Page 6 of Cross My Heart

Lost in thought, Tyler chewed on his lip as he tried to come up with a solution. He knew how badly he needed to regain his strength, but the thought of being hounded by photographers, their cameras capturing his every hiccup and falter, was unbearable.

“Maybe there’s a private gym somewhere,” he mused, fingers tapping restlessly on the table. “Or a trainer who can come to the house.” Mr. Poops hopped into his lap, stalked in a circle, then settled down to nap while Tyler googled and growled at the screen.

Money was no problem, but privacy was something else entirely. He continued his search for someplace close enough to use often, growing more frustrated by the minute as he scrolled through endless listings that wouldn’t suit his odd situation.

“Come on, there has to be something,” Tyler whispered to himself, determination refusing to let him give up. As he browsed, he absentmindedly stroked the dozing cat.

To be fair, he’d started his physical rehab and occupational therapy in San Diego five weeks ago, until the team’s primary PT had leaked a story and pictures of his big naked butt to TMZ for fifty grand. The pictures didn’t bug him all that much, but the “insider” gossip made him sound like a grouchy basket case with a sex addiction. The team had clamped down swiftly, but the press proceeded to lose their minds with theories and predictions based on nothing.

The Swells owners had apologized and groveled, but Tyler wasn’t having it. He’d put his foot down: no more NFL leeches, no more leaks, no more Mr. Nice Patient. Apart from cardiac oversight from Reynolds, he’d do his recovering in Cinnamar. With that much egg on their face, the Swells didn’t have much choice.

Trouble was, organizing discreet treatment and physical rehab out here in Never-Heard-of-It, California, was almost impossible.

As the first hint of dawn filtered through the curtains, Tyler’s eyes remained glued to his laptop, his fingers clattering on the keyboard to suss out a solution. He rubbed his weary eyes, but he refused to give up.

The soft creak of the kitchen door caught his attention, and Nadia shuffled in wearing her favorite fuzzy socks and yawning behind a hand. The cat hopped down to greet her with a hopeful yowl. Nadia’s gaze fell on Tyler, and she made a grim face.

“Tyler, tell me you have not been up all night flipping out,” she said, her voice tinged with worry. “You should have woken me.”

“Couldn’t rest, stay still,” he admitted, running a hand through his unkempt hair. “I been trying to figure out this workout situation. Sounds dumb, but I’m not just some guy when I go to a gym, so I need a PT clinic or a club where there’s no cameras allowed.”

“Oh. Oh shit. Yeah. I didn’t even consider—” Nadia leaned against the counter, studying him for a moment before completing the thought. “You know, there might be another option,” she said, her words slow and thoughtful. “What if you went back to our old high school and asked if you could use their gym and track after hours? It’d be private, and if paparazzi hassle the kids, the sheriff will throw ’em in jail.”

“Hey. Hey!” A wide grin spread across Tyler’s face. He closed the laptop, pushed it aside, and stood up from the table, his eyes wide. “Nadia, you’re a genius!” He swept her up in a bear hug that lifted her off her feet and shook her until she giggled.

“Hey, easy there, mister!” she laughed, playfully swatting at his arm. “I’m just trying to help.”

“So you did,” he assured her, setting her down gently. “This may be exactly what I need. Thank you.” For the first time in months, he felt right about something. Confident. Baby steps.

“Hey, no problem.” Nadia smiled wide. Mr. Poops made a plaintive, pitiful sound at her shins. “Now, how about some breakfast, huh? You look like you could use some fuel.”

“Deal,” Tyler agreed. “As a reward for your brilliant idea, I’m making you a huge spread. Flapjacks, eggs, bacon, the works!” Even that felt like a step. Getting off his ass. Participating in the world.

Nadia laughed. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” Tyler insisted, already gathering necessaries from the fridge, pantry, and cabinets. “It’s the least I can do. And I’ll even clean up when we’re done!”

“Wow, and next thing pigs fly,” Nadia teased, her laughter filling the kitchen. “I need to feed Mr. Poops.”

As Tyler bumped around the kitchen, he couldn’t help but feel grateful for his sister’s unwavering support. Her offhanded suggestion had given him something to strive for, a concrete goal that could help him take back control of his life.

“How about this?” Nadia broke through Tyler’s thoughts by rattling the canister of cat food like a maraca. “Maybe you should stop by the school this morning and see if it’s possible. No time like the present, right?”

“Right.” Tyler nodded, flipping pancakes with a casual dexterity that surprised even him. For the first time in a long while, he felt motivated. “I will. Right after breakfast.”

“Mom would be really happy to see you being so brave, getting back up,” Nadia said gently, as if reading his mind. “She only wanted you to be happy, Ty. However you make that happen.”

“First, though,” he added with a grin, “I got to get my ass back to high school.”

Chapter Two

JOSH AYRES strode into the Hamilton High Athletics office, glancing at his watch.

Ten minutes was plenty of time to check the weight room and swing by Carver’s office. He tossed his bag on the chair and slapped his abs before wading back into the hall.

“Morning, Coach,” said Elise from behind her desk. She wiggled and winked. “Looking buff.”

“Feeling tough.” He shrugged and smiled.