The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong. - Mahatma Gandhi
By ten on the dot Tommy and Brendan were waiting outside of the building across from his. They'd both showered and changed clothes at Tommy's apartment, neither one saying much after the emotional outburst on the sidewalk. Tommy feels almost shy around his brother now; he didn't really ever get to know Brendan as a man, they were both kids when they'd split and he'd been an angry man when they first reunited. Nothing was ever able to get through those thick emotional walls he'd built. Now he plans to spend whatever time he had left making up for all the stubbornness and hatred.
Just two minutes after ten Heather descended the stairs of her building. She looks a lot different to Tommy with sweat pants and a zipped up hoodie on with her hair down. He hadn't realized it was a long as it turned out to be; her light strawberry blonde mane fell below the middle of her back. As she comes bounding down to them he catches the smell of strawberry shampoo, the same one his mother used to use.
"Hey fella's, mind if I drive? I get carsick in the passenger and back seat. I know, I'm such a girl…" she says already digging her keys out of her purse. Brendan looks over her bent head at Tommy and winks. Tommy responds by flipping him the bird.
"That would be great actually," Brendan says smiling widely and winks at Tommy again. Brendan is pushing Tommy's buttons again just like he used to do when they were kids. Tommy finds that he doesn't really mind now; it's good that they can remember how things used to be.
Inside the cramped little Mini Cooper, Tommy and Brendon both look like giants shoved into a matchbox car. Brendan has the worst of it, he'd decided to take the backseat. Dumb move on his part, he is a good foot taller than Tommy and most of it is legs. Tommy's shoulders have no room to do anything except rest against the passenger window and Heather's shoulder. Her car is spotless and smells like a beach vacation, somewhere between vanilla and coconut. She smells like expensive perfume and a basket of strawberries all at the same time. It might have been too much on some women but Tommy thinks that on her, it's just right.
Thankfully Dale's isn't that far from the block so they arrived quickly. Tommy jumps out of the car as quickly as possible so he can watch the spectacle of Brendan unfolding himself from the impossibly small backseat. He can't help but to laugh when his brother finally emerges, red faced and huffing.
"I tell ya, you crawl in and outta that thing ten times and you got an MMA workout. To hell with the bag and running!"
Tommy laughs out loud, the sound akin to rusty door hinges, albeit these are hysterical sounding, rusty door hinges. Heather and Brendan have no choice but to join in just from the sound of it.
Tommy turns, still chuckling, and opens the diner door, motioning his two companions in. Lily isn't working right now, instead it's Dale himself. Almost eighty but not looking a day over sixty, the old man is a spry as a twenty year old. He still insists on dressing like an old time soda jerk, paper hat and all. His wicked sense of humor makes him a customer favorite.
"Eh! Tommy! Who ya bringing in my place?" Dale is smiling as always and slapping some Philly steak around on the grill.
"Dale, this is my brother Brendan and my friend Heather. Guys, this is Dale, the owner and maker of the best Philly outside of Philly."
Dale lays his spatula down on the make table and walks over to the trio. He reaches across the counter and shakes Brendan's hand before reaching for Heathers. Instead of the same firm shake he gave to the older brother, he leans forward and plants a kiss on the top of Heather's.
"Very pleased to meet you both. I was starting to think Tommy here was a friendless orphan who liked eating alone."
"Watch it Dale, just cause I like ya don't mean I won't mop tha floor with ya…" Tommy growls, smiling at the old man. Dale just shakes his head and heads back to the flat top grill.
"I'll be back to take ya order in a minute," the old man grouses as the three head back to the last booth.
Heather scoots in to the wall and Brendan leaves Tommy no choice but to sit on the same side as her; the tricky bastard plants his butt on the outside edge of the other side of the booth and smiles innocently at his little brother. Tommy flips him the bird again while Heather is busy pulling paper after paper out of her oversized purse.
After Dale takes their order, Heather gets down to business and starts discussing how to get Penny into the treatment program instead of sent to jail.
