know to start fifteen minutes of warmup cardio before hitting the training floor. This is to avoid injury due to cold muscles.

The glassed-in gym sits next door to the training room, from which I watch the crew tackle their assigned weight circuits. Today is core day. I usually patrol through the room, checking on form and progress, but I watch from the other side of the glass today. I’m not in the mood to talk.

The group of sixteen finish at about the same time and take five for water and whatever. Lately, having that many operatives on hand at one time is unusual. Business has been good. Too good. Our people need a break, but even though these two teams have just returned from various jobs, they’re about to head out again.

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