Creation: Written in the Stars: Novella Three

Book 3: Written in the Stars

by Maggie Jane Schuler, Morgan Heyward

Synopsis

Auden Devlin intrigued Mia. For nine long months, she tiptoed around the indoor pool at her workplace, never getting close to him, or the water. Her love of music and career as a physical therapist always came first—no time for any distractions. Finding him painting a mural on the empty wall of her therapy space, twisted her in places she thought closed off for years.

Mia Aldrich filled him with wonder; something he lost several years ago when his dreams of being an Olympic hopeful collapsed in a heap of twisted metal. Colors surrounded her like prisms in a kaleidoscope, triggering his desire to paint and possess her beauty. His Pisces nature pulled him toward her like gravity to the earth. His visions of her captured on canvas, and all he imagined halts when her fear collides with his passion.

Release date: May 4, 2020

Publisher: dba Maggie Jane Schuler

Print pages: 138

Sample

“Damn it! I know better,” I cursed as the menthol of the muscle relaxer cream stung like a fire in my left eye.

“Let’s get you to the sink.” The gentle push of Jordan’s hand guided me to the sink just outside of the training room inside World Climbing. Mortification raced through my veins with my boss escorting me. I started the job as a physical trainer less than ninety days ago and knew better than to grab a towel off the bench to swipe across my brow. It sat as a magician’s illusion, folded the same as the clean towels. Everyone knows not to grab a towel from the bench.

“Thank you.”

“We all need help at times. I’m happy I was here.” He held my hair back as the cold water flushed the burn down the drain. He handed me a clean towel, double-checking the fluffy white pile in the cabinet to be sure they were washed.

My right eye opened to the mirror and caught Bartlett, Jordan’s wife, bolting through the door of the training room. “Did you tell her—”

She paused at the empty room and Jordan’s hand holding my hair. Jordan chuckled. “Put the daggers away. She rubbed Ben-Gay in her eye.” Bartlett’s shoulders relaxed. I’m not sure why she worried. She was a natural beauty through and through, and Jordan breathed each breath in the wake of her existence.

“I wasn’t thinking—never mind. Why does it smell weird in here?” Her head turned on a swivel and located the source. Three dirty diapers stowed away in the corner near the rehab equipment. “Jordan, you better make sure the locks are changed. I’m sure we haven’t heard the end of Mike.”

“Where’s Mike?” The tears from my left eye ran down my chin, flushing out the remainder of the ointment.

“He’s been released of his duties here. Which is why I came to talk to you.”

Bartlett pointed at a mat drenched in oil, unraveled athletic tape, and several more issues askew in the training room. “We know your work ethic, Mia, and we’re hoping you’d take us up on becoming the lead here in the training room. We need a strong, knowledgeable trainer, and Jordan and I think you’re our candidate.”

“What happened to Mike.” Not that I didn’t think he was a total douche, but he had been the head physical trainer here at World Climbing for eight years. Almost from the opening.

“We can’t say right now, but he’s no longer with us as of this morning.” Bartlett used a paper towel and gingerly folded the used diapers within. “It’s one thing to destroy the equipment. It’s another to spread human waste over everything. Damn it.” Her scowl formed a deep groove across her forehead as she dumped the paper towel in the waste bin. “I’ll call the cleaning company. I hope they can get it cleaned up today, or we will have to reschedule all the therapy sessions tomorrow. What a jerk!”

I blinked the filmy tears away as Bartlett swore under her breath then stomped from the restroom. “I’m flattered, Jordan.”

His questioning gaze bore into mine. “Why am I sensing a but, here?”

My fingers twisted in the damp towel as I scanned the wrecked therapy room. His offer pushed every insecurity button I possessed. Lead trainer, holy crap, an opportunity of a lifetime; Jordan and Bartlett both amazing bosses. Their facility offered state-of-the-art equipment, classes, and physical therapy to athletes from all over the state. Take the jump, Mia. Stop standing here shaking like a chihuahua. This is what you worked toward for the last four years.

