Say it again, p.30
Say It Again, page 30
Daniel was fucking killing it.
Not only had he increased his class sizes by 24 percent since he took over, but he’d upgraded the online booking system and hired four new instructors. He also extended his reach into two senior centers, which were both tickled pink that someone wanted to come teach sexy tap numbers set to cabaret songs. He even managed his team well, ruling with intuition, grace, and this empathetic yet firm hand that had people eager to learn from him, to be around him, to please him.
Aaron was no different. It was hot banging the boss.
He covertly smacked Daniel’s ass, making him yelp as he scurried back to his balloon station, twisting over his shoulder to offer a pretty little pout. Dazzling.
“Is your mom coming?” Olivia asked as she unwrapped the foil from the champagne.
Daniel snorted. “Silly, silly girl. You think my mother would miss Aaron’s big grand soft opening?”
“You just need to say soft, baby,” Aaron said as he angled the settee a few inches to the left. “It doesn’t need the grand.”
“She wouldn’t miss it in a million years.” Daniel began blowing up a pearly pink balloon, which didn’t work with the aesthetic, but who had the heart to tell him? “She said she bought matching pantsuits for her and Butchie, which—not gonna lie—is a little concerning.” He puffed the balloon bigger. “And what’s worse is she mentioned a pantsuit theme.” Even bigger. “Like, what the hell does that mean? I’m a tad worried it’ll involve way too much blended polyester for one middle-aged couple.”
Aaron had crouched down to snag an errant rubber band from behind the sofa as Daniel trailed off. When he stood back up, Daniel and Olivia were both staring with their mouths hanging open at the young man poking his head through the front door.
“Hello,” the guy said, a wide smile splitting his face as he ripped off his sunglasses. “I need a new toilet-paper holder. Is this place open?”
Aaron’s heart thumped in his chest as he blinked a few times to ensure it was real. His little brother was here. Andrew. Was here.
“Andrew!” Aaron rushed to him, barreling into his body to grip him into a hug. “Holy shit—what? What are you doing here?”
“That’s the thing about airplanes,” Andrew grunted as Aaron squeezed him tighter. “They can go anywhere.”
Aaron released the hug to hold his shoulders and study him. With Andrew’s flight schedule and Aaron’s schooling, it’d been over a year since they’d had a chance to see each other. Andrew had filled out a bit more—biceps for days—and his style had gotten snappier. He wore selvedge jeans, a crisp blue blazer, and tobacco leather boots. Long gone were the days of the skinny little boy with the unkempt hair and Jolly Ranchers stuffed into his pockets. He was all grown up.
“God, it’s good to see you,” Aaron said, scanning him to make sure he was indeed unmarred. “You doing okay? You need anything? What do you need?”
“I don’t need anything, man,” Andrew said, his smile so pure. “Life is good. Just came to see you.”
They both had their dad’s eyes, although Andrew’s had never gotten jaded. He had never gotten jaded. All Aaron had ever wanted was for him to be safe, but he was better than safe. With every year that passed, he was thriving more and more. Happy.
“I’ve been in cahoots with your fiancé to surprise you. Come on now.” Andrew slapped his arm. “I wouldn’t miss your big grand opening.”
“It’s the soft—” Aaron shook his head, too grateful to argue. “So glad you’re here.”
“Geez, look at this place.” Andrew drew a long inhale as he gazed around. “You’ve always been talented, but this. This is next-level.”
Yeah, there was a big chance Aaron’s entire career would be next-level. Who would’ve thought having all those connections with all those wealthy men would jumpstart his business the way it had? He and Daniel liked to call it the ultimate repurposing. Old clients got an updated kind of service.
“Dude, I’m just—” Andrew whirled around to grip him into another hug. He whispered, “I’m so proud of you.”
Aaron had to breathe as he folded his arms around his brother. In a lifetime spent trying to keep him safe, he’d never expected that one day he might also make him proud. Proud hit deeply enough for his eyes to prickle. “Thank you.”
“And this must be Daniel.” Andrew grinned as he stepped around Aaron to extend his arms toward Daniel. “I feel like I already know you, but it’s so nice to finally meet you in person.”