"The only reason Penny doesn't have armed policemen outside of her room right now is because Jim, the EMT she assaulted, hasn't filed charges yet. He had actually decided not to but I persuaded him to change his mind. If she's not bound for jail then she won't choose to commit herself to the program, we all know this. She also won't be ordered by a judge to go unless the alternative is that the taxpayers have to foot the bill for her stay in lock up. This," she says sliding a rather thick packet of papers into the center of the table," is just the petition to get court-ordered rehab. Brendan, since you're footing the bill for this, for now, we'll need you to fill out the promissory note and sign two copies, one for the facility and one for the court. They'll want payment within three business days after she gets checked in. Coincidentally, I called River's Bend and she's considered a charity case," Heather rubs her forehead and looks apologetically at Tommy, "and God do I hate that saying, they've agreed to reduce the fee to thirty-five hundred. Now, that money is non-refundable, even if she doesn't finish the program. Any questions about any of that?"
The brothers shake their heads no and she slides the rest of the paperwork forward.
"Now this is the tricky part, this is the paperwork that has to be filled out by her next of kin. I know she has an uncle somewhere here in Pittsburgh. We need to track him down and get him to sign the request for her police record to be released because I'm sure she's not going to consent."
Tommy and Brendan stare at each other dumbfounded. Brendan speaks first.
"We'll get him to sign it, we know exactly where he is and I'm sure he won't give us any shit about it." Tommy lets out a bark of a laugh at Brendan's insidious tone. Yeah, old Jeffie boy might shit his pants when he sees them coming again but he won't dare tell them no.
"Wonderful, now where is that charming old bastard? I'm staaaaarving!" Heather says, grabbing a menu from between the salt and pepper shakers.
Less than an hour later the brothers are leaning back into the booth, stomach's distended and sighing contentedly.
"My diet has gone to hell," Tommy mutters as he looks at all the grease from his Philly cheesesteak left on the plate.
"Yeah, same here," Brendan says, staring in awe at Heather. She had not only eaten a Philly steak but had also eaten a large order of fries and a slice of Lemon Meringue Pie. She is currently sipping coffee and fidgeting with the tabletop jukebox, flipping through the songs and laughing when she discovers one she had forgotten about.
"Cool Jerk by The Capitols! AHHHH! My mother played that one relentlessly! It was before her time even but she loved old Motown music like that…" she laughs, her eyes taking a wistful look. She's a million miles away and remembering something fondly by the soft smile on her lips.
Something about her laugh is absolutely captivating to Tommy; the sound is not lady-like at all and it seems to come from her toes, bubbling all the way up her insides and then erupting gleefully out of her mouth. The inevitable snort that finds its way in every now and then adds to the charm of it rather than taking away. Her Kewpie doll lips stretch across her tremendous smile, almost disappearing from the wideness of it. He realizes he's staring but he can't seem to get himself to break away. She's staring back, her smile never fading but he realizes that she's smiling while looking at his mouth.
"Well," Brendan booms and smacks his hands on the table, "in light of all the calories I just snarfed and the fact that I never got my run in this morning, I think I'll jog back to the apartment. Bro, front me the key and I'll leave the door unlocked for ya."
"I'll run with ya," Tommy offers but Brendan holds his hand up.
"You will not! I know Ma taught ya better than that. You'll see this lady home, after you take her to Kline's for one of those monumental Teaberry ice cream cones! You ever had one Heather? They're pink and the flavor is weird at first but you'll end up loving it, I swear."
"Sounds delightful, I could go for one actually." Heather chuckles and Tommy turns to look at her, he wants to see that smile again.
"You still hungry?" Tommy asks, not thinking about how rude his question really is. With his eyebrow arched he turns to his brother just as Brendan reaches across the table and punches him solidly in the shoulder.
"Let me tell you a little something about me fella's. I could eat both of you out of house and home. I've actually considered dropping my career as an RN and going into competitive eating. I am seriously hungry all the time, I have an extremely high metabolism."
"Keys?" Brendan asks, shaking his open hand at Tommy who digs in his pockets, removes the door key to his place and drops it into his brother's palm.
"I won't wait up," Brendan says and smiles, "Do I get the bed or the couch?"
"Take the bed, I usually end up sleeping in the living room anyway with the TV on."
Brendan stands and stretches then says his goodbyes before dropping forty dollars on the table. "Ya'll tip that old man good," he laughs and heads out the door.
"Well, he certainly was bent on the two of us having some time alone," Heather says as soon as Brendan's gone. Tommy's head spins so fast towards her it makes him dizzy.
"You just say everything you think?" His eyebrow is raised again and he knows his mouth is open. It's been a while since someone shocked him this way.
