pectorals tighten as they accepted the weight.
With Nirvana blaring in his ears, he pumped through his exercises, tearing up his muscles so that they could rebuild stronger, better. The burn felt good. It felt healthy. It felt normal to him.
And he was hungry for normal.
He’d always made demands of his body and he expected it to respond with power. One of the hardest things about being laid up had been the weakness. Pain he could handle. Frailty was unbearable.
After his first set, he sat up, breathing hard and resting his arms on his knees. Usually Spike worked out with him, but today the guy was busy. Which was kind of a bummer. He liked having a buddy with him. Made the time pass quicker, plus Spike was pretty damn amusing.
Alex reached down and took a slug of water from a bottle.
The shop was really working out for him, he thought. Even if Cassandra would no doubt—
Stop it.
The twin bed he slept in was right next to the potbellied stove. December was really cold stuff this far north, and with his tendency for kicking off the covers when the nightmares came, he needed to be close to a heat source at night. His clothes were in duffel bags lying open and pushed against the wall, like drawers on the floor. Shoes were in an orderly line in front of them. Fleeces and jackets were hanging on pegs. Laundry went into a wicker basket.
Everything had its place.
All of the order made him think about Cassandra. Why? Who the hell knew. What didn’t make him think of her?
Tilting his head around, he glanced out of the shop’s picture window at White Caps. His family’s home looked as if it had been bombed and abandoned with all the plastic sheets covering burned-out windows and doors. It was hard to believe the place was ever going to be right again, but if anyone could fix it, Cassandra could.
When Frankie and Joy had campaigned to have her take on the project, they’d shown him photographs of her work. She’d designed and constructed houses, additions and out-buildings all over America and specialized in rehabbing antiques. She had an absolute genius for making the new look old.
So, professionally speaking, she was perfect for what they needed. There had been no way he could refuse.
Alex lay back down and gripped the bar again.
Plus he hadn’t really wanted to refuse.
It had been so hard to see her leave Gray’s those many weeks ago. Like a pathetic idiot, he’d watched from a window as she’d walked out of the house with O’Banyon. The man had had his hand at the small of her back while he’d guided her to his Mercedes and settled her in it.
The two of them going off together had made Alex grit his teeth so hard his gums had gone numb. He’d wanted to tear her out of that car and take her upstairs to the bed he slept in and keep her there by lying on her with his naked body.
But of course he’d let her go. And as those taillights had flared at the end of the driveway, it was clear she belonged in a fancy car with a man like O’Banyon. She was a refined kind of woman who was used to being on Manhattan’s A-list. Living in a penthouse on Park Avenue. Wearing beautiful clothes.
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