Page 13 of Hideaway Whirlwind
A slobbery little hand pats my cheek. “Santa. Santa.” Kendall slaps my cheek harder and jumps on my side before popping her thumb back in her mouth.
“No, Kendall! Mommy’s gonna be so mad.” Sydney scoops up the toddler, who kicks her feet in the air, crying to be let down.
“It’s ok,” I say, gingerly sitting upright and stretching my arms above my head, wincing and sucking in a pained breath when a muscle in my side spasms. “You can put her down.”
“Mommy said don’t bother you,” Sydney says, out of breath, trying to keep control of the toddler.
“I’m not bothered.” I hiss as my muscle continues to cramp and spasm every time I shift, especially when I try to pinch the comforter to wipe away Kendall’s drool from my smarting cheek. Grinding my teeth through the pain, I roll over to lie flat on my front, breathing deeply until the spasm passes, only for it to start up again when I try to push up off the floor.That’s what I get for what I did last night.
“Are you ok?” Dustin asks, bending over to look at my face, his black brows pinched together.
“Yeah,” I answer gruffly.
“You have scary pictures on your back.”
“Yeah,” I grunt again.
“They’re awesome,” he says with a huge smile and big brown eyes.
I bark a laugh next, my side spasming even worse.
Sydney can’t hang onto Kendall any longer, almost dropping her on the floor, and the toddler immediately jumps on my back as if doing a cannonball into a pool with a squeal, knocking the breath right out of me but providing a brief moment of reprieve from the pain, giving me an idea.
“Do that again, kiddo,” I say. “Someone help her.”
Though Dustin is confused by my request, he lifts Kendall off, letting her go a moment later so she can jump on me again.
“Who wants to walk on my back?” I ask after Kendall’s third jump, needing more steady pressure.
The kids laugh riotously each time they take a turn holding onto each other for balance while walking up and down my back and pounding their feet with my encouragement. I can’t breathe for shit, but at least their bony heels digging into my muscles help work out the knots.
“What are you doing?” Birdie asks shrilly, lifting Dustin off of me after she’s finished with her shower, dressed in my flannel and skin-tight leggings again. “I told you not to bother him.”
Perfect. “It’s ok. I asked them to.”
“Why?” she asks with bewildered amber eyes, leaning over so I can look her in the face, my flannel falling away from her chest. It’s too bad she’s wearing one of her shirts beneath it.
“Muscle spasms from sleeping on the floor,” I answer.
She winces apologetically.
“It’s fine.” I get all the way up onto my knees before my back spasms again, and I collapse. Eyeing Birdie, I ask, “Want a turn?”
“To walk on your back?”
“Yeah. No offense to them, but I think you’d do a better jobof it than the kids.”
“Are you sure?”
I grunt.
Looking back and forth between my eyes with one of her brows raised, she finally says, “Be careful what you wish for.” And then she braces her hands on the mattress and steps onto my back on her little bare feet. “I’m not too heavy?”
“No. You’re perfect.”
Any remaining tension leaves me as my eyes drift shut while she carefully walks up and down my back. I’m in paradise.
“I forgot I used to do this to my grandpa when I was a kid,” Birdie says with a little giggle, as if she’s having as much fun as her children did. “Can you breathe?”