“It’s scary. Believe me, I get it. When Bartlett and I first opened the doors, we wondered if it was the right decision. Did we fit the niche of the market? Would anyone care about indoor activities when we lived in a mecca of outdoor adventures?” Jordan pried the twisted towel from my hands with a patient smile. “Take a leap, Mia. Trust in yourself. You’ve busted your ass, and everyone knows it.”

Tears, not related to the menthol still swirling in the air, pooled and threatened to fall. Wishes made as I grew up fell on silent ears. I wished for a parent like Jordan. He and Bart welcomed me with open arms when I only had my grades and a reference from my other boss, Brad. Thank God for him. Who knew singing for some extra cash on Friday nights would get me into World Climbing and the moment I’m at now. "You can do this," I mumbled, as I gave myself a pep-talk and stared into the training room where I had spent hours helping individuals get back their mobility.

“Of course, you can. You’ve proven yourself many times over.” Jordan gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Did I mention you get a raise?”

The relief in his voice cut through my anxiety, and I smiled wide. I can do this! “Jordan, yes. You took a chance on me when I had nothing but kind words and a shiny new degree to show for myself. This is a great opportunity, and I won’t let you down.” Ideas whirled like bingo balls in a cage. Mike never followed a structured program that offered complete care, even after the end of therapy. His unorganized program worked for most of the clients but took a toll on all of his assistants. From what some of the others told me, my tenure here outlasted everyone he ever had. Maybe because I had first-hand knowledge of what happened to folks who didn’t care about anyone but themselves. How they flourished in a life of mediocrity and deflected responsibility of their plight on anyone but themselves. Oh, say, bottom-feeding parents, for example.

“Until we hire an assistant for you, Bart and I’ll pitch in as best as we can.” Jordan’s words pulled me from my internal diatribe.

“No, don’t do that. What about one of the personal trainers? I can utilize them for short spurts.”

“I’d prefer Bart and me for now. My concern involves billing Mike coded. Was the treatment length appropriate, and did he code the treatment performed accurately.”

“Oh, shit.” I slapped a hand over my mouth and reeled back. So, Mike’s departure involved a whole lot more than laziness. If he miscoded treatment with intent to defraud insurance companies, World Climbing paid the price in lost revenue and may lose their accreditation. “I’m very sorry. I had no idea. He never shared that responsibility with me.”

“I know, Mia. That’s why Bart and I offered you the position.” Jordan taped a closed for repairs sign to the physical therapy door. “I’ve learned that sometimes even the people you think you know best, don’t have the best intentions. Money is a powerful motivator.”

That’s the truth. I live by that rule with every paycheck I earn. Never will I go hungry again because someone traded the food stamps for cigarettes and beer.

“I’ll have Bart put an ad in the paper for an assistant for you.” Jordan patted me on the back and headed to the front of the facility. A black cloud lingered over his head with this situation. Not only did World Climbing pay for Mike’s illegal actions, so did all the employees, their families, and every client he ever worked with. I slipped into the empty treatment room, hoping the damage was only cosmetic.

The funny smell Bartlett identified earlier hung like an entire forest of pine tree air fresheners in a Volkswagen Beetle during summer in a Louisiana Bayou. “Good Lord, that’s awful.” My shirt became a mask as I stretched the neck over my mouth and nose. With a flip of my finger, the lights flickered on and illuminated the damage in its entirety. How Mike managed all of this in such a short amount of time amazed me. I picked up a greasy can from the floor at my feet and stared at the disaster in my room. Chain oil for the weight machine surrounded the base and pooled against the padded mats next to it. I figured out why the room reeked as I leaned in close to the handgrips. Baby poop covered the handles, and as I inspected the machine next to it, I found it there too.

Damn it.

