“A drama-free friendship until the baby is born?” he offered.
It took me a second to remember Elodie and her baby. So at least he would be around until the baby was born. That was good news.
For Elodie, I meant.
Kael sat upright and looked at me. “Or not?” He looked unsure.
I nodded, not knowing what else to say. My brain shut down and closed in on itself, and once again I was the silent one.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
There are times when you don’t need to say anything. Times when everything is easy and you can share a room or a moment without having to fill the space with words, when everything just falls into place.
Kael must have felt it, too, as he lay there on the table.
“I’ve been spending a lot of money on massages,” Kael said, attempting small talk.
“Self-care,” I said. “And I can tell that you really, really need them.”
We both laughed then, and relief poured through me. The way his laughter mixed with mine sounded like soft music. It was one of those moments I wished I could bottle up and keep in a vial around my neck, the way Angelina Jolie had saved her lover’s blood.
Okay, now, that was a weird thought. Why did my mind ricochet like that? I wished I could stay focused on one thought for longer than three seconds. His treatment was close to the end now. Only fifteen minutes left.
“Are you still mad at me?” Kael asked.
I shook my head and scrunched up my nose, making a disgusted face.
“What are we, twelve? I wasn’t mad at you, I was annoyed because you gave me no clue what was going on, so I thought I did something . . . or pried about something you didn’t want to talk about.” My voice dropped off. I felt self-conscious for bringing up his injury, but that’s where we had paused the conversation when he jumped up and left the house.
“Well, I’m sorry for that. I really didn’t mean to make you upset or question yourself. You didn’t do anything wrong.” He looked up at me.
“Thanks. I think.” Most people weren’t as generous with apologies as he seemed to be. Either he actually meant it or he was a really good liar. I was really bad at accepting sorrys. I just wasn’t used to them.
The massage had turned into a conversation, with no objection from the client. I turned the music down a notch. “The Hills” was taunting both of us. Raspy and suspenseful, the song fit perfectly between us, filling our occasional silence.
I only love it when . . .
“Last night was fun. I haven’t been out since I got back, and it was great to see Mendoza relaxing and enjoying himself.”
“If it wasn’t because of me, why did you leave?” I finally asked.
“It was a friend thing—” Kael’s expression changed.
“Friend?” I asked, and it clicked. “Oh, you have a—”
“Not that kind of friend,” he said. He wanted to reassure me, and that was thrilling. A line of electricity charged through me.
“One of my guys is having a rough time right now. He’s been really fucked, uh . . . . His wife called and I had to go over there.” Kael’s expression was stone.
I was confused. He was opening up, but I needed more. “So, again, if you were going to help a friend, why didn’t you tell me? I would have understood if you told me—”
“I’m not in the business of telling people’s business.”
“Was it Mendoza?” I moved across the room, stopping directly in front of Kael.
He sighed. He bit down on his lip. “It’s not my place, Karina. I’m not talking about what he’s going through.”
“Your silence serves you well when you want.” I meant for my words to burn him, or at least make him sweat. I had a bad habit of this, saying things to people to get a reaction. But Kael didn’t give me the reaction and he stayed quiet. I appreciated his loyalty to his friend, but I wished he felt like he could confide in me.
“We should finish your massage, and I should keep quiet. Unlike you, I can get fired.”
“Deal.”
I turned my attention back to my work. Lifting his arm and bending it gently at the elbow, I pulled softly, and as I did the thick muscles in his back shifted in response. I worked my way down his biceps. They weren’t beefy in that artificial way, jacked up on supplements and daily visits to the gym. He was solid under my hands, and I knew it came from hard physical work. Army work.
I used my forearm to apply pressure to the knot under his biceps, where he had a scar that looked like an unfinished M. The pink-tinted skin was puffy and soft. It took everything in me not to run my finger over it again. I tried not to think about the pain he must have felt when it happened, whatever it was that had cut at his body.
The scar was deep, like from the lashing of a serrated knife. It made my heart ache for him. I slid my fingers down his forearm, the part of his body that was the deepest in pigment. He had a soldier’s tan, which was like a farmer’s tan, but worse, because they were in the desert getting baked by the sun. No rain, no fresh air to breathe in. Just smoke and IEDs. Body and mind damage. I couldn’t even imagine what he’d gone through . . . I lifted his hand into mine and pressed my thumb against the base of his palm and held it there. I felt his fingers go slack and moved the pressure along the center of his hand.
Was it only the night before that we sat together, side by side on my childhood bed, with alcohol washing over our thoughts and tongues? I started to think about Mendoza, wondering if he was okay. He hadn’t been gone very long when Kael got the phone call.
“That feels so good,” Kael said to me when I bent his wrists, pressing against the sides, slightly pulling at the same time.
“I just learned it,” I told him.
“Really?”
“Yeah, I saw a YouTube video and tried it on myself first. It felt great. Especially for people who use their hands a lot.”
“Wait, you learned it on YouTube?” he asked me, lifting his head a little. I gently pressed my palm against his forehead to lay him back down.
“Yes. It’s helpful.” I was proud of myself for mastering a new technique. The internet was usually a flaming dumpster of you never know what you will get, but welcome to the party!
“You’re such a millennial.”
“So are you.” I positioned his arm back at his side and moved around the table to the other.
“Technically, I think we’re Gen Z.”
“Ew, no one actually says ‘Gen Z’ out loud.” I rolled my eyes back.
“At least tell me you have an actual license and didn’t learn everything on YouTube?”
“Of course I have a license. And you should let me finish my job, your time is almost up.” I moved to the top of the table and applied gentle pressure to his closely shaved scalp. As I grasped his ears to release tension, his lips parted and he breathed deeply. I ended every treatment this way, and I was usually glad to be wrapping up. But now I wished for more time. With him. Just like last night . . .
“All done. Happy birthday, by the way.”
“Thanks. It’s just another day for me.”
Kael swung his long, muscular legs off the side of the table. The stoic soldier had returned. He paid, tipped well, and left without another word.