Daniel blinked, his whole body still as a long, lumbering silence ensued.
“Um.” Andrew flashed a glance back at Aaron, then outstretched his arms again. “Really, really nice. Bring it in.”
Aaron tilted his head at his frozen fiancé. “Ahh, so he probably needs a minute. Yep, give him a sec. This is how he was when I first met him.”
Daniel’s lips parted like he might finally say something when the balloon stole his glory. It slipped from his fingers and farted about the room in little loop-de-loops until it flumped onto the desk. Aaron snorted a chuckle while Daniel blinked double-time like he was orienting himself back to this earthly plane.
“Oh. S-sorry about that, everyone.” Daniel cleared his throat and smoothed the fabric of his shirt. “Apologies for my, uh… stuckness. I don’t think I was expecting the two of you to look so—what’s the word?—fraternal. Fraternal as fuck.”
Aaron chuckled harder as he smeared a hand over his face.
“And you’re both right in front of my face, aren’t you? Practically twins.” Daniel blew out his breath as he perched his hands on his hips. “Sure is a lot! S’a lot for me.”
“Hug the man, Daniel,” Aaron said, nodding gently. “He’s trying to give you a hug.”
“Right! Yes, of course. Here I go.” Daniel shuffled forward and lightly hugged Andrew, then swiftly pulled away. “Nice to meet you, Andrew. But I am happily engaged to your brother.”
Andrew opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, his face scrunching in confusion.
“And I’m Olivia,” Olivia announced in a voice about four octaves too low, suddenly wedged between Andrew and Daniel in the stealthiest, most hare-footed maneuvering possible. “Might I interest you in some champagne, Andrew?”
“Oh.” Andrew blinked at her. “Hi. Olivia, was it?”
“Indeed.” Still too low. And her eyes had this feral bird-of-prey look. “Champagne?”
Andrew’s brow line lifted as his gaze darted around between the three of them. He eventually shrugged. “Sure, I guess I could go for some.”
Olivia’s smile was saccharine as she slid her arm under Andrew’s elbow. “Right this way, then.”
Daniel coughed under his breath, “Please behave.”
She whipped around to hiss in a harsh whisper, “You shut your bitch-bag mouth, Daniel!”
Daniel flinched as she thrust a finger toward Aaron.
“You go home to that every night! So, a pilot, hmm?” she asked, twisting back to Andrew and adopting a syrupy tone as she guided him toward the booze. “So airy. Speaking of, how would you like to get some later? Air, that is?”
“Oh dear,” Daniel whispered once they meandered away, wincing as he tapped his fingertips together. “He’ll be okay, right? My fear is that she’s in heat. It could get kind of dicey for him—”
“Come here.” Aaron nabbed Daniel’s wrist and led him toward the back room, a cross between an office and a storage closet, where he shut the curtain behind them and cupped Daniel’s face in his palms. “I needed a minute alone with you before everyone got here.”
One of Daniel’s eyebrows arched. “To…?”
“Tell you how much I love you.”
Daniel smiled as he tossed his gaze upward, his teeth scraping over his lower lip. “See, this is what no one sees. Everyone thinks I’m the squishy one, but you’re the squishy one.” He poked Aaron in the stomach. “Underneath all this muscley business, you’re just a big ol’ squish, Aaron Silva—”
He whirled Daniel around and wrapped him in a hug from behind. He’d gotten efficient at that move, and plus, with his face buried in the crook of Daniel’s neck, he could properly huff the orange sherbet. Like a weirdo. “It’s true,” he said, his words muffled as he inhaled Daniel’s skin. “I’m a closeted squish.”
Daniel giggled while they swayed side to side, while they beheld the view of Silva Interiors through a slit in the curtain. Yes, there were far too many balloons scattered and Olivia was currently hitting on Aaron’s brother, but it was also where their friends and family would soon gather to warmly honor him. To honor them.
The picture before him was a real-life vision board, and the creature in his arms had been responsible for gluing down all the pieces.
“Thank you, kid,” Aaron whispered, his lips grazing Daniel’s ear. “God, thank you, thank you, thank you.”
Daniel shook his head, amusement waxing in his tone. “Stop thanking me. You’ve done all the work.”
