Page 26 of Finding Our Reality

He raises his eyebrows. “I do find that promising, especially considering the line of work he’s in.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say. I never thought I would see him again. And here I am spending hours a day with him a couple of days a week. I honestly don’t know how I feel about it all. Don’t get me wrong, I still hate him for what he did to me, but every once in a while, I find myself not completely disgusted to be working with him. I’d never admit that to him, though.”

He chuckles. “Of course, you wouldn’t. You’ve never made it easy on me.”

“Easy on you? You really think I should take it easy on you? I know Nancy told you on more than one occasion to tell me that Ry was your new work boyfriend these past few years.”

He grumbles. “I’m gonna drown Nancy’s cell phone in the toilet.”

Now it’s my turn to chuckle. “You’re the one who wanted me to branch out, make more friends now that I’m back in town.”

“Friends your own age, Ella. Not a bunch of geriatrics like me and Nancy.”

“I’ll be sure to tell her you called her geriatric. Maybe I should call and tell her to meet you for Bingo.”

“Alright. It’s time to stop aggravating me. I have to go to this thing. Seriously, what’s happening on the case?”

“I think it’s time to start interviewing, but it feels like Ry is delaying it. I don’t like it. I hope he isn’t trying to protect Trash.”

Marcum shakes his head. “Trust me, he’s not protecting his brother.”

“How do you know?”

“Just ask him. Let him tell you.”

I stand, grabbing my purse and work bag. “Fine. I’ll go find him and talk to him before I leave. I’m supposed to meet Holt and Uncle Ray at the bar for a drink.”

He snickers, knowing I don’t drink. He graciously keeps his comment to himself.

I meander down the halls, making my way to the state-of-the-art gym. You need key card entry to get in, and I don’t have one of those. Fortunately, I’m not standing there for too long when someone walks out. The deputy smiles, silently flirting with me. I quickly dart inside, waving goodbye.

I scan the mountain of machines trying to find Ry. There are not too many people in here—just five or six. It’s the start of the weekend, everybody is out, doing something fun, not working on their physiques. Although I must say, memories of Ry’s own hard body have gotten me through many cold winter nights over the years.

I finally spot him against the far wall, running on an elliptical machine.

And of course, he’s shirtless.

I should do this another time. I turn to walk away, but quickly change my mind. I tell myself that it all has to do with work. But really, I want to remind myself what he looks like.

Shirtless.

Naked from the waist up.

Sweaty.

Twelve years later.

His wireless earbuds are in his ears so he doesn’t hear me approach from behind. I turn, walking up the row of treadmills and ellipticals to his right. My mouth turns dry and a century-old heat stirs low in my stomach. My breath quickens. His body glistens with sweat. His muscles are larger, firmer than they were twelve years ago. He’s thick with masculinity and maturity. The taut muscles of his waist are even more defined, etched into the stone of his body. The curve of his back is delicious. My tongue tingles, wanting to reach out and trace the beads of sweat along his spine, licking him clean.

And then, I walk close enough to see his left side.

His scarred left side.

His mutilated left side.

The area all around his shoulder blade is tainted with deep, jagged scars. Not long scars like cuts, but circles, holes, and divots. Some skin is white, some is pink, some is tan like him. And other parts of his skin look almost burnt. Singed, stained. I take a step to the side, watching the flex of his arm. The movement makes the large circle of fresh, waxy pink skin on the ball of his shoulder stretch and scream. It’s larger than a silver dollar. Smaller scars run down his bicep, just a couple of inches. Not far enough to be seen, even when wearing a short-sleeve shirt.

I can’t breathe. My vision blurs, blackening around the edges. My heart isn’t even beating any more. It feels like one long continuous rattle in my chest, like a never-ending roll of thunder during a summer storm.

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