Chapter Six
I thought I was relatively fit until I started training with Joey. He took it easy for our first few sessions, as he monitored what level I was at. And it’s nowhere near where he wants me to be.
My body ached in places I didn’t know it could after that first run. My lungs, which he said would be invigorated and healthy, felt like they were about to burst. Fortunately, he didn’t push me too hard, running for two miles. We only ran halfway back to his apartment before slowing to a brisk walk.
It’s been four weeks since we started and most of that has involved running, jump rope, conditioning training and core work. I haven’t gone near a pair of boxing gloves yet. I’m already seeing the difference in my body and my endurance.
My abs are tighter, and my leg and butt muscles are firm enough that there isn’t much jiggle, although my ass will never be tiny.
Spending time with Joey is interesting too. We run four times a week, mostly early in the morning, and have two further sessions at his gym throughout the week, working around his schedule and my shifts at the restaurant where I work .
He talks. A lot. He’s never shied away from telling me all about his life, right down to him being an orphan from when he was seventeen years old, which made me sad, but he had a great family friend who took him in, and he went to college and has had every opportunity to make something of himself.
Joey never questions me about my life, and I haven’t offered anything. Mostly because the past five years revolved around fear, pain and utter helplessness.
I hate I spent so many years being afraid. Never reaching for my dreams or living a life where I can make my own choices. I’m working on not being embarrassed about my past, but I’m a long way off being comfortable enough to say the words outside of therapy sessions.
Joey sets me at ease. He’s intense when he needs to be, but he makes me laugh too.
He’s the exact opposite of how I thought he would be. The stoic, hard MMA fighter who would train me like a drill sergeant. In actuality, he has a thorough and well worked out plan for me, which he runs by me every step of the way, especially when we are switching things up after I’ve gotten used to a series of workouts.
Joey doesn’t go easy. He pushes me to where he believes I can get, even when I’m struggling. When it gets like that, he encourages me, motivates me, making me believe I can do anything.
When he’s set me up on a machine or doing some rope jumps, he starts on his own workout. A couple of times he’s caught me staring, but he never says anything, even though I’m sure he sees me blush.
Raw power radiates from him, but his movements are surprisingly graceful. The fluidity of how he works around me or beside me belies the powerful muscles of his body. Yet I’ve never felt anxious, intimidated, or scared of being alone with him.
He always wears workout tops or t-shirts when we’re at his place, not like in the gym when he’s only wearing shorts and nothing else. Which is a huge shame, because I’m not spending any time there, so don’t get to see it like I used to.
The few times he’s caught me looking are nothing compared to the number of times he hasn’t. There is something magnetic about Joey Ferguson. I was attracted to him before my life in New York turned to shit.
Even though it terrifies me, that attraction is surging again. And I’m trying to fight it, but it’s becoming increasingly harder. I will never act on it. Joey has shown no signs of wanting to take things in that direction. Plus, I’m not ready. I’m not sure I will be for a while. He is always conscious of not touching me when we train, or rather sweetly, he asks me first if he needs to adjust a stance or assist with some of the equipment.
The first time he did that, I’d been stunned but grateful.
I’m disappointed to get a text from Joey when I am halfway through getting ready for our morning run, apologising that he can’t make it today. I look forward to our runs. It’s the only time we don’t talk, but running alongside him re-sets my mind.
He told me from the start running has mental benefits, as well as physical. He went into some science behind cognitive function and improved blood flow to the brain, and the release of endorphins that trigger the happy hormone, reducing stress and anxiety. But I prefer the simpler explanations. I have been a lot calmer since we started running, and I’ve slept better too.
All things he told me would happen on that very first run.
I still have nightmares. That is not going to go away. I’m trapped behind a glass wall watching Michael hurt Jenna, and I can’t do anything to stop him.
Sometimes I dream of the sound of the gun firing. The smell of the gunpowder and feel of the weapon jumping in my hand seem so real. But the truth is, after the first bullet hit him, I closed my eyes. I didn’t see him hit the floor.
I moved apartments after the court case, never going back to the old one. Jenna and Brooke got all of my belongings for me, and Brooke helped me find the new apartment after putting me up in her place for a few days. She’s a good friend, both her and Jenna have been amazing to me throughout this whole mess.
There is no explanation about why Joey can’t make the run. It isn’t like him. I stare at the words for a long time. Is it wrong to message and ask if he is okay, or do I just say no problem and let it lie?
I can go running alone. I just don’t want to.
After an agonising and ridiculous amount of time after his text, I decide to stop being so afraid and just ask what I want to ask. It’s another thing I’ve been working on. Understanding that it is okay for me to ask for and seek the things I enjoy, to not be afraid of doing those things, because there are no consequences. The only person I answer to now is me. And I want to know if he is okay.
I draft out a message. ‘No problem. Thank you for letting me know. I might still go on my own.’
“Come on, Meg. Be more assertive,” I groan out, deleting that message.
