Page 35 of Desire or Defense

Yes.

big man

You’re racking up a lot of favors, you know.

Andie

How will I ever repay you?

I could offer him several ideas. Including, but not limited to unlimited abdominal massages. I just know he’s got a killer set of abs. The typing bubbles appear and disappear several times again. Maybe my comment was too blatantly flirtatious.

big man

No need to repay me. I’ll text you the details when I get the tickets from our GM.

My cheeks heat once more, this time from embarrassment. I spooked him with my whole repayment comment. Well, he’s still coming to the game with us, so I must not have freaked him out too much with my personality. I know I'm a lot, he’s not wrong that not just any guy could handle me.

Andie

Thank you, Mitch!

big man

No problem. Goodnight, Blondie.

Andie

Goodnight.

* * *

I drop Noah off at school the next morning and when I arrive back home, the front door is nearly barricaded with boxes.

“The gym equipment,” I say to myself in a half groan. It arrived earlier than I expected. Now my peaceful morning has unfortunately been interrupted. I’m suddenly regretting the energy and inspiration I had last week with revamping the town house and making an in-home gym.

When will I even have time to workout? Oh well. I can sleep when I’m dead.

It takes me half an hour just to get the boxes inside my door. They’re freaking heavy. And I’m currently out of shape from not strength training in the last nine months.

Sweat drips down my back by the time I’ve moved the boxes inside. And by inside, I mean right inside the door. I haven’t even pushed the boxes down the hallway and into the guest room yet.

I stare at the boxes for five straight minutes before deciding I’ll do the rest another day. Right now, I need caffeine. Then hopefully, I’ll have newfound energy to finish taking apart the bed in the guest room and clearing it out for the gym equipment. Glancing at the watch on my wrist, I calculate how many hours I have to clean this room out and do laundry before getting Noah from school and taking him to hockey practice. I turn in the slim hallway, which is awkward since there are boxes everywhere, and gaze at the photo of me and Noah with our parents. A wave of emotion and exhaustion hits me like a slap in the face.

I’m so busy that I don’t often have time to acknowledge the feelings swirling around inside me at the loss of them. These two amazing people I adored, who Noah adored. Who were the most amazing parents.

Mom never complained about Noah’s hockey schedule, and here I am completely overwhelmed most of the time.

“How’d you do it, Mom?” I ask the picture, her deep brown eyes staring back at me.

And I wish, so much, that she could answer me. That she could talk to me right now. Give me some of that epic, wise advice she always had.

I wish we could have coffee together, that I could ask her how she likes the pale yellow color we painted in her living room last week, or that I could just wrap my arms around her shoulders one last time.

But she’s just… gone.

Here I was, so looking forward to having a quiet day to myself today, but suddenly the quiet makes my thoughts feel too loud. I sniff and realize I’ve been crying, my shirt is damp from the tears streaming down my face. What a picture this must be, a sweaty woman standing in a hallway, barricaded with boxes, crying her eyes out.

Sighing, I place a kiss to my index finger then tap it against her forehead in the photo. I clear my throat and set my shoulders.