My Blackberry clicked as I took pictures of the damage in front of me. Jordan needed the insurance adjuster here. My photos only tipped the iceberg of damage present. With disappointment a boulder upon my chest, I checked the appointment calendar for the next week. Phone calls needed to happen, and all appointments changed to later in the month. Mike succeeded in crippling Bartlett and Jordan with his sabotage in more than one way. I hoped Karma arrived on his doorstep and kicked his ass.

. . .

 

“Thanks, Ethan.” Piped in music played overhead as Ethan plunked my bag of CDs on a table next to the stage. Open mic night at The Eye was how I met Ethan, or well, how I met Caelum and Ximena almost one year ago.

“Anything for a smile from a pretty girl.”

His wink disarmed many before me, yet his magical Ethan powers bounced off my titanium shield. I hated that I couldn’t view him in that light. The man topped every silly list I’d created about the opposite sex since I discovered them in grade school.

I pecked him on the cheek with an exaggerated ‘mwah.’ “You’re a terrible flirt.”

He hid his demons well. Almost as well as I did. The two of us a pair of peas in the pod. Kindred spirits of sorts. “I just bought that bag, too.” With a scoff, I pulled the shredded strap through my fingers. A spontaneous purchase meant to help me on the nights I played my sets now mocked me and my bank account. Frivolous items, as I learned incredibly young, always disappointed or… disappeared.

“Looks like the cases are okay.”

He examined each album with a dexterity that made my gut clench, forcing me to rethink my shield. God, give me strength. He’s one of my bosses’ best friends.

“Hey, you good?” Ethan tapped my shoulder, pulling me from the spiraling thought loop inside my head.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” The lie slipped free without a single stutter of my lips. A mantra screamed at me to answer once the State started sniffing around during my third-grade year.

“Uh-huh. I know that answer. It’s the bane of all male existence.” Ethan’s exaggerated pout and subsequent crossing of his buff arms across his washboard abs distracted me. My laugh startled the both of us, and his goofy smile returned.

“Ah, there it is.” He poked my arm, and I sighed out the pressure in my chest.

“What are you two up to?” Bartlett and Ximena approached the two of us with arched brows and smug grins. “The guys are making up a whole skit over there.” Ximena nodded at the rowdy table surrounded by familiar faces. My boss Jordan, his best friend Caelum, and the rest of Ethan’s fire crew made ‘kissy’ faces our way. Ash, one of the paramedics, pretended he held a bowl of popcorn and tossed kernels in his mouth, as Paul, their Captain, adjusted fake binoculars.

“Oh, God. You saw that.” A rosy blush erupted across my cheeks. Ethan chuckled next to me, and I sent an elbow into his ribs with an ‘oof’ on his part.

“I swear it was innocent.” A plastic case cracked in my grip. “My bag broke, and Ethan helped me pick up the mess.” I swept the pieces of plastic into my hand as I shrunk back from their attention.

“Mia, relax.” Ximena laid a hand over my twisting fingers. “The guys love you. They wanted to make sure Ethan wasn’t distracting you from your set tonight.” She narrowed her eyes at the handsome man shaking with quiet laughter next to me. “We all know he’s hard to resist when his baby blues are trained on you.”

“Hey, now. I never trained any part of my body on any of you.” Ethan pulled me close. “Mia knows I’m harmless. In fact, she called me a terrible flirt.”

“Come on, Romeo. Let the poor girl gather her wits. We came to hear her sing.” Bartlett linked her arm through Ethan’s and pulled him from my side. “Ximena can help her organize the music.”

“But… She’s my Juliet.”

“Tell your tragic story to the guys.” Bartlett laughed and pulled him farther away.

“He is such a ham.” Ximena and I watched as Ethan found a chair at the high-top table amid good-natured punches from his friends.

“That he is.” I flipped through the albums and arranged them in the order of my set, settling them next to the keyboard perched on a stand in the middle of the stage, with my beloved acoustic guitar next to it. That guitar and I had over twenty years together. Lovingly cared for like the finest china imported during the Ming Dynasty. The guitar was the only frivolous item my parents never found. Never destroyed.

