32. Lyssa
Lyssa
Iknow I could call Andi to talk this out with her.
She would come over in an instant, wine in hand, and encourage me to say yes to Benji and everything it entails.
It would dissolve into a night of binge-watching some show or another, ultimately giving in to our cravings and ordering our favorite desserts from the local restaurants.
In theory, it sounds delightful, and I might need it later this week.
But tonight, it would only make me wake up in the middle of the night with a sugar headache to accompany my already racing thoughts.
What I need is to sweat this out, and push myself to the point that my body is too tired to allow my mind to take over.
Because if I allow my mind to take over, I’ll spiral over the fact that saying yes to Benji means choosing not only him, but his family.
To take another step toward melding myself into his life, losing the carefully built control and freedom I’ve recently gained.
To make the choice to cross the distance I’ve purposefully put in our relationship to keep me safe. To keep us both safe.
If we go further, that means more, and more leads to a key point of my worst years. And even those years started with something I thought was wonderful. I can't trust what I'm feeling right now.
So here I am, pummeling a punching bag, ignoring the way my arms, back and core all complain at me in unison.
I have the gym to myself, so I’m free to get lost in the effort.
My phone was burning a hole in my pocket, so it’s laying in a locker nearby, my playlist synched up to the Bluetooth.
The music thrums in time with my heartbeat.
A shadow moves in the corner of the gym, and I whirl, gloves up, only to relax when I realize who it is.
Paul leans against the brick wall, keys in hand, his face expectant.
After a long moment, I realize he doesn’t just plan to leave me to exercise.
I make my way over to my phone, removing my gloves along the way.
I wipe a sweaty palm across my leggings and pause my music, wincing as the time on my screen registers. The gym closed nine minutes ago.
I turn to face him. “Shit, Paul, I’m sorry. I lost track of time.”
“No worries. You’ve really improved your technique.” He crosses his arms, nodding at the punching bag. “So. Are you training to become the next Sylvester Stallone, or are you looking to get something off your chest?”
I smile, but don’t reply. Instead, I set to work cleaning up the space.
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed what you’re doing, kiddo.”
His words pull me up short, and I can’t help the panic in my expression when I face him. He’s moved to help me clean up, and his face is inscrutable as he continues.
“All sorts of people come through this gym, and you don’t get to my age without a good understanding of them: what motivates them, and how I can help them.
Some, they just want to get in shape. Some are looking to cross-train, work some new muscles, learn a new sport.
Those are always fun people to work with, and they want to be here, sure, but they’re not the most important people I meet. ”
He motions for me to sit on the side of the ring, and I oblige.
“People like you are the most important. People who need to be here. People who need to feel safe, strong and capable.” He studies me. It’s hard to hold his gaze, but even harder to look away. “Am I right so far?”
I swallow and nod, unable to form words.
He nods in return, though something in his expression softens. It’s a strange look on someone who usually swings between stern intensity and fierce motivation during his classes. “I’m so sorry that I haven’t been able to help the way I thought I could.”
“What do you mean?” I blink rapidly, unable to process where this conversation is going.
“I figured, when you came through these doors for the first time, you needed a way to feel safe again. It’s not my place to ask why – ” he holds his hands up in a patient gesture “–but I always hoped this could be a place where young women could feel safe and learn how to defend themselves. I mean, that’s what I want for Bella, and I always feel better knowing she can hold her own.
I thought this was helping you work through whatever you needed to.
But tonight…” he trails off for a moment.
“This reminds me of the way you attacked your first few lessons. With better posture, of course.”
I wipe the sweat off my brow and let out a choked laugh, torn between amusement and affection. I had no idea just how much he’s been looking out for me all this time. “It’s not that,” I manage. “Back then, I was running from something.”
He nods patiently, and I’m grateful he doesn’t dig for specifics. “And now?”
And now? I turn his question over in my head, looking for the right words. “Now, I’m trying to decide whether I need to run again. Or if I’m staying put.”
Paul hums thoughtfully, his gaze far away. “Does this have to do with a certain hockey player that bent over backwards to help you with our fundraiser?”
“What?” My stomach flips. “He was helping you!”
“That poor boy didn’t know the name of my gym until he showed up to promote it,” Paul chides.