“But you’ve been the thing.” He rested his cheek against Daniel’s, clutching him tighter. “The precious thing that’s made all the work worth it.”
Daniel hummed, so low and satisfied it was almost a moan as he rubbed Aaron’s arm.
“I don’t deserve the most precious thing in the world.” Aaron rocked them in a sweet, anchoring rhythm as he smiled at his vision board of a life. “But here you are in my arms.”
Side to side, they rocked. Back and forth. To and fro. Over and over. Daniel welded into his lead beautifully. Or maybe he’d been the leader all along. Either way, they swished and swayed until it was time to end the final dance to the last chapter.
“I love you too, mister.” To seal the last chapter with a kiss. “I love you too.”
Right before they started the next.
Keep reading for an excerpt from
Cross My Heart
By Darcy Archer.
Chapter One
TYLER FANTANA slammed into the dirt, and a meteor hit his chest with scalding force. His heart had stopped beating. Sixty-nine thousand fans shouting, the smell of sweat and grass. Blinding lights, all the cameras.
Groggy, Tyler blinked and shook his head slowly, trying to situate himself.
He flinched. This had happened before, he felt certain. Why did he feel so disoriented?
Right. NFL game at the top of the season, the pinnacle of his career with the San Diego Swells. A pile of guys on top of him.
Suddenly he was back on the ground, blood in his mouth, skull echoing with the impact of the tackle that had brought him down, an entire linebacker landing on his sternum and the sudden crushing pain in his chest as he hit the thirty-yard line sideways and knew in his bones that he’d never get up again in this life.
Team gone. Light gone. Not breathing. Just that jagged, grinding agony like a fist squeezing him into paste.
I already did this. Oh God, please, I already did this.
The world had winked out, only fading back into focus as he woke up in the back of an ambulance, his heart pounding erratically as he gasped for breath and grabbed at the EMTs.
“Tyler?”
Dr. Reynolds’s question yanked him back to the present. The older woman’s voice was firm, professional, and had a no-nonsense edge to it. “Talk to me. Slow breaths. What happened just then?”
He tried to take deep, slow gulps of oxygen. Counted heartbeats. Visualized. All that holistic new age crap. His stupid, screwed-up heart wouldn’t slow down. Where was he? He couldn’t get enough breath to answer her. Why couldn’t he talk? His eyes stung, and he blinked rapidly. “Bad.”
Dr. Reynolds’s office smelled of lemony antiseptic. It was autumn. November. Tuesday? This was another checkup with his cardiologist. His sister had driven him. He still wasn’t allowed behind the wheel. Right. Was Nadia here?
“Stay with me now.” Reynolds stood back, giving him space. “Are you all right? Can you describe the pain? Look at me.” She leaned back and ran a penlight over his pupils, frowning at something. “Your heart rate was— Does that happen often?”
“Maybe.” He shook his head, then nodded. Did she want the truth or the lie? “I don’t know.”
“I was taking your vitals,” Dr. Reynolds said briskly. “Use your three-three-three and breathe for me. Take a moment. Three objects. Three sounds. Three body parts.”
Tyler nodded and tried to focus. He found the objects as he inhaled slowly and shifted his eyes around the bright room, consciously counting each one: Clock. Pen. Shoe. This was so embarrassing.
“I’m going to remove this, if that’s okay.” She leaned in to unwrap the blood pressure cuff from his thick bicep with practiced efficiency.
Velcro rip. Hum of the AC. Paper rustling under him. He held the breath inside himself, and his galloping heart slowed to a trot.
As the cuff loosened, she unthreaded it and stepped back again, presumably to give him space. She glanced over his chart, and her brow furrowed in obvious disapproval.
His muscle mass was way off, whittled down by two months of sitting on his butt.
As she paused to make a note, he made his body parts move: open hand, lick lips, blink eyes. He let the breath out. “Better.”
“Excellent. You see?” Reynolds checked his eyes, waiting until he nodded to continue. She pressed a chilly stethoscope between his pecs and looked at the ceiling, listening for something inside him before she spoke. “Just a panic attack, yes? That’s common. Nasty but normal.”
