Page 69 of Warrior's Walk

“Yeah, I want to know whose bed we’re doing this in tonight, yours or mine?”

“I don’t know. I’ve got a really nice couch out there. It’s wide and soft. Then there’s the hot tub…”

I can’t. I’m done with him. Sliding my arms beneath his neck, I get him in a headlock and noogie his head with my knuckles.Riggs wrestles against my hold, wrapping his legs around mine so he can flip our positions and pin me beneath his weight.

He stares down into my face, smiling and breathless, his dark eyes shining. Riggs dips his head, licking my lips before sucking them into his mouth and lavishing each one with his tongue before doing the same to my tongue.

“That’s how I should have woken you up. I’m sorry. I’m not used to waking up with company.”

“Better not be,” I sass, still dizzy from his kiss.

“Let’s go pick up your mom and have breakfast together and then we’ll all head over to BALLS.”

“Mama?” As soon as I walk into my apartment, I know something’s wrong. My mother isn’t in the kitchen cooking, or sitting on the couch, flipping through the morning news channels. “Mama,” I call again, expecting to hear her voice muffled through the bathroom door. But when I walk into my bedroom, it’s dark, but not so dark that I can’t make out her shape in the bed. Switching on the bedside lamp, I sit on the edge of the mattress and stroke her back through the layers of the covers piled on the bed, many more than I usually have on there. “Mama,” I call softly. “Wake up.”

She turns, opening her eyes to half-mast. “What is it, baby?”

“Mama, it’s almost nine in the mornin’. Are you feelin’ all right?”

“I’m tired, pecan. Just let Mama rest.”

Her words sound slurred, almost like she’s drugged with medication. I press my hand to her forehead, but her skin feels cool. “Can I get you anythin’? A glass of water? SomeTylenol?”

“No, sugar, just go do your therapy and leave me be. I’ll be fine. Maybe we can have dinner together later.”

“I have to work again tonight, Mama. But I’ll call and check on you.” She pats my hand and turns back over, hiking the covers over her face. A shock of her red hair peeks out, stark against the khaki green pillowcase. Worry gnaws at my gut like an ulcer.

She’s asleep again before I even leave the room, and I tiptoe quietly down the hall. “Come on, we’ll get breakfast on the way,” I tell Riggs.

“Retta’s not coming?”

“She’s sleepin’ in.”

I count out ten more reps, struggling to keep my breathing even as sweat drips into my eyes. This machine is going to kill me today. My arms are wrapped around a long metal bar hanging by a suspension cable attached to weights. Heavy fucking weights. With each lunge and squat, I have to bear that weight, and it all feels like it’s centered on my right leg.

“Ten,” I grit, letting go of the bar. The weights settle with a loud clank, which catches Rigg’s attention.

He’s helping two other patients while keeping an eye on me, and I hate it. Hate that he’s not giving me a hundred percent of his attention. I hate that the guys are good-looking and young, and I hate that I’m not his priority.

“Good, now the parallel bars, but with each step, do lunges,” he calls out.

Hell. Easier said than done. My fingers white-knuckle the bars as I struggle to stay on my feet. After the last set of lunges, my legs feel like jelly. I’m about a third of the way finished when I stumble and fall. Thank God for the soft mat beneath my ass.I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to center myself before I grapple to pull myself up.

“Come on, Rhett,” Riggs barks from across the gym.

I swear to God, I’m done with this shit. Riggs claps his patient on the back, smiling and laughing with him over something I can’t hear, some inside joke or something I probably wouldn’t find funny even if I could hear. He gives that guy one more smile, and I’ll fucking kick him. I’ll kick them both.

I complete the parallel bars without even feeling proud of myself because I’m so fucking irritated and move onto the arm weights because it’s closer to where Riggs is.

He glances at me and nods, but keeps on working with the guys. With each curl, I do a squat, but I can’t make it past six reps before I’m plum wore out. I stumble back, knocking a weight from the rack. It falls heavy on my toe, which causes a dull throb that I feel throughout my entire foot.

“Fuck this, I’m done!” Hot, bothered, and done.

Riggs sets down his clipboard and approaches me. He plants his feet right in front of me and calmly says, “Pick it up.”

“You fuckin’ pick it up. I’m done!”

He crosses his arms over his chest, looking like a drill sergeant. “I said, pick it up.” The words are slower, more drawn out with emphasis on each one.

---