Page 46 of Catching Our Moment
He started to walk to his side of the house, but I took two quick steps to grab his hand, digging in my heels to stop him. “Shaw. Listen, I’m sorry about the other night. I?—”
“I know, so am I. Let’s just let it go. As you said, it’s in the past, and I think both of us have enough going on in the present that we don’t need to drag that up anymore.”
“Good point.” Unsure of myself, I rocked on my heels. “But seriously, I am here for you, and I will get you through this—both as your PT and your friend…and your drill sergeant.”
He tried a half smile, but with his shoulders slumped and his face drained, that spark in him that I knew so well was nowhere to be seen. He wouldn’t even look at me. “I appreciate it.” But he wasn’t accepting a pep talk as he tried to pull away toward his back door.
“Hey…” Still holding his hand, I gave it a squeeze. Shaw wasn’t the broody type. But even when he did get down, I used to be able to pull him out of it. I felt inept now. Who helped him when he needed it now? Did Riley do anything?
A sad thought hit my heart. After my limited interactions with Riley and all the publicity I’d seen of Shaw over the years in the media, I didn’t doubt he was surrounded by people who liked him. But did anyone really know Shaw? He hadn’t spoken about anyone as a close friend, a confidant, since he’d been home. No one came to visit. No one even called to check on him except for business associates—that I knew of, at least.
Did anyone really know him anymore?
I reached up with my other hand and guided his chin in my direction. His scruff was tantalizing to touch. “We got this.” I wanted to assure him that I had his back, not rub my hand over his chin. I was going to hone him into a powerful machine again, make him as good as new so I could get him back on that field…so he could get destroyed again. I winced.
He was damaging his neck and his spine with the constant trauma that came with being hit by two-hundred-fifty-pound linebackers. I didn’t want to fix him up and send him back out there. The thought of him doing permanent damage hit me like a kick in the gut. But Shaw not playing football wasn’t even imaginable, and saying anything to hurt him now wasn’t an option, so instead, I wrapped my arms around his neck and hugged him. “We’ll figure it out.”
He stood rigidly, breathing in deeply before he finally relaxed. His arm wrapped around my back, and I ran my hand down the back of his head. As he rested his head on my shoulder, I repeated, “We got this.”
17
Kelcie
The next morning—Saturday—Shaw and I went early to my physical therapy office before it opened. He warmed up on the treadmill, we modified the stretching he normally did at home, and we worked on his prescribed physical therapy routine. When we were done, I offered to massage his neck and back.
I knew his body had changed a lot since he’d been twenty-one. It was thicker and stronger but also worn. Without asking, he reached behind him with his good arm and pulled his shirt off, tossing it aside—because nature meant for him to be bare-chested. He caught me staring, and his cheeks turned an adorable pink. “Sorry. I’m so used to stripping down when I get to a trainer’s table.”
I smiled. “It’s fine. It’s just me here.” As if I was a nobody. Because I was. I wasn’t a
crazy fan who would attack him. I also wasn’t a model or gorgeous celebrity—stop. You’re a professional, I yelled in my head. Focus on caring for your friend.
I got some lotion out from under the table and told him to lie on his chest. Once positioned on his stomach and no longer looking at me, it was easier for me to focus on my work.
Until he began to moan.
Heaven help me. Would it be obvious if I turned on the music to try to drown him out?
I shifted my legs and?—
“That feels amazing.”
I dug into the trigger points surrounding his neck and shoulders, each garnering a different type of moan. I wasn’t sure how to handle this. So I tried to think about what I was doing, focusing on the muscle groups and calling on my training to release the compression around his spine. As he continued to moan—and I continued to get worked up—I wondered if I should call someone else to take over this part of his therapy. But then I decided against it. Because hell, if anyone was going to lay their hands on him or even hear those sounds out of him…it was going to be me.
He has a girlfriend. He’s not for you.
I ran my hand down his spine because I couldn’t convince my hands to stop touching him. My body, in general, wasn’t communicating properly. Any grace and detachment I could possibly hope to have in this awkward moment was gone. I tried to take a step back, removing my hands from his body, but my coordination suddenly flew out the window. My ankle turned just enough to make me unsteady, causing my hand to seek something hard to hold onto. That something hard was Shaw’s ass. His very solid, very hard, very…it was a very round, firm ass.
“Oh, my God!” I cried out, and my legs almost gave out again. Clearly, blood flow to my brain had been compromised. I grabbed onto the table and straightened as quickly as possible.
Shaw pushed himself up on his good elbow, wincing at the jarring motion it caused his shoulder, and stared at me. “You okay?” His hair was rumpled, and he had amazing, half-lidded, dreamy eyes. Eyes I imagined he had when he was having an amazing, sexy time.
“Yep! I’m all good,” I said, way too chipper. “Just tripped over something.” Like my own two feet. And then, to make things more awkward, I smacked him on the butt and said, “Okay, all done here. Get on up.” As if me touching his ass was routine.
He froze.
Uh-oh. Maybe I pushed it too far with the last swat.
I reached down and grabbed a towel from under the table, busying myself with wiping my hands and taking a drink of water. “Hey, Shaw. You might want to hurry. The office will be opening soon for Saturday appointments.”
