Page 8 of Becoming Family

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The party at Semper Fit was in full swing when they pulled into the parking lot. The bay door was open, despite the light chill, and music and voices flooded out as soon as they hit the sidewalk. The crowd inside was thick, full of people in costumes and kids of all ages streaking around. Rhett Santos, the owner, wearing blue jeans and a T-shirt with the Semper Fit logo, towered over everyone, hands planted on his hips, handsome face tight in irritation, like he was getting ready to kick all the rowdies dancing to the “Monster Mash” out into the street.

“Oh, my God, Rhett’s head’s going to explode.” Sunny elbowed her sister in the ribs and snickered.

Rhett’s jaw flexed as someone spilled a drink. The offender rushed for the mop bucket in the corner and Rhett was headed in that direction until he spotted Red in her fortune-teller costume. His face suddenly split into a secret grin and Tabitha could tell that this was the first time he’d seen his girlfriend dressed for the party. The two of them sort of drifted together, wordless, his hand going to her hip, her chin tilting up instinctively. His lips brushed over hers and whatever thoughts he’d been forming about the party seemed to dissolve on the spot.

“Way to show everyone your Achilles’ heel, Rhett.” Delaney and Clementine laughed together, but the words had only been out of Delaney’s mouth two seconds before her smile changed, her sarcastic edge ceding to a rare softness as her gaze connected with Detective Callahan, who stood in the far corner, talking to Pete. Pete looked like he had in a pair of vampire fangs and Callahan held a grim reaper’s scythe, which somehow fit with the badge clipped to his belt. They all headed that way, Delaney going for Callahan, Sunny for Pete, and Trinity to her customary spot in the gym, right next to Humphrey, Rhett’s old beagle. She settled next to him on his dog bed, off in the corner and away from the crowd. They sniffed each other, Trinity intent on one of Humphrey’s ears. Humphrey allowed the nudging, even though he rarely let anyone touch him. Eventually he slumped down and smashed right up against her.

“Well, that was fast,” Clementine said. “Two seconds in the door and we lose them all to their men.” She nodded toward Sunny, Red, Delaney and Trinity.

“Can’t blame them,” Tabitha said, eyeing the group. Coach Rhett, who owned the gym, had a rough exterior that shielded a heart of gold. Pete, while a rugged army vet who could hold his own in any situation, wore his heart on his sleeve and always had a smile on his face. And Sean Callahan. Tabitha had a soft spot for the detective who’d found her mid–panic attack in the middle of the produce section at the grocery store last spring and had gone above and beyond his line of duty to help her out, even though she was a total stranger at the time.

“I worry about Trinity and Humphrey, though,” Tabitha said. “That’s a spring-winter romance if I ever saw one.” Tabitha grinned and turned to Clementine, but she’d already moved off toward the refreshment table and hadn’t heard the joke. The table was laden with goodies, including a punch bowl full of red liquid, a Crock-Pot plugged into the wall, cheese and crackers, a veggie tray, popcorn balls and a cooler full of bottled water. Clementine was already filling a plate with meatballs from the Crock-Pot, leading Tabitha to wonder, as she often did, where the petite woman put it all.

A separate, smaller table, off in the corner, hidden in the shadows and away from the kids, had bottles of open wine and liquor and a cooler full of frosty beer bottles. Right next to that cooler was a sandy-blond man of medium height and a thick, muscular build.

Coach Hobbs.

He wore a pair of worn blue jeans, a button-down flannel and rugged boots and carried a plastic axe over his shoulder. He took a pull off his beer and grinned at Serena, a slender woman with marginal athletic ability who loved to take her shirt off midworkout, whether it was hot outside or not. Tonight, she wore a tight black dress and fishnet stockings.

A weird, tingly thing happened to Tabitha’s body, leaving her hot and cold all at once, like a fever. She tried to shake it off, like she did every time she saw Coach Hobbs. Leave it to him to be one of the only men who had gone all out to dress up for the party. And unlike Rhett, Sean or Pete, Hobbs was fully a part of the raucous crowd. His boisterous laugh rang out over the booming opening strains of “Thriller.”He struck a few dance moves,which looked tight and professional, despite the fact that he was clearly goofing off.