“It felt like—” He shook his head, wiped his wet mouth. “How do I tell the difference?”
“You ask someone qualified.” Dr. Reynolds crossed her arms. “But anecdotally, cardiac arrest feels like crushing and panic attacks sharper stabs. With arrest, the pain spreads outward from the chest, but the pain of a panic attack stays in one spot. Neither one is pleasant.” Her stethoscope shifted to his back, and the slight pressure made him flinch like an idiot. “Try to distinguish between the memory of pain and your current level of discomfort. It’s not easy.”
“No.” Tyler took a few more deep breaths and let the air out slowly. “These were short and sharp. Memory, I guess.” He pressed a hand to his side. “Jesus.”
“Talk to yourself. Listen to yourself.” She pressed her lips together, regarding him as though through glass. “Blood pressure is still higher than I’d like,” she noted. “And you’ve lost almost four pounds of muscle since our last visit. Potassium levels far lower than they should be. Iron too. Your recovery seems to have plateaued.”
“Sorry, Doc.” Tyler sat awkwardly, perched on the exam table, cringing as the paper liner crinkled beneath him.
“This isn’t blame.” She shook her head. “Your heart has been pushed past breaking, Mr. Fantana. Commotio cordis can cause severe trauma to the valve and surrounding tissues. It needs to heal. Just a time-out is all. A reasonable recovery window. You’re better, but not better enough.”
He nodded and waited for further scolding.
“The heart is a powerful muscle. You had significant bruising and other injuries besides. It’s barely been two months. One moment.” Dr. Reynolds picked up the phone and pressed a button. “Can you have Ms. Fantana come back to exam room five?”
Great. Now Nadia was going to get scolded too.
“Tyler, your sister needs to be aware. Team effort, right? Hang on. I’ll be right back.”
With a smiling nod, Reynolds left him sitting there feeling like a jerk. The door closed behind her with a hiss and clunk. The memory of his primetime collapse still swirled around him, almost visible, tangible around him, the exam room like a double exposure he could touch and taste. He stared at the speckled linoleum floor.
A tap on the door. “Hey, big bro. Everything okay?”
He turned to look and raised his voice so she’d hear. “Panic attack. Stupid.”
Nadia poked her head in. “Okay if I come in?”
“Doctor’s orders.” Tyler shrugged. “I think she wants to do more scolding than one dummy can handle, so you get some too.”
“Stop worrying, Ty,” she said, reaching out to place a hand on his knee, stilling the judder. “It’s just a checkup.”
“I guess.” Tyler sighed, running a hand through his shaggy hair. He couldn’t help but feel vulnerable, stripped of his armor. He’d been an MVP his whole life, and now… this. “I think she went to pull the labs.”
Tyler sat hunched, foot tapping an anxious beat. With each passing second, his eyes darted between the ticking clock and the closed door to the hall. The sterile peach walls and vague watercolor prints did nothing to soothe his nerves. Beside him, Nadia fidgeted with the strap of her purse, watching him less like a little sister and more like an anxious mom.
As they waited, Nadia tried to distract him with a silly story about Mr. Poops, a lazy marmalade cat that had wandered into her garage last year and decided her home was his, but Tyler’s mind was back on a stadium field a thousand miles away with his teammates.
Grass. Mud. Tackle. Agony. A stadium full of strangers and millions of screens across the country, all roaring for blood.
“Thank you,” Dr. Reynolds said to someone, then stepped back inside, flicking through a sheaf of pages. “Mr. Fantana?”
“Guilty.” Tyler straightened, shooting his sister a tense smile.
“Sorry about that. I asked your sister to join us because we all want the same thing.”
“Absolutely.” Nadia squinted, brave-facing it.
“You aren’t getting better.” Reynolds crossed her arms over her white coat and squinted at him kindly. “Trouble is, you know everything that I’m going to say to you. They punched you in the heart. You’re still a world-class athlete inside there, but your body and your mind need to heal.”
“I understand, ma’am.” He nodded, but the thought of doing anything more than what he was already managing seemed impossible. Hell, he had a worthless degree in sports medicine, and he still couldn’t get his ass in gear.