"I spent far too much of my life shut away and afraid to say anything. Now it's balls to the wall, let it all out living for me. Is it too much for you?"
"Ain't nothin' I can't handle," Tommy says, making it sound almost like a challenge.
"You might well regret saying that to me," Heather says, smiling sweetly. "So, you takin' me for ice cream or what?"
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Sitting outside at almost midnight in the cold weather of Pittsburgh eating an ice cream cone isn't the most comfortable thing to do but Tommy isn't complaining a bit. He's absolutely fascinated with the woman across from him.
Heather, it turns out, is from a small town in East Tennessee called Telford which doesn't have a single traffic light or even a Walmart. The only store they have was a mom and pop place in the neighboring town of Rheatown and on Friday nights the locals descend on the place with their banjoes and fiddles and play for anyone who wanted to listen.
"What's a fiddle?" Tommy asks between licking his cone and blowing on his hands to try and warm them up.
"It's a violin basically. I don't think there's a difference…"
"Here, you have some stuff on…" Tommy reaches over and uses his finger to wipe some dripped Teaberry ice cream off of Heather's chin and sticks the finger in his mouth without thinking. Heather has stopped talking and eating her cone, she's watching his mouth again, her lips parted slightly, her eye lids heavy.
"So yeah, your brother was right about this stuff," she says, snapping out of her trance and looking sheepish, "it does taste kind of weird at first but I am starting to appreciate it now."
She takes her tongue and licks all around the edge where the cone and ice cream meet. He's the one who can't stop watching now.
"You're melting," she says, pointing at his left hand.
"What?"
"Your body heat is melting your ice cream all down your hand." Tommy looks and see's that he is indeed covered in sticky pink stuff. Heather hands him napkins as he changes the cone to his other hand and starts to sling the mess onto the pavement. He cleans himself up and dedicates his mouth to finishing more empty calories instead of embarrassing himself further.
"Where do you work out?" Heather asks casually.
"That place on Franklin, used to be called Fitzy's when I was a kid but now Colt Boyd owns it. I work there too but I guess I already told you that," he mumbles, not able to look at her without staring. This girl has him feeling like a hormone riddled teenager again. Without thinking he speaks again.
"You wanna see it? They're closed but I have keys, it's probably safer in there now without all the meatheads peacocking and talking shit, god knows it has to smell better."
"I'd love to," Heather says, standing and shoving the very last of the cone into her mouth. Tommy stands as well, giving up on trying to salvage the last of the rapidly melting mess in his hand. He throws the remainder of his cone into the garbage and starts to try and wipe the stickiness away.
"Here, this'll help," Heather says, holding out a little container towards him. He presents his open palm and she squirts something that smells like bubble gum into his hands. He rubs it in and it magically takes away all the residue.
"What was that?" He asks, looking at his hands and noticing with horror that they sparkle now.
"Bath and Body Works I Love Bubble Gum hand sanitizer. Smells good, right?"
"I freakin' sparkle now…"
"Don't worry Edward Cullen, I won't judge you."
The reference is obviously lost on Tommy and it shows in his face, making Heather cackle like a mental patient.
"You seriously don't know who that is do you?" When Tommy shakes his head know, she smiles widely at him, the effect stuns him again. "You're like the last of the untapped rain forest. I like that about you."
They walk together back to her car and he directs her through a short cut to the gym. Parking around back in Colt's reserved spot he lets them into the back door.
Contrary to what he believed, three hours without sweaty men hasn't done anything for the smell of the place; it still reeks of ass and body odor. The smell doesn't seem to affect Heather but Tommy still feels the need to apologize.
"Sorry, I really thought it wouldn't stink so bad after a few hours of being empty," he shrugs with his hands in his pockets, eyes cast to the floor.
"Tommy, honey," she drawls as she wanders to the punching bags, "I deal with poop, pee, vomit and blood all day long. You ever had to empty a colostomy bag? Well I have and after that, the smell of sweaty men and testosterone isn't going to phase me. In fact, I kind of like it."
Tommy refuses to show how much her last sentence stuns him, he's pretty sure she said it to get a reaction out of him.
Tommy watches as she brings her hand back and lands a punch on the bag. The trainer in him immediately reacts.
"That how you think you throw a punch?"
"Let me guess; I did it completely wrong?"
"Well yeah, unless you want to break your wrist."
