Page 28 of Opening Strain

“Sounds good. Have a good night, Bennett.”

I stand on the sidewalk and watch as she drives down the street.Our conversation lodges deep into my soul. She tried to help Darren, and when she failed, it changed her life so much that she’s barely recognizable. Not for the first time, I wonder how far and wide the ripples of his death go.

If it were me instead of him, I’m sure the ripple would be more of a trickle. If that.

Chapter Nine

I’m awakened by a throbbing in my lower half. My thigh, to be precise. I pound the bedding—why is this groin pull following me, even in my sleep?

I flip over, punch the pillow, and close my eyes. Two hours later, my phone’s alarm goes off. Another “restful” night’s sleep is in the books.

As I sit up, I peek through the blackout shades. At least it’s not grey outside. My feet hit the wood floor and I make an effort to walk in my usual gait toward the bathroom. Within three steps, I’m rubbing my thigh. I need to get back to normal fast.

After brushing my teeth, I allow the shower to heat up. If rehab fails, I better come up with another way to perform. No running around the stage, certainly no jumps. I might be able to walk down the stage to get closer to the fans, as long as I keep my pace slow. Maybe I need to forget healing this pull faster, and think of alternative ways to rock the house?

This sucks.

My boxer briefs hit the floor and I stand under the spray. I flip the showerhead to the massage function. Water rolls down my faceand neck, over my torso and down my legs. I let it soothe my tired muscles. My cock, still with its morning wood, demands attention, so I give it a long stroke.

Which leads to another.

And another.

Soon, all my attention is focused on getting myself off as my hand slides up and down. My balls pull up and I stand wider, shooting onto the shower floor. My groan, “Jenna,” catches me by surprise at the same moment my angry groin pull makes itsdispleasure known. I stumble backward, landing on the stone bench with a thud.

I rub my thigh while the pulsing shower provides background white noise. Why on earth did Jenna’s name come out of my mouth? She’s Darren’s. He put this woman on UC’sDo Not Fucklist in permanent marker. Never to be erased.

With care, I stand and finish my shower. After I dress, I check the time. Since I still have nearly two hours before PT, I don my handy disguise of sunglasses and a baseball cap and decide to take a short walk around Aroostook to find another place for breakfast.

Instead of turning right out my front door, I go left and come up to a commercial street. At least this one has more shops than the other streets I’ve noticed. A florist, toy store, several restaurants. Too bad they’re all closed at this time of the morning. This town must have a diner, though. Even though we’re out of my home state of New Jersey, the diner capital of the world, New York is only one state over.

The next storefront is for Russo Real Estate, which is King and Angie’s place. I stop and check out their many listings. A few on the waterfront are gorgeous. One, in particular, captures my attention.

“I can arrange a showing, if you’d like.”

I turn my head and diminutive brunette smiles up at me. “Hi, Angie. Didn’t hear you come over.” I glance behind her. “Is King with you?”

She shakes her head. “No. He has a showing this morning. Want to come in? I can give you more information about this listing.” She points to the waterfront house at which I was staring.

My hand steals across my stomach. “Maybe some other time. I need to get breakfast and then go to physical therapy.”

“How’s it going?”

My shoulders lower. “It’s going.”

“I hear you.” Her fingers twirl the ends of her hair. “I don’t have to open the office for an hour or so. C’mon,” she motions for me to join her. “I’ll take you out for a real Hamptons breakfast.”

What have I got to lose? Plus, I need to eat. “Sounds good to me.”

We approach a convertible, which doesn’t seem to be her style. Especially without room for car seats in the back. “King’s?”

She grins. “Sure is. Since he has the showing, I get to drive it today, though.” She tosses her bags into the small backseat. “Get in.”

Ten minutes later we’re parked on Ocean Avenue, which faces the water. I inhale, savoring the salty air. Bundled-up joggers pass us on the wooden boardwalk. My heart pangs at not being able to join them.

As if reading my mind, she says, “You’ll soon be out there. Let’s go get some fuel.”

Fuel. Good word for the three-egg omelet, toast, and side of bacon I devour. I’m going to need all this fuel to get through PT today. Throughout our meal, Angie’s been a delight. I can see what drew King to her.

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