Unwrapped (24 page)

Through the heavy buzzing filling her ears, she heard Julie
calling for help. The next thing she knew, a tall, muscular man had dropped an
arm around her sweaty shoulders. Gwen shook her head clear as the trainer and
club owner, Kevin Montgomery, waved away the small crowd that had gathered.

He helped straighten her out there on the floor and guided
her head between her knees, asking dimly-heard questions of Julie as he took
her pulse, then tilted her chin up to look in both eyes. His were a springy,
smiling green, lighter than her own, and laced with concern.

"Who were you racing there, champ, Jackie Joyner?"
Kevin teased while he continued to check her out. "Six miles—nearly
vertical—in less than an hour is a pretty fast clip for you, isn't
it?"

Gwen shrugged in acknowledgement. Julie, pretty and
delicate, but strong in the way only a former ballerina could be, looked on
anxiously, biting her lip and pulling on the ends of her long blond ponytail.
Gwen concentrated on getting her breath back, sucking in deep lungfuls of
sweat-and-disinfectant scented air.

She took the towel Kevin handed her and swiped her face,
embarrassment winging over her. She'd been embarrassed a lot today. She knew
she had to be red as a beet once again, curse her Irish forebears.

"I'm okay," she managed after a few minutes. She
smiled at Julie, but it must have been more of a grimace, because the concern
in Julie's soft brown eyes increased.

"You're going to be sore, and you're going to
bruise," Kevin said, his tone briskly professional. "Be sure you
stretch. Take some pain meds when you get home, and maybe a warm bath." He
pushed on a spot along her side and made her gasp. "Do you want to see the
masseuse? I can call David to come get you, if you want."

"No, thanks. Really, I'm fine."
Don't call
David, for the love of God. He doesn't need to hear about this.

Kevin and Julie exchanged glances above her head, which she
ignored.

Now that she could breathe again, her self-consciousness
rapidly increased. She dismissed the curious stares from other club goers,
relieved not to see anyone she knew besides Julie and the gym employees.

Kevin brought her a bottle of water and an incident report
for the club's lawyers, but once she got to her feet and proved she was steady
enough, Kevin patted her kindly on the back. He tossed an extra-warm smile at
Julie, which was returned with interest, and went back to monitoring the Stud
Stable—the name Gwen and Julie had given to the room where all the heavy
lifters congregated in their spandex shorts and tiny tees.

Hesitantly, Gwen lifted her gaze, observing Julie's raised
eyebrow with a sigh. She followed the jerk of her friend's chin toward the
snack bar.

"What was that about?" Gwen asked, with a wave in
Kevin's direction.

Julie's cheeks pinked. "Oh, you know—anyway,
don't change the subject."

"He's a cutie." Striving for normalcy, she added,
"Nice butt."

Julie
hmmmm'd
noncommittally and stopped at the counter for her favorite revolting green
health-nut concoction, to which Gwen gave the beady eye, then led the way to a
corner table.

"So," Julie began.

"How are the boys?"

"Perfect little monsters," Julie said with an eye
roll and an affectionate grin. "They can't wait for their next day with
Uncle Davey. You know how much I appreciate all the time you guys take with
them."

"We love them," Gwen said simply.

"I know you do." Julie studied her closely, her
eyes troubled. "Gwen."

Gwen dropped her gaze and picked at the label on her water
bottle. "Don't ask me, okay?" she said without looking up. "And
please don't say anything to David."

Reaching her hand across the table to cover both of Gwen's,
Julie said, "Okay. I won't, at least for now. But I wish you'd talk to me.
I know something's wrong. I'm here for you, Gwen."

Combating another rush of the hated tears, Gwen nodded and
turned her hands to grip Julie's. "I know. Thanks."

The wish to share the burden, to talk to her friend, flooded
her with guilt. She never would. She could never pour her heart out to the
woman whose marriage had ended in that fire. The same fire whose aftermath was
destroying Gwen's.

~*~*~*~*~*~

David Coffey stood at the edge of his dock after his run,
staring over the smooth dark-green waters of Big Bear Lake. He peeled his
sweat-soaked black tee-shirt over his head and ran a hand through his equally
black hair, his mind deliberately blank.

Slowly, methodically, he worked each muscle group, from his
feet up to his torso and back, his movements smooth and controlled. He spent
extra time on his legs and left side where the patch-worked skin still pulled
tight, nearly three years after the fire.

When he heard Gwen's car pull into the drive, he hurried
through his final series of stretches and made his way up the rocky path to
their cabin. The late-afternoon sun glowed against the picture-framed windows,
setting the glass aflame. The faerie wind chimes he'd given Gwen on their first
wedding anniversary cast their music over the lake. They reminded him of her
laughter, bright and sparkling.

He missed her laughter.

Climbing the short flight of weathered stairs onto the back
porch, David observed her through the screen door. She had her back to him as
she moved about the small family room putting her purse and gym bag away. The
set of her shoulders screamed tension in every line, and she moved awkwardly,
as though she'd been thrown from a horse.

He frowned. Had the shrink gone that badly?

For just a moment, her shoulders slumped and she leaned
against the little table. Her body trembled. His heart caught.

"Hey, babe," he said, concerned, as he pulled the
door open and stepped inside.

She jumped a little, but turned, shoulders straight, all
signs of vulnerability vanished. A smile on her lovely face.

