Nineteen

ROWAN

Calder remained sick all day Saturday.

By Sunday at noon he’d bounced back as if the past thirty-six hours hadn’t happened.

I’d enforced quiet time, which was almost harder for him than being sick . . . until he discovered the brand-new puppies puzzle Jensen had left on the table with the crackers and ginger ale. He’d settled in to work on the puzzle, asking me only every other hour when Jensen was coming over.

I wish I knew.

I’d sent Jensen a text this morning giving him an update on Calder.

His response?

Thnx.

That’d been it.

Since then I’d been restless.

And it hadn’t helped it’d been so quiet in the apartment complex that I could hear the elevator ding down the hallway.

I listened to the comings and goings of our neighbors in the eight apartments in our wing of the building.

I heard Lenka and Bob the building manager talking about the sticky sections of asphalt in front of the mailboxes.

I heard Inga and her sister Isla, both professional ice skaters from the Ukraine who spoke limited English, giggling and teasing each other in their native language.

I heard Joseph and Dieter, a married couple from Germany, both figure skating teachers, arguing about whose turn it was to clean out the cat box.

I heard Isabel, the cyclist from Switzerland, holding a conversation in French on her phone as she walked past toward her apartment—the last one on this floor.

Mischa and Pavel’s apartment across from Isabel’s sat empty while they visited family in Hungary.

Beatrice, a former biathlete, now a flight attendant for Icelandic Air, was in Iceland for a month visiting her kids, so her place was empty too.

I heard nothing from Jensen’s apartment. No music or TV. I’d become so attuned to him that I knew how his keys sounded when he shoved them in the lock. A sound I hadn’t heard since Friday night.

Because I obsessed about . . . everything really, I replayed Friday’s events over and over.

Trying to figure out if I’d misread our post-Calder-vomiting conversation.

Calder comes first for me. Every single time.

As he should.

But?

No buts. Your dedication to being there for your son will never be an arguable point for me.

Then what are we arguing about?

Nothing. I had to force you to take my help tonight. All I’m asking is, next time? Don’t fight me on it. Save us both the time and wasted energy and accept it.

There’ll be a next time?

Well, if I have any say in it . . . yes.

Had he meant it?

Maybe the better question was . . . had I? Why would a man want to get involved with me if he knew he’d never be my priority?

Ding ding.

Maybe Jensen had realized that. Maybe his silence indicated he’d decided we were better off just being friends, casual friends, before things became too complicated.

You’re making things complicated. You’re making excuses. When all you need to do is make a few changes.

I heard Daisy telling me: I hate that you’ve equated selfless with sexless. It’s always made me sad that you put your physical needs at the bottom of your “life priority” list.

Even Talia had given me advice: But I don’t hear from Calder that you let him play with those kids very often. Only if you’re with him. Do you think that’s best? Given he’s got a built-in social network so close by? It’d be good for him, as an only child, to develop some interpersonal skills . . . Because I think some separation would be good for you too.

I loved my son. I was a good mother, but I was more than just a mother.

As Jensen had pointed out: You’re allowed a night of fun. You’re a great mom, but that’s not all you are. You are crazy, sexy hot, baby.

The only way I could believe that was to enforce it. Take a few steps back. Reassess. Give Calder room to grow and develop friendships. Pursue friendships myself with other parents. I’d feel more comfortable loosening the reins with Calder if I knew how quickly the other kids’ parents jerked back their reins on their kids if they stepped out of line. That meant taking the time to get to know them.

I wasn’t the only single parent in this apartment complex. Andrew’s mom was widowed. Noelle’s mom was divorced. I wasn’t sure on Benji and Emily’s family situations. But it occurred to me that all the kids who lived in the other building were onlys. No wonder they ran together in a pack.

So what did Andrew’s mom do when Andrew got sick and she needed medicine? Or Noelle’s mom when she had to work late? Did they have someone in their lives to rely on? Or were they like me, slogging away, day to day, acting as if they could do it all?

Maybe we all needed a little help.

Gabriel and Gejel had reached out to me and I’d been embarrassingly self-assured that I didn’t need help. I was used to dealing with whatever life threw at us; it was me and Calder against the world.

But it didn’t have to be that way.

My child and I would both be better off if it wasn’t that way.

Things change. People change. It’s time for you to change, Rowan.

I grabbed my cell and called Nicolai’s parents before I talked myself out of it.

“Hey, Gejel, it’s Rowan Michaels. Yes. He’s much better.” I laughed. “Like he’d never even been sick. I know, right? Anyway, thank you for having him over Friday night. I’ve been thinking about a couple of things I’d like to run past you and Gabriel.” I glanced at the clock. “Twenty minutes is perfect. Calder will be thrilled to get some fresh air. Okay. See you in a bit.”

After I ended the call, I said, “Get your suit on,” to Calder. “We’re meeting Nicolai and his family at the pool.”

His face lit up. “For real?”

“For real.”

He whooped and danced around.

Yep. The kid was definitely feeling better.

•   •   •

Sunday evening, after I’d fortified myself with a glass of wine, I texted Jensen.

Me: I hope your weekend got better. We missed you.

Me: I missed you.

Me: I wondered if we could talk? Early tomorrow night? Over dinner?

Me: I’ll cook. Send me your dietary restrictions if there are any.

Me: I really missed you.

He didn’t respond for nearly fifteen minutes.

JL: Dinner sounds good. No restrictions. What should I bring?

I started to type condoms, but backspaced over it.

