Page 14 of Heaven Help Me

I grin, feeling like she deserves everything that’s coming to her. “You have no idea what you just volunteered for, honeybear.”

CHAPTER SIX

Valentina, AKA Landry

I think I might go crazy if I stay in this town too long.

First of all, there’s no noise. Like, none. I don’t count the chirping of birds or the occasional riding lawn mower that fires up somewhere around the neighborhood. Seriously, the loudest thing I hear is a neighbor calling hello as they walk by on their daily lap through the neighborhood. The only upside is that I’m sleeping better at night. I just feel like I’m going to lose it during the daytime.

I pull another floral dress over my head and study myself in the full-length gilded mirror set up in the corner of Deuce’s guest room. Is death by florals a thing? My hands smooth down the bodice, my head tilting to the side, taking it all in. I feel like I might just smother and die from the flowers smiling back at me from this material. It’s weird to wear flowers, isn’t it? It reminds me of overgrown toddlers who want some fun print of a kitty cat on their onesie.

The burner phone Bettina gave me pings from the nightstand. I rush over, hoping it’s her, telling me she’s cleared everything up already, and I can head back to my life.

It’s not Bettina.

Unknown Number: I’m going to go for a run, then head over to Rhett and Mary London’s to visit the new baby. You want to go or hole up here?

I save Deuce’s contact info and text back.

Me: I can’t listen to more birds.

Satan’s Right Hand: Okayyy. So, is that a yes?

Me: Yes, I’m coming.

I already have the dress ripped off and one leg into the shorts I brought with me, thinking I could at least still get my workouts in even if I’ve been banished to the sticks. I toss on a sports bra, socks, and tennis shoes, and I’m thundering down the stairs before Deuce leaves me in this godforsaken house with nothing to do but count dust particles and the wallpaper panels required to cover the entire guest bedroom.

Deuce is stretching on the front porch, his lean but muscular physique on full display in a pair of black running shorts and matching tennis shoes. Apparently he doesn’t need to wear a shirt around here when he goes on runs. I’m sure the neighbors love that. He’s nice to look at, I’ll begrudgingly give him that.

His head pops up, startled. He pulls headphones out of his ears and stands to his full height. “What are you doing?”

My face contorts. “Do you have early dementia? You just asked me if I wanted to come along.”

Deuce huffs and shakes his head. “To see the baby, not on my run.”

I’m embarrassed I got the invitation wrong and even more embarrassed that I look so eager to spend time with him. I’m just that bored. “Afraid I’ll run faster than you?”

Deuce shoves his headphones back in his ears. “Just keep up, Valentina.”

“It’s Landry,” I remind him. He ignores me.

He takes off down the sidewalk at a fast clip and I follow, wishing I’d had a chance to stretch first too. Not that I’ll bring it up. He runs like a goddamn deer, leaping with each stride like it’s the most natural thing in the world. I’m no slouch either though, and I keep up with him until we hit a park almost two miles away. He stops at the little kid’s jungle gym, barely breathing hard. He puts both hands on the tallest bar.

“You can rest while I do my strength training.”

God, he’s so condescending! Irritation creates a surge of energy that has me reaching for the shorter set of bars. “I don’t need to rest.”

Deuce shrugs and belts out two pullups before I’ve wrestled my eyes away from the ripple of muscles in his back. When I realize I’m checking him out, I punish myself with my own pullups. I get in five before I have to take a break. Pretty sure Deuce is on fifteen, but who’s counting?

I can see him side-eyeing me. His smug little smirk is annoying as fuck. He keeps going with the pullups, clearly showing off now. My gaze snags on a light pink scar just below his ribs, a perfect line, just wide enough to come from a small knife. My mouth goes dry. Is that…? Is that scar from me?

I head to the monkey bars instead of pondering if I’m the woman that marred that perfect physique and swing my legs up and over. I tuck my feet under the parallel bar and let go with my hands. I lower my torso until I’m upside down, held in place by my legs. Deuce drops down from his bar, hands on hips, watching me. I belt out at least a dozen sit-ups, my ponytail swinging. By the time I jump down, he’s moved on to pushups right there in the bark.

Naturally, I drop down in front of him and start my own pushups. He lifts his head and glares at me. Our pushups sync and now I can’t quit. We hit twenty-five and I’m on the struggle bus. My arms are trembling and my chest is on fire. Deuce is finally breathing hard. We do five more, our pace slowing dramatically. We finally both collapse on the next pushup, bark biting into our skin.

“I still did more…than you. Started first,” Deuce gasps as he tries to suck in enough air.

“I only quit…because I didn’t want you…to feel bad,” I gasp right back.