I try again and this time hit send before I can second guess myself.
MEGAN
I’m sorry to hear that. Hope everything is okay? I’ll go anyway. I hate to miss it.
I set the phone down and grab my sneakers. I’ll only pace and watch the phone if I don’t keep my body occupied. Instead of worrying about him responding, I plan the route I’m going to run in my head. When I am at Joey’s place in Brooklyn, we run around Prospect Park.
Joey has made the effort to come across and run close to my place. I think he is doing it so I’m comfortable in my neighborhood.
Despite the disappointment at not running with him today, I am confident enough to go alone. I never run in the park alone, sticking to the busier streets, as Joey instructed.
JOEY
Good job Meg, you need to stick to the routine. I’ve been under the weather for the last few days, running won’t do me much good today. I’ll be fine for our session on Wednesday. Make sure you record your times and hydrate.
I can’t help but smile at the instructions, but it’s replaced by concern. He’s sick? Joey is not the kind of person who slacks off, so if he must cancel a run, it is more than just being ‘under the weather’.
He doesn’t have any close family and I doubt he is going to call his friends if he needs anything while he’s not feeling a hundred percent.
I bite down on my thumb nail. If I ask him, I’m sure he’ll tell me he is okay, but what if he isn’t? What if he just needs some TLC, but he has never asked anyone before?
He’s doing so much for me. The least I can do is offer something in return. There is an amazing deli near the subway that makes chicken noodle soup that is to die for. My grandma used to make me soup when I didn’t feel too good. Is it overstepping if I do the same for him?
God, these are questions normal people don’t have to ask themselves. This is a decision I should be able to make without second guessing every step. Joey is my friend. I can help him.
My shift at the restaurant doesn’t start till five, so I have plenty of time. My heart is pounding as I grab my purse and jacket. What’s the worst that can happen? He tells me he is fine and to go. That will be mortifying. Joey won’t do that, I’m sure. He’s not going to yell at me.
Steeling myself, pressing a hand to my stomach to calm the nervous flutters, I head out of my apartment to do something nice for the man who is giving me back my confidence.
The soup is still warm as I clutch it to my chest and wait for Joey to answer the door. Like an idiot, I stood outside the apartment building for a good ten minutes psyching myself up. Trying to come up with excuses to leave. He’s probably asleep. He might have been lying and have a woman in there.
That one really made my stomach turn. The embarrassment of showing up with soup for him only to find he’s with a woman. In all the time we’ve spent together, he’s never mentioned a girlfriend and there are no signs of a woman being in his life, but that doesn’t mean it’s not true.
Or he hasn’t picked someone up.
That is a foreign concept for me. Dating, hooking up. Michael was my boyfriend for five years. Before that I wasn’t exactly shy and had my share of boyfriends, but never anything serious.
God, why am I just standing here worrying about something that might not be true? Creating scenarios in my head has been the way I’ve lived my life for a long time. Second guessing everything, being scared to decide for myself. Fear of reprisal.
“Nothing bad will happen,” I whisper.
“Meg?”
I yelp at the voice from the intercom and almost drop the soup. I can’t see Joey but there is a camera, so he just witnessed my mini freak out.
“Everything okay?” he asks, his voice croaky.
“I…” My throat closes.
I want to slap myself. Instead, I hold up the deli bag and force a bright smile. That, I’m good at. Over the years, I could have won an Oscar for the performances I put on, making people believe I wasn’t living my life in hell.
“I brought soup… Because you’re sick. I can go if it’s not a good time.”
“No, no. Don’t leave. Soup, huh?”
I shrug, like it’s lame .
“Come on up, but please don’t judge the state of me and this place.”
My smile becomes more genuine. “I would never,” I tell him.
The door buzzes and I head inside. Joey usually waits by his front door when the elevator arrives. His is the only apartment on the floor, so there is no danger of people walking in. The front door is ajar for me, but he’s not there.
I peer around it and then push it wider. The scent of tea tree oil and VapoRub overpowers my nostrils. Joey is sitting on the couch in sweatpants and nothing else. His chest is shiny with perspiration, only it’s not from working out.
There is a blanket and pillow beside him, which he has folded and stacked up while waiting for me to get here. He has tissues, vitamins and other pill bottles on the coffee table and an atomizer blowing out the tea tree oil. Apart from that, the apartment is pristine as normal.
Joey looks up at me with tired eyes. The tip of his nose is red, and his skin pale. A little under the weather, my ass.
He seems surprised by my stern look.
“Joey Ferguson, you are more than a little sick. Now get yourself back under those blankets. Have you had any liquids today? Do you have a thermometer?”
I bustle into the kitchen space and set the soup down. He hasn’t moved.
“Joey?”
Despite the pallor of his skin and the tightness in his eyes, he’s amused. But I will not be deterred. I cross my arms until he shakes out the blanket and lays back down, watching me as I glare at him.
Then I set about getting everything I need to take care of him.