Me: Just bring yourself

JL: Should I bring Harry Potter so C and I can catch up? We’ve missed a few nights.

Me: No Calder. Just us tomorrow night.

I watched the typing text message icon start and stop. Start and stop. Start and stop. Then I received:

JL: Okay. Be there at 6

•   •   •

Of course I was running late on a Monday.

I hadn’t gotten home until five fifteen. I loaded up Calder’s overnight bag—this time including Pepto-Bismol for if his stomach got wonky—and we walked over to Nicolai’s.

I’d worked out a swap with Gabriel and Gejel. Calder stayed with them tonight and Nicolai would stay over with us Friday night, allowing his parents to celebrate their anniversary at a B&B up north.

This babysitting co-op thing might end up being a sanity saver for everyone.

I didn’t get back to my floor until five fifty-five. Too late to throw the lasagna in the oven, so I’d have to go to plan B.

It’d become a habit as I moved about the training center to spin my keys on my finger until the metal hit my palm, then spin them back out. An annoying habit, I’d been told, but one that I couldn’t break even when I wasn’t at the gym. I spun my keys in the elevator.

Smack. Jingle. Smack. Jingle.

I continued to spin them as I exited the elevator and turned the corner on the second floor.

The smack, jingle, smack, jingle caught Jensen’s attention, and he turned to face me.

My heart zoomed from zero to two hundred in those four long seconds we stared at each other.

With the way he’d slung his equipment bag over his shoulder, the strap pulled his shirt taut so the fabric clung to every muscle in his back and his arm.

Oh, how I’ve missed you, you sexy beast.

Of course, I didn’t say that. I waited for him to say something first.

But why? Doesn’t he always make the first move?

Not always. You’re usually the first one to retreat.

I internally cringed because that was true.

Jensen’s eyes remained on me as I closed the distance between us. I tried not to fidget even when I knew I looked like a trainwreck. No makeup, my hair pulled back in a stubby ponytail, wearing my usual work uniform: maroon athletic pants sporting the U of M logo, and a too-tight gold workout top with a compression bra that squished my boobs flat. Not exactly the date-night attire I’d prepared to wow him with.

“Hey. I’m running behind.”

“That’s fine. Practice ended late anyway.” Then he took two steps toward his door.

Two hitching steps that put a grimace on his face.

“What did you do to your leg?” I demanded.

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“Too late. Tell me what happened.”

“Really, Coach. It’s fine.”

“Then you won’t mind if I take a look.” I dropped to my knees on his left side and ran my hand down the back of his calf. “Is it a burning or a snapping pain?”

“Neither. Shooting.”

“Worse when it bears forward weight?”

“Forward weight sends the shooting pain up my shin, not my calf.”

“Turn your knee in, please.” He complied. “Worse? Better? No change?”

“Better.”

Damn, he had muscular calves. Perfectly sculpted and veiny. But who had that type of muscle definition by their shin bone?

“Rowan?”

Awesome. I’d just felt him up. Actually, it was pretty freakin’ awesome because I’d never had my hands on this part of his body before. I pushed on the outside of his calf from his ankle, slowly up to his knee. “Have you added more cardio this week?”

“No.”

“Running on a different surface? Asphalt, concrete or turf instead of treadmill?”

“Nope.”

“New shoes?” When he didn’t respond, I looked up at him.

“Yeah, I got new shoes. But they’re the exact same brand I’ve been wearing. Same style, same size, same laces, same everything.”

“Except they’re new. With different soles. Could be a little harder. Or softer. Wider. Narrower. Without measuring, I’d say the flare by the heel is narrower than your previous pair. You’re running on the outside of your foot to try to compensate. It’s putting pressure on the tibialis anterior.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “If it’s the shoes, then why aren’t I having any issues with the right foot?”

“Because you’ve been favoring your right side for a year and a half since your injury. You automatically compensate for it.”

“So, Coach, what’s your recommendation?”

I blinked at him. “To talk to your trainers about it.”

“That’s it? You’re a trainer.”

“I’m not your trainer. Big difference. A massage would help.”

“You offering?” he said huskily. “Because if you’re on your knees I can think of another part of me that’s in worse need of a rubdown.”

My heart just . . . caught fire.

Or maybe that was my panties.

“What is it about you that has me all tied up in knots?” Jensen reached down and pulled the tie out of my hair. “You break all three of my rules.” Then he slid his hand down to cup my jaw. “And for as much shit as I gave you about being a rule follower? I am too. I’ve never broken any of them before. Never wanted to. Until I met you.” He let his hand fall to his side. “Sweetheart, get up. I’ve only got so much control.”

I had a front-row seat to seeing how being on my knees affected him. I scrambled to my feet and took a few steps back. “I’ll just go get ready.”

Jensen bestowed a thorough sweep of those molten blue eyes over me. “Get ready for what?”

“Our dinner date.”

“It can wait. Where’s Calder?”

“Staying overnight at a friend’s.”

“Did you plan that?”

“Yes. After our plans fell through Friday night, I decided to make some contingency plans. Not just for one night. For the long term.” I kept my eyes on his. “Spending time alone with you . . . I’m making it a priority. This isn’t a onetime thing for me.”

He tipped his head back to the ceiling and said, “Thank you, Jesus.” Then he pinned me with his laser-sharp gaze. “Now what?”

Despite my worries that my sexual inexperience would frustrate or disappoint him, I seized the moment. “Now . . . you put your bold talk into action.”