The Winner Takes All (Complete Collection)

13. Sex, Gardening, and Exercise

13

SEX, GARDENING, AND EXERCISE

Maddox

That evening, I hit the hotel gym before dinner with my parents. Exercise soothes me. I need as much calm as I can get, dealing with them. Fifty floors on the StairMaster while listening to a gardening podcast does the trick.

I don’t garden, but I read an article that gardening makes people happy, so I tried the podcast, hoping it’d put me in the right mood to see them.

When I leave the gym, the guy at the desk nods and then returns to his phone call, saying something about a water pipe. But plumbing problems are not relaxing so I put it out of my mind as I shower and get dressed.

I’m meeting my parents at a new Mediterranean restaurant in the Marina. On my way there, I gird myself for the usual subtle jabs about my career choice. After the car drops me off and I head inside, I quickly find them at the bar, and I drop a kiss on Mom’s cheek. “Hi Mom,” I say.

“Hi darling,” she says.

“Good to see you, son,” my father says.

“And you too, Dad.”

It’s weird to call them Mom and Dad. They seem like Paula and David LeGrande, but every time I try to call them by their names, they balk. Mom and Dad is easier, and yet, weirder.

After we order, Mom spreads her napkin in her lap and smiles. “So, how’s everything going with CTM?”

“Great,” I say, with more enthusiasm than the question calls for. But I want them to understand that my degree is still working out for me—and I’ve achieved a lot. “Adriana and I have access to more clients, and we’ve already struck some new deals. You’ll be pleased to know one of the partnerships is with a shoe company that gives a portion of its profits to lower income families.”

My dad perks up. “So one of your athletes is involved in that sort of marketing partnership?”

“Yep,” I say, then give them the details of the deal I arranged for an established football star.

“Interesting,” my dad says, and swirls his wine glass. He takes a thoughtful sip, then sets it down. “Glad they aren’t all selfish pricks. But these superstars should be doing more. They make millions and there are families out there that have nothing.”

Here we go again. “A lot of athletes I work with contribute to worthy causes, to families who need a helping hand, Dad. Actually, all of my clients do,” I say diplomatically.

“Good, but more of them should,” he says, then scoffs dismissively. “Men like that should set an example.”

My mom shakes her head in disgust. “They have a responsibility to be leaders.”

“Those are the type of guys I work with. I don’t rep assholes,” I say, already exasperated.

“Good. You shouldn’t. Don’t ever take on someone whose values don’t align,” my dad says.

Yup. He’s still serving his penance through me.

“Like I said, I rep good guys. I get to know them. Spend time with them. Play golf with them.”

Dad picks up his fork, points it at me. “I played golf with you know who too. I don’t play anymore.”

I clench my jaw so I don’t lash out with, The sport you insisted I learn is not the reason you repped an abuser. Instead, I say, “I know them.”

He just gives a dismissive hmm as the food arrives.

I’m hardly hungry. I’m thirty-two years old and my dad still disapproves of my work choices.

But I don’t. I’ve devoted years of my life to building my business, even when my family didn’t understand. Even when my passion made zero sense to them, I did it anyway.

Because I love it madly. And they make me feel… small .

When the meal is over I say goodbye to the parents I’ve disappointed and hop in a Lyft back to my hotel. For the first time in a long time, I want to talk to someone about them.

Zane.

I want to tell him about this dinner and how poorly it went. Instead, I check Zane’s game stats along the way, then some from other clients, sending a few atta boy texts to them. As the car cruises closer to the hotel, I’m sorely tempted to ask the driver to change the destination—to head to Zane’s house.

There, I’d ask him to spend the night with me. But then I’d want the morning too so I could take him out to breakfast. Over eggs and coffee, I’d make plans to do it again the next day.

And the next.

I turn off my phone so I don’t text Zane and ask him to come over now. But when I reach my hotel room, I cave, turn on the phone, and reach out.

Maddox: I survived dinner.

Zane: Ouch. I take it the meal was rough.

Maddox: I’ll have scars next time you see me.

Zane: Sorry, man. If it’s any consolation, my dad’s a total hard-ass. I’m not close with him. Not the same situation, but I do understand.

Maddox: Thanks. I appreciate it. It’s ridiculous to hope they’d change.

Zane: Maybe, but it’s human to want it.

Maddox: I’m very, very human, then, tonight.

Zane: You are. And I like that about you.

Maddox: Thank you. I like that about you too. Are your parents still together?

Zane: Nope. Mom left him when I was in high school. Thank God. He criticized everything—how she cooked, parented, even how she brushed her teeth.

Maddox: Wow.

Zane: Nothing’s good enough for him. I guess you and I have that in common.

Maddox: Yeah, we do. It’s weirdly comforting.

Zane: What are you doing now?

Maddox: Lying on my hotel bed, wishing the gym were open so I could work out.

Zane: You like to burn off frustration?

Maddox: I do. I read an article today that sex, exercise, and gardening are the things that make people the happiest. I tried listening to a gardening podcast as I worked out before dinner. Two out of three.

Zane: Dude! You should have tried the first one.

Maddox: Trust me, I know. But you had a great game tonight. Nice job at the plate. I checked the game recap on the ride back.

Zane: I like it a lot, that you follow my stats. I know it’s your job, but I still like it.

Maddox: It’s my job, but it’s also my pleasure when it comes to you.

Zane: P.S. If you really want to burn off frustration, you can come to my building. Use my gym. It’s open 24-7. I’ll send you the code to get in, and I won’t even hit on you. I swear. I’m about to crash hard anyway.

I smile at the offer.

Maddox: You do crash hard. Thanks for the offer. I’ll probably crash too. Good seeing you today, Zane.

Zane: Great seeing you, Mad.

Maddox: Goodnight.

Zane: Night.

In the morning, the sign on the gym door mocks me.

Closed for water repair .

I peer through the glass, staring at the empty room, the rows of unused ellipticals, the weight benches without lifters—and the soggy carpet.

Well, Dad, guess you’re getting your wish after all . I’ll go for a run. Annoying, though, because today’s a weights day.

But I have to be flexible when I travel. Besides, I’ll be back in Los Angeles tonight. No biggie to run instead. I cue up a running playlist—a stock market report, some new tunes Bryan sent me, and another gardening podcast—then I flash back to Zane’s offer last night to use his gym. He’s probably not even up. But if he is, he could send me the code. I do hate to miss weights day, after all. That’s the only reason this would be convenient.

Maddox: Hey! If you’re up, can I take you up on the gym offer? If not, no worries. I’ll go for a run. The hotel gym is closed due to a water leak.

I hit send, then head to the lobby, my phone and room key in hand. My cell stays quiet as I walk out of the hotel. It’s silent too when I hit the pavement.

That’s fine. It’s seven-thirty, which is late for me, but early for Zane after a game night. I tune into the market report, catching up on trading as I run down California Street with the early morning fog burning off.

Twenty minutes later, my phone dings.

My heart thunders when I see his name, the four-digit code, and the address. It’s ridiculous to feel this way when I won’t even see the man at the gym, but that’s my life these days. Full of longing and gardening podcasts.

I run over into Hayes Valley, and at Zane’s building, I punch in the code and head to the gym in the basement.

When I reach the glass door and tug it open, my stomach flips.

I’m not alone.