Page 6 of Lines We Cross
I pulled the covers over my head and fake-snored as loudly as I could. She came in anyway, the door banging against the wall after she gave it a shove. My mom didn’t do anything daintily. I guessed with two boys, she didn’t ever need to cultivate that softer side.
“I know you’re awake. Now get up and meet me in the kitchen. We’re making pancakes.”
She whacked me through the covers surprisingly hard. I shoved the comforter down and frowned at her, forgetting I didn’t have a shirt on.
“What was that for?”
She put her hands on her hips. “For thinking you could pull one over on your mama. Now get your butt out of bed, and for God’s sake, put some clothes on. Or no pancakes for you, mister.” She marched out of the room, leaving me scratching my head.
“Yes, Mom.”
Better to just go with it while I was here. If I recalled the information my trainer had given me correctly, I had my first PT session today. Followed by an intense search for my own place to rent short-term in Nickel Bay. I loved my parents but I couldn’t stay here longer than a few days. Mom would be back to dressing me and tucking me in at night if I didn’t force some distance. My younger brother, Ryker, had the right idea. He’d moved to another country halfway around the globe six months ago. If this rehabbing thing didn’t work out after all, I might have to go pay him and his new bride a visit just for the change in scenery.
I showered, got dressed, and met Mom downstairs to help her with the pancakes. They really were better than any diner had to offer and I’d hit up a lot of diners across the country with my teammates after late evening games.
She caught me groaning on the first bite, that smug look in her eye.
“It’s the love,” she insisted.
I shook my head at her but couldn’t help the grin. My mom was a hoot. I used to think she was just teasing me, but by now I was starting to think she was serious. She actually thought the pancakes tasted better because she made them with love.
It could have been the farm fresh eggs from Sue down the road. Or the stone ground flour Dave sold at the mill for ridiculous prices to tourists and hipsters concerned with purity of ingredients yet smoked e-cigarettes. Or just the fact that we were breathing clean air right on the coast. But no. It was the motherly love.
I would have snorted but I was too busy stuffing my face with the huge stack she’d plated for me. Dad joined us, kissing Mom on the cheek before sitting down and tucking into the pancakes himself.
“Got a couple classes to teach at the JC and then I’ll be home.”
I looked up to see him looking at me, a slight frown on his face. Dad was a part-time professor at the junior college a little further south from us. He could have retired completely since I paid off their house and land when I got my first big paycheck ten years ago, but he said he couldn’t be idle. Needed the challenge to keep his brain young.
“Okay. I’ll be around later today too.” It felt like he was getting at something that flew right over my head.
He chewed a huge bite of pancake and then set his fork down. “Not that you’re thinking of moving here anytime soon, but it might be a good idea to get a place here. Real estate prices are only going up. Get a place now for vacations and be all set when you retire, you know?”
A smile tugged at my mouth but I fought it back. Dad trying to be all sly was highly entertaining. I bet they planned this little setup last night. Ply me with pancakes and then Dad slides in with his logical advice.
I shrugged, sitting back and rubbing my full belly. “I don’t know, Pops. I quite like staying here and letting Mom feed me.”
“Oh, you…” A snap of pain hit the back of my skull. Mom reached around and grabbed my plate in a mad rush, taking it to the sink and mumbling under her breath the whole time.
I rubbed the spot and finally let the grin break loose. “Did you just flick me in the back of the head?” Dad lifted a hand like nothing could be done about the woman. “That’s twice you’ve hit me this morning. I may have to find my own place just so CPS doesn’t come knocking on our door.”
Mom exploded in a tirade, flicking soap suds as she preached with her hands. Dad laughed into his coffee, and I smiled, knowing I’d done my duty. Nothing was as satisfying as riling Mom up.
* * *
I arrived right on time to my physical therapy appointment, pulling my truck into a small parking lot and checking out the new strip mall that hadn’t been there last time I visited Nickel Bay. The location was perfect, the stores sitting on a new road extending out from the main street in the downtown area. Also, there was a bakery right next door to the clinic. Work off some calories, replenish with a cupcake. Genius, really. The whole place looked like a setting out of some Hallmark movie with the overhangs and window boxes full of blooming flowers. Even the sidewalk in front of the storefronts was made from wooden planks, not some pedestrian concrete. It was charming and fit right in with Nickel Bay.
I took care in swinging my leg out of the cab of the truck and slid out, landing on my good leg and locking up. I felt weird walking around in sweats. As a public figure, you learned quickly not to be out and about in what equates to pajamas. Paparazzi was everywhere. Unfortunately, sweats were the only pants that worked with an immobilizer and I was pretty sure the paparazzi couldn’t find Nickel Bay on the map, so I was safe from a fashion faux pas picture hitting Instagram.
A bell rang out as I opened the glass door that had large vinyl stickers spelling outNickel Bay Physical Therapy. Hopefully their treatment plans were more imaginative than their name.
A woman turned the corner of a hallway off to the side and saw me at the front door. Her auburn hair swung like she was in a shampoo commercial. Her eyes widened for a split second and then a stiff smile took over. It was the smile that did it.
Dimples.
Auburn hair.
The beauty standing in front of me saying something I couldn’t hear due to the rushing of blood through my body at an unhealthy rate was none other than Skylar Rae Mulholland. Emerson’s little sister.
