Page 10 of Show Me How to Heal
He was a pretty small guy. Not at all what I’d expect a football coach to be, but then again, he was the coach, not an active player. Besides, there were different roles in American football, right? Maybe not everyone had to look like those super big and burly dudes I’d seen on TV.
“Yeah.” I nodded. “I live in a cabin outside of town.”
“And, get this, he drives a fancy BMW.” Corbyn gave a good-natured laugh and slapped my shoulder again. That seemed to be his go-to move.
“One of those sports cars?”
“But they’re not made for country roads,” Walker said incredulously.
“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered. “I’ll probably have to buy a truck, too.”
Though the main reason wasn’t bad roads but the fact that getting in and out of the car with my fucked-up knee was almost impossible and extremely painful. I should’ve thought that one through before spending way too much money on a brand-new car.
I mean, buying another car wasn’t a problem at all — not even if it was some kind of luxury truck — but I still hated the idea of spending so much money just because I’d been stupid.
“I have an old truck,” Raphael said. “I bought a new one a couple of months ago, and I thought about selling it. It’s old, but it’s running just fine. If you want, you can have a look at it.”
I could afford a new truck. No problem. I’d had an extremely successful career for over ten years, so I wasn’t hurting for money at all. But I didn’t want to stand out here in Juniper Creek, and I’d already started sticking out like a sore thumb with my fancy BMW. So…
“Yeah, why not?”
“Cool.”
“Oh… Zayne’s here!” Mel said, suddenly changing the subject. She pointed towards the door, clapping her hands like an excited little kid.
I turned around, trying to get a look at that Zayne guy, and… wow.
He was just… wow.
Stunning.
Breathtaking.
Not my type at all, but damn!
“Who’s Zayne?” I asked, my eyes never leaving the man that’d just entered the bar.
He was… something else.
His hair was long… really fucking long. He wore it in a complicated looking braid — I mean, I had no clue about braids, but it definitely didn’t look like the standard thing; it was much more intricate. And it was shiny. Even in the dim light his hair looked glossy, his braid reaching his hips, cascading down like a waterfall.
He looked a little like a hippy, but more… modern? Kinda?
I wasn’t sure.
He might have a little South American or Native American touch. Maybe.
He wore dark brown, loose linen pants, a flowy white linen shirt, and the only colorful thing he wore was a big, dark red, knitted scarf that he was already taking off because it was just too damn warm for something like that in here.
“Zayne’s a miracle worker,” Mel said.
Corbyn just snorted and shook his head. “You sound like he’s some kind of cult leader.”
“Do not.” Mel rolled her eyes.
“Do, too,” Corbyn teased before looking at me. “He’s a soap maker. He has a booth at the farmers’ market, and my sister is obsessed with his soaps. If soap makers could have fans, she’d be his number one fan.”
Raphael snorted while Mel huffed indignantly.