He was nothing like Tabitha. Nothing like anything she liked in a guy. Tabitha had firm rules about that sort of thing. The man she would ultimately give her time and attention to would be a man the exact opposite of Hobbs: he would be quiet and reflective, nerdy, more interested in a woman’s brain than her body. He’d never dance to “Thriller” in public or drink to excess, and women like Serena, who thought everyone wanted to see her abs while they were dying during a workout, would only make him roll his eyes. He would be exactly like Thaddeus Winston, the only real boyfriend Tabitha had ever had. They’d met at church her senior year of high school and had been quite serious until Thaddeus got accepted into college out of state. In response, Tabitha enlisted in the navy, trained to be a chaplain’s assistant and deployed to Afghanistan. After her time was up, she went into the reserves for a while before getting out completely.

She’d been floundering ever since.

Hobbs’s gaze suddenly connected with hers. Tabitha’s pulse jumped. She couldn’t decide whether to wave or look away, so, like an idiot, she looked away, then waved. Excellent. She’d known Hobbs for months now, been to plenty of his classes, even if she did actively avoid his training most of the time. Not because he wasn’t a good coach. Just the opposite, Hobbs was encouraging without being pushy, fun without being a goof-off, knowledgeable but not arrogant. Instead of flat-out telling her she was all knees and elbows or too timid with the barbell, Hobbs liked to say that Tabitha was just a “soft touch.”

But Tabitha wasn’t a fan of that hot-cold feverish feeling. The way her pulse rose and her skin flushed, especially if she remembered the time he held her hand during her Fourth of July panic attack or was her partner during the Canine Warriors fundraiser workout last summer.

“A little birdie told me it’s your birthday.”

Tabitha spun to the sound of Hobbs’s voice and gave a little gasp when she found him standing only a couple of feet behind her, his smile big, natural, warm. “Which one gave me up?” Only the women knew about her birthday.

“Already told you. A little birdie.” He tilted his head toward Clementine, who appeared to be having a meatball-eating contest with a secret-service agent named Duke. He was at least three times her size, but Tabitha’s money was on Clementine.

“I’m not doing thirty birthday burpees.” Tabitha crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s why none of you coaches were informed.”

“Who do I look like? Rhett?” Hobbs arched an eyebrow. “I’m not going to make you do burpees. Especially if you just turned thirty. That deserves a drink.” Only now did Tabitha notice Hobbs had left his axe somewhere and was holding two shot glasses. He held one out. “Cheers.”

Tabitha started to mutter something about abstaining, but Hobbs pressed the glass into her hand. She held it up to her nose, even though she didn’t know enough about alcohol to discern what was in the glass. She took a sip.

Hobbs threw his back, then cleared his throat. “It’s tequila,” he said. “You don’t sip it. You shoot it.” He smiled beneath the waves of hair that dipped into his eyes. He ran his hand through it, shoving it back while he watched Tabitha with that glint of amusement that he always seemed to regard her with. “C’mon. You can do it.”

Tabitha threw back the tequila, just like Hobbs had. It burned her throat. She coughed a little bit.

There went that grin again. It lit up his whole face, which seemed eternally youthful, despite the fact that Tabitha knew Hobbs was in his midthirties. “Let’s go get another one.”

Tabitha stopped herself from saying,No, thanks. I don’t really drink.She also stopped herself from thinking about how upset Auntie El would be if she came home smelling like tequila. Who knew if Auntie El would even be awake when she got home? Clearly, Auntie hadn’t been thinking about Tabitha’s birthday, so why should Tabitha care about her opinion at all? She followed Hobbs to the drink table and let him pour her another shot.

“This time we do it right.” He handed her a lime and a tiny saltshaker. “Lick your hand. Shake the salt. Lick again. Shoot. Then suck the lime.” Hobbs demonstrated with his own tequila, plunked his glass upside down on the table with great flourish, then nodded at her.

Tabitha performed the ritual as instructed, feeling like a normal human being doing things that normal human beings did in social situations, not a thirty-year-old recovering from PTSD who normally would’ve turned around and walked out of this scene as soon as she got here. She had to admit, she liked all these sensations—salt, heat, sour. She smiled, her gaze going to Trinity in the corner, where she lay snuggled with Humphrey. The night suddenly felt warm and good.

“See?” Hobbs said, like he could read her mind. “Feels good to let go a little, doesn’t it?”

“Well, I don’t know.” She really didn’t, but found herself thinking about those words as the full force of the shots hit her all at once.

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