Brothers of Paradise Series

“I don’t think I could sit still for five minutes at her age,” I say.

“Oh, I know I couldn’t.” Jamie sits down on deck and tucks her hands beneath her legs. “Thanks for letting us come on board. This will make Emma’s week.”

“Anytime.” I hesitate only for a second before I sit down next to her. The spot is narrow, and her thigh is resting next to mine. We look at Emma’s small form in silence. She’s lying down now, stomach to the deck, and has her head over the edge to look at the water. One of her sandals taps rhythmically against the deck.

“Captain, huh?”

I laugh. “On a much bigger boat that would be the chain of hierarchy.”

“But not on a sailing boat this size.”

“You remember some from your Paradise days?” I say and nudge her shoulder with mine.

She snorts. “Some.”

“You’re right. I’d be a skipper. But I didn’t think a six-year-old would know what that meant.”

A smile spreads across Jamie’s face. “She’d think it meant someone who likes skipping a lot. Like her.”

“Maybe,” I say, smiling, “you’ll let me take the both of you out to sea one day.”

Jamie nudges my leg with hers. “And risk getting caught by the boom?”

“Hey, it made me a genius,” I say.

She laughs, full and free, and it sounds like her old self. Behind us the sun dips behind the horizon, painting the marina in gold, but I watch the woman beside me instead. Her laughter feels more rare.

JAMIE

I feel ridiculous, and judging by Parker’s smile, I must look it too.

“I don’t even know where to start,” I say. The rack of weights in front of me is wide enough to stretch wall-to-wall in his garage. Parker has every weight, and with different handles, too. Some are shaped like a heavy ball with one on top. I think they’re called kettlebells, but it’s been years since I went to a gym.

“Start with the lightest,” he says, and grabs a heavy pair himself. “You can copy what I do, or modify it to fit you. No rights or wrongs.”

I look at the bench in the corner with its plate-stacked bar. “Looks like a lot of things could go wrong.”

Parker laughs. It’s tinged with hoarseness. He must have just woken up, like me. The speaker in the corner plays soft music from his phone. He’s in the same workout clothes as last week, black shorts and a white T-shirt, and looks pristine. At least I’ve managed to find a T-shirt without paint stains.

“Just give it a go,” he says, “and see what happens.”

So I do. It’s miserable, and I realize halfway through that I have no strength at all in my upper body. It’s all rubber, and as I stand there panting in the corner, I wonder how the hell I became this person. Living at my mother’s, working as a waitress, running from Lee and unable to do ten straight shoulder presses with the lightest of weights.

“Hey,” Parker says. He puts down the giant weight he’s been using and wipes sweat from his forehead. “That was great.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“It was, though. It’s your first time. You’ll have to go slow.” He shrugs, irreverent, casual, and as unbreakable as always. “Come on, James. Do your squats next.”

I drag myself from exercise to exercise. With a tact I never saw teenage Parker display, he doesn’t look at me. Only twice does he offer pointers. I could probably use a hundred more, but I appreciate the restraint.

And watching him makes the pain in my body easier to bear.

He moves through the gym like it’s his personal space, an extension of his body, a tool and a sanctuary. He lifts strong and silent, and takes the time to stretch in between muscle groups.

It makes my pathetic bicep curls a tiny bit more enjoyable, to watch his muscles flex beneath his shirt.

It’s also intimate in a way I hadn’t anticipated. To breathe and lift and sweat in the same space as someone else, and slowly, I surrender to that, too. He’s already seen more of me in the few weeks I’ve been back than I had ever planned for.

And it feels good to have a true friend again. The easy conversation, the lack of poisonous subtext, the jokes that are genuine, without any mocking in them. It’s like a balm to the soul after years with Lee.Text © by N0ve/lDrama.Org.

I finish the last of my sit-ups with a huff and lie back on the floor. My T-shirt sticks to my skin.

Parker steps into view, using the bottom hem of his shirt to wipe his face.

Man, is he in shape.

“It’s almost seven,” he says. “I’m going to run down to the boardwalk and take a swim. Want to join?”

I look away from the faint line of brown hair on his stomach, disappearing into his shorts. “Thanks, but I should get home. Emma usually wakes up around now.”

“Another time, then.” He pulls me up to my feet. “How do you feel?”

“Tired. I’m not looking forward to the soreness later.”

He grins. “Means it’s working. You did great, James.”

“Thanks,” I say, and look him up and down, like I’m evaluating him. “So did you. I don’t know if anyone’s told you this, but you could play sports. Football, maybe. Or sailing.”

Parker laughs. “Such flattery.”

“I can be nice, on occasion.”

“Oh, I’m learning that these days.” He shuts the garage door behind him and runs a hand through his hair. The morning is beautiful, the air crisp. “You’re welcome to come back any morning, all right?”

“When I can walk again, I might.”

“It won’t be that bad,” he says, and gives me a wink. “Not after the first time.”

My mouth falls open. In all the jokes and arguments Parker and I exchanged back in the day, they were never sexual. It was a barrier we never crossed.

But here he is, doing just that.

Parker’s smile widens as he watches me process his words. “Speechless? That’s a first.”

“Just figuring out my response,” I say. “I don’t know what kind of answer you’ll survive.”

“Oh, really?” He jogs backwards, heels sharp on the sidewalk. “Tell me later at work, James. I can’t wait to hear it.”