"So show me," she laughs, folding her arms. When hesitates she says, "I'll pay for the lesson if you want," and winks at him.
"Don't be dumb," he smirks and takes off his jacket. She mirrors him and takes off hers as well. She looks cute in the Ocean City, Maryland t-shirt that's about two sizes too big. Her sweat pants are rolled at the waist and he can't look away as she knots the front of her shirt to keep it from billowing out and getting in the way.
"First off, you never work any sort of bag without wrapping your wrists and hands good. I'll be right back." Tommy turns and runs to his locker, coming back two red wraps. "Now I'll wrap for you. I want you to spread your fingers as wide as ya can. Okay, first let's put your thumb through this loop," he directs and she does. He does the typical wrap, weaving the elastic material around her wrist, thumb and between each of her fingers. It doesn't take long to get both hands wrapped and ready and he is loath to let go of her. Every time his skin touches hers he feels a jolt of electricity. Now normally you'd want to wear some sort of leather padded gloves over this but I don't have any to fit you so take it easy, 'kay?"
Heather nods quickly and smiles, "Okay, what now?"
Tommy steps behind her and turns her by the shoulders to face the heavy bag. "Spread your feet about a little more than shoulder width, you a rightie or a south paw?"
"Right handed," she says and he can hear the smile in her voice. He can't help but grin too.
"Okay so you want your right foot back, don't spread 'em too far apart. I know it feels like you should and it does give you more balance but it'll take power away from your punch. Turn your right foot slightly out to the side, yeah, that's good."
She's as still as a statue, waiting for his next directive; he wishes mentally that all his female clients were this compliant when he was training them. Most of them did their best to "accidentally" bump back into him repeatedly.
"Okay, next thing is you want to make yourself as small a target as possible. Chin down, knee's slightly bent and elbows in." She follows what he says immediately and he has to admit that she's a good student. He also has to admit that her butt looks amazing in those sweat pants from this angle. "Now here's the thing that throws most people when they're starting out; almost none of the power you need to throw a good punch comes from your arms. You want to start the momentum with your back leg and transfer it up your body and then out in your punch. If you try to use your arm muscles alone, you're gonna end up pulling a muscle or three and worn out real quick. Imagine a line going straight from your right leg up your side and into your right fist, that's the way you route your momentum."
Tommy's hands go to her waist and he pulls her back slightly onto her right leg, then he pushes her forward gently, using his right arm to guide her by the elbow into pushing her right fist into the bag. It's slow motion, almost sensual as he feels the muscles in her arm contract against his fingers.
"Now, let me see you do it," he says lowly in her ear and takes a couple steps back, noticing the goose bumps that spread across her shoulders.
She takes a perfect stance, does a text book transference and punches the bag solidly. Tommy's impressed.
"Next lesson; your left hand is your weak hand but is good for distracting your opponent from the big punches. So you jab with your left, don't worry so much about using that leg to transfer. Let me see you do a one-two."
He doesn't even have to show her, she takes stance again and does a textbook move.
"How'm I doing teach?" Heather asks, spinning to face him with her hands in the air like she's just won her first fight.
"You're an excellent student Heather." Tommy's eyebrows furrow and he stares at her.
"What? I have a booger or something? She asks, looking down at her heavily wrapped hands helplessly.
"Naw, nothing like that. I just realized I don't even know your last name."
"Hunter. My name is Heather Elizabeth Hunter."
"Well now it's okay."
"Okay for what?"
"For me to kiss you."
Tommy leans in and lifts her chin up. His lips graze hers lightly at first then the kiss turns hungry. When was the last time Tommy kissed someone like this? When he'd kissed Penny the last time. And that was just a frustrated, immature little boy who didn't know a thing. Now he was older and starved for affection.
Heather isn't responding and he pulls away, suddenly ashamed of what he's done. She's not said one thing about wanting to kiss him or even that she thinks about him like that.
"I'm sorry Heather. I'm really, just… ah shit, I don't know what I was thinking."
"No, Tommy, look at me. Don't be sorry." He turns to face her and she's smiling up at him. "Don't be sorry. It's just that I've been thinking about what kissing you must feel like all night but I never thought for a second that I'd get to see…"
"I don't have a whole lot of practice… it was probably bad…"
"Shhhh," Heather coo's and sidles closer to him. "Let's try this again."