Free Eliana by Evey Brett

He was as beautiful on screen as he was off.
    A polite knock came from the adjoining door. Eliana sighed, not wanting to see either Kon or Dane, but said, “Come in.”
    Kon entered alone, wearing a T-shirt and plaid pajama pants. The simple outfit did little to dull his appearance. “I just wanted to see how you…” His voice faded as his gaze landed on the screen. “Oh. That old thing.”
    She pointed at the TV. “That’s where I’ve seen you before. You’re famous.”
    Kon shrugged. “Not really. I just did the one show. I didn’t expect it to take off like it did. Now there are books and CDs to go with it. I use the royalties to support my clinic.”
    “Clinic?”
    “Alternative healing for those who aren’t able to afford it otherwise. Some of my colleagues offer massage and acupuncture. I do sessions like that.” He waved at the screen.
    On the show, Kon stood next to a woman lying on a massage table. He asked the woman if she had any aches or pains, and she replied that her shoulder had been bothering her for months to the point that she could hardly move her arm and that none of her doctors could find a cause. Kon asked her to demonstrate her range of motion. She tried, but as soon as she lifted her arm her face contorted into a mask of pain which couldn’t have been faked. In a soothing voice, Kon asked her to relax. At first he did nothing more than place his hands on either side of her shoulder; then he gently began to manipulate the arm, moving it in a greater range of motion. Little by little, the lines of pain in her face eased.
    Eliana turned to the real-life man. “Is that for real?”
    His face mirrored the compassion of his on-air persona. “Do you want to find out?”
    She turned her head away from him, unable to meet that sympathetic gaze. Part of her craved his touch and not just because the constant pain was wearing her down. Another part wanted him to go to hell—but most of that was because she didn’t want to fall for a man she’d be saying good-bye to in a couple of days. “Fine.”
    “Lie down on your back, then.” She did, and he arranged her, exquisitely careful of where and how he exerted pressure. “This will hurt a little, but you’ll feel better at the end, I promise.”
    She shrugged, so used to pain that more wouldn’t matter. Kon took his time, feeling around her hip and leg and then manipulating the joint to test the range of motion. And for a while it did hurt the way he both dug his fingers deeply into her abused muscles and moved her hip. Teeth clenched, she did her best not to let the agony show.
    “Are you all right?”
    “Fine.” Damned if she was going to cry uncle. It wasn’t the pain that bothered her as much as the encroaching memories.
    “Want to tell me how it happened?”
    “None of your damn business.”
    “It is, if I’m trying to make you feel better. One of my teachers said every illness and injury has a spirit and story behind it. It helps to find out what it is, because then we can work with it. My friends in South Dakota will tell you the same thing. The hospital only treated the broken bones and organs, not the emotions.”
    She let out a long, slow breath. Kon was a slick one, urging her to say things she’d only told the cops and social workers. “My little brother had just gotten off the bus in front of our house. I heard gunfire, and I told him to hurry. But when he got to my arms, he…” She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. “His back was sticky. As soon as he reached me, he went limp in my arms. I held him and screamed and ran toward the house, but they shot me. They shot my sister in the head. She’ll never walk or talk again.”
    “Who were they?” He bent her knee and gently eased her leg over her chest. It hurt but was bearable.
    “My stepfather was involved in a bad drug deal. He didn’t pay up, so they shot us in retaliation. The police never caught them. My stepfather disappeared. He probably crossed