“So, Bart tells me you accepted Mike’s position.” Ximena flipped through my CD’s with an air of peace and calm. Something I needed before my thoughts started swirling again and I got lost in my head. “Mia.”

Plastic dust sifted from my fingers, where I pulverized the cover I cracked a few minutes ago. “Uh…”

“You’re a natural. The clients love you. You have the support of your coworkers.”

A paper airplane bounced off the back of her head and landed on the parquet floor amidst cheers and wolf whistles. I couldn’t hold my laugh back.

“Uh, oh.”

“I’m going to kill him.” Ximena swung her head around and focused her attention on the table where her husband held court with his friends. Silence reigned over the group with the promise of retribution held in her gaze.

“Damn, girl,” I muttered. An entire table of almost forty-somethings silenced with a look. Ximena’s small stature belied her abilities. I needed her voodoo at the gym.

Her serenity returned as she dismissed the silent group behind her. “As I was saying, you’re amazing. Take a breath and make the program yours. Everything will work out.” She leaned in and gave me a hug. “Keep your head up and your goals out in the open where you can see them.”

A lump lodged in my throat at her kind words. “Thank you, Ximena.”

“You bet.” With a smirk, she handed me a CD. “Play the fifth song, please. I’m going to sing it in Caelum’s ear.”

I snickered, “It’d be my pleasure.”

“Hello, and welcome to The Eye. I’m Mia Aldrich.” Whistles and applause drown my words, and I curtsied at the table filled with friends. “I have something special for you. Mixed it up a bit, you might say.” I tinkered with a few knobs on my electric piano and the track I wanted popped up. “Tonight is Eighties night. So, get out your Aqua Net and fluff that hair.” The girls whooped as I flipped my hair and proceeded to tease it with my fingers into a gigantic halo around my head. “Now that I got that out of the way, let’s get this party started.”

The dulcet sounds of Frankie Goes to Hollywood streamed overhead and through the small amplifier at my feet. I shivered with the rhythm flowing through me and closed my eyes. Music meant more to me than anyone knew. Something I never shared, even with my closest friends. I kept my formative years close to my chest like a locket and only opened it on rare occasions. That occasion had yet to appear, and I liked it that way.

The song looped through its last verse, and I pulled my stool over and adjusted the microphone stand. I loved singing with my acoustic guitar, and the next song was one of my favorites. As the last notes died out from Relax, I caught sight of a familiar face in the crowd. What’s he doing here? Set back against the wall under a dim light, Auden, World Climbing’s swim instructor, scribbled furiously on something in front of him. What is he doing? As I strummed the opening bar of True Colors by Cyndi Lauper, his head popped up, his expression a mixture of surprise and interest?

“Alright, ladies. I want all of Portland to hear you singing along with me. Come on!” My smile beamed over the assembled group, their attention focused on me and how my fingers and voice weaved a story with the strings lining the neck of my most cherished possession.

Oh, how Cyndi’s line about darkness described every insecurity I held inside the locked box of my heart. Made me believe the words lobbed at the eight-year-old version of me somehow rang with truth on how insignificant and unwanted I was. I longed for a key, for understanding. Not judgement when someone realized the broken little girl still lived inside me.

I belted out the chorus as my fingers moved with rote memory. The words demanded their due; I obliged them. My lids slid closed as the lyrics seeped from the marrow of my bones. My fears of sharing too much. The comfort of solidarity in my secrets. Above all, I prayed for a connection with someone. A safe place for sharing.

It’s past time, Mia.

Once again, I zeroed in on Auden as he attacked the item in front of him with rapid strokes, only stopping to stare at me for a brief moment then back to the item. I finished the last three verses of a song that helped me survive. Helped me make it through each day until I escaped to college. Helped me make it here, where I finally had friends who cared. About me.