The same small, tight little smile she'd been wearing for a
very long time. It was nothing like the smile he'd fallen in love with. This
one always accompanied the searching glance she cast over his features, looking
for signs of pain, of fever, of depression. He hated it.

The smile he loved would curve the rosy bow of her mouth and
put the sparkle back in her deep green eyes and arrow straight to his heart. It
made everything in him light. Right.

He missed her smile.

"Hey." She twisted her fingers together. Shuffled
her feet.

They stared at each other, the length of the room and so
much more between them, while David strove for something to say. He settled on
the scintillating, "How was your day?"

"Fine. You?"

"Good," he said, and thought,
Fuck me, how did
we get to this?
"How was your
appointment?"

Gwen jerked her shoulder, stared at her fiddly fingers.

He stepped forward, intending to kiss her hello, but her
head snapped up and she threw a hand out to ward him off.

"I'm all sweaty," she said.

"I am, too."

She shook her head. "I feel gross."

Awkward now, he thrust his hands into his back pockets. He
wished, absurdly, that he'd put his shirt back on.

"Are you all right?" he asked. "You look a
little pale."

"Yes, I'm fine."

His wife straightened her already ramrod-straight shoulders
and gave him the look that meant she wanted him to stop talking. He'd had that
look a lot over the past months.

Trying again, he said, "I took some steaks out for
dinner, if you want. Or we could do pasta."

Something. Anything. Just tell me what you want. Please.

But he didn't say that. He just stood there like an idiot,
watching the shadows cross her face, dimming the electric green of her eyes,
and wondering who the hell they were anymore.

"I think steak," she said. "I'll throw some
baked potatoes in the oven, then I'm going to grab a shower."

Edging her slender body around the dining table the way he'd
edge back from a coiled rattlesnake, she stopped with one hand braced on top of
a chair. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but paused, her lips quivering
once before she clamped them tight. An expression he'd seen too often of
late—regret, sadness, fear—crossed her face and was gone in an
instant.

"Okay?" she said.

Did she think he couldn't read her face? Her emotions? He
knew she was afraid, hurting, even if he didn't know why. But she refused to
let him in, to let him help.

David had debated forcing the issue, egging her into another
argument, anything to break through the protective shell surrounding her. He'd
claimed a minor victory with that strategy over the therapy appointments.

But she was a stubborn lass, his Gwen. Trying to force her
hand usually resulted in her digging in her heels.

No, badgering wasn't the best way to handle his wife. He
wished he knew what was. He wanted to find the right words, wanted to reach
out, wanted to gather her into his arms and hold her until they found their
footing again.

Instead, he stood rooted and silent, his mind blank.

She inclined her head, turned and walked into the kitchen
without waiting for his response, leaving her spicy scent and his frustrations
behind.

David stayed where he was, flexing his hands out of habit,
ignoring the phantom itching of his two missing fingers, and racking his brain
for the smallest clue to unlocking the armored vault his wife had sealed
herself inside, closing away her emotions, closing him out of her heart.

~END
EXCERPT~

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

My
life as a writer would not be possible without the support and understanding of
my immediate family. They put up with my crazy hours, inattention, hurried
meals (usually made by someone else, but I do try to at least make an
appearance at the table!), constant requests for quiet, the muttering to
myself, scribbling story notes on every available scrap of paper, and the brief
periods of hysteria immediately preceding the launch of a new book.

And
they love me anyway.

The
writing of
Unwrapped
occurred during a
particularly tough time period for the kids, so close to Christmas. At this
writing, no presents are wrapped, my middle daughter has done all the baking,
the oldest has done all the cleaning, and my son has kept everything else
together, including keeping the cats out of my glasses of soda during my quick
dashes to rotate laundry or throw a snack at a hungry family member, which
somewhat resembles feeding time at the local zoo. The husband works hard at his
day job, so I can continue to work at mine without having to do what he does on
a daily basis—leave the house.

So,
while my children will never read these pages due to the spicy content
("Ewww, mom! Gross!"), and it's unlikely my husband will, due to his
work schedule, I want to take this opportunity to say, "Thank you all. And
I love you."

Chantilly,
AKA Mom

December,
2012

ABOUT
CHANTILLY

Chantilly White was born and raised in southern California,
an only child who spent her days acting out favorite scenes from beloved
fairytales and reading everything she could get her hands on. Childhood
favorites were soon followed by romance novels, which heavily influenced her
beliefs about life and love.

Always a storyteller, Chantilly holds a degree in Creative
Writing/English Literature from the University of California at Riverside. Now
living in the Pacific Northwest with her husband, three kids and three crazy
cats, she is a member of Romance Writers of America (RWA) and several local and
online chapters. She serves as Membership Chair for the Evergreen RWA chapter
in Everett, Washington.

Chantilly writes romance in a variety of subgenres,
including Contemporary, Historical, Paranormal and Fantasy Romance. She is
currently trying her hand at shorter works and spicing them up quite a lot.
She's finding the results. . . stimulating, and hopes her readers will happily
agree.
Pearls of Passion
and
Pearls
of Wisdom
, both short stories, and
Pearls
of Pleasure
, a novel, are available now,
with
Remember Me
and
Captivated
coming soon. Look for them on Amazon and
anywhere e-books are sold.

To learn more about Chantilly, please visit her website at
http://ChantillyWhite.com