“Everything he did for me, he did because you asked him to.” His eyes slide to mine.
“Don’t get me wrong. I’m beyond grateful for everything you did.
But if you had asked him to promote a porta-potty, he would have. ”
I groan, because he’s right, and that causes a new wave of terror to crash over me. I bury my face in my hands. “You’re not helping.”
He frowns, and I can see him trying to work out my words in a way that makes sense. “If you don’t want to be with him…”
“No,” I blurt out. “I do.”
He pauses, his pale blue eyes searching mine. “And he’s good to you?”
My heart lurches. They’re such simple words – such an obvious question – and yet, in this moment, they mean more to me than Paul will ever know.
“Yes,” I whisper, then add in a voice so soft it’s barely audible, “for now.”
I see the realization dawn over him in flickers of surprise, then anger, then sadness.
He runs a hand through his graying hair and sighs.
“You know, there are a lot of people in this world that will try their best to bury you. Whether it’s because they want to keep you, take from you, or just beat you down.
And I can’t claim to know everything, but this is a truth I know, deep in my bones.
Deeper than my early arthritis.” He smiles, the wrinkles on his face crinkling in a calming, familiar way.
“The best way to get back at those kinds of people is to simply live your life, and live it damn well.”
“But what if –” I start, but he cuts me off with a wave of his hand.
“The only if you should be asking yourself is if it’s worth giving up over whatever’s got you in such a fit tonight.
Because if there’s one thing I know about you, it’s that you’re not a quitter.
” He says it so matter-of-factly, as if this should be obvious.
“Whatever had you running in the first place, you knew you’d find a better life getting away from it.
You fought for that.” He gestures around.
“You fought for this. For happiness. A life full of people who treat you the way you deserve to be treated. And you even giving Mr. Estes the time of day means you’re still fighting for that. ”
“Benji,” I correct him with a soft smile. “He’d hate to hear you call him Mr. Estes.”
“See?” Paul tilts his head te. “Clearly, you care for him.”
“I do,” I reply. “But…caring for him means opening myself up for all the hurt that might come next.”
“Yes. Caring means you give someone the opportunity to break you. And trust me, there are so many ways it can break you.” He pauses, and I remember what Bella told me; how her own mother had passed when she was young.
I wonder if he’s thinking of her. Before I can ask, he continues.
“Besides, from what I tell, whatever you ran from didn’t break you, even then. ”
But it did, a voice in my mind says. As if he can read my thoughts, Paul shakes his head. “No, you’re not broken. Maybe a little battered and bruised, but you’ve never let that stop you. In the ring or out.”
I attempt to roll my eyes at him, but I’m forced to blink and look away instead as the tears well up. “I think you’re giving me entirely too much credit, Paul.”
He bumps my shoulder with his and places my gloves in my lap. “Nah. Like I said. Giving up before you even try is still quitting. And I would never let a quitter in my gym.”
I slide through the doors of the Wunderbar, scanning the crowd for the familiar, broad figures of the Leopards.
It’s easy to pick them out in their normal booth, hats on, jostling each other while they play some sort of card game.
My gaze rakes over the bodies, and I frown when I don’t see Benji among them.
“Hey, stranger.”
I jump at the voice next to my ear and spin. Benji gives me an apologetic look, raising his phone in his hand before pocketing it.
“I was on a call and saw you walk in.” His face is flushed, and I wonder if he took the call out in the cold. “What’s up?”
I smile, but it falters as the nerves sweep in. Walking in here, I’d been so sure of this next step, but staring at him now, that step feels like a leap again. I try to remind myself of Paul’s words and how confident I’d felt leaving the gym.
His gaze rakes over my face, and he frowns. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I shake my head and swallow. “I–I actually just wanted to let you know I made up my mind. About Christmas.”
He cocks his head, and I continue, the words rushing out before I lose my nerve. “I’d love to join your Christmas. If you’ll still have me.”
His expression is unreadable for a long moment, and the breath catches in my throat. Oh, god. Did he change his mind? I never even considered that option in all my hypothetical scenarios, but it's just as bad as some of them.
But then, he laughs. “If I’ll still have you?” He shakes his head, still chuckling. “Of course I want you there. I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t completely sure.”
“And your family?” I ask, though the relief of his reaction already has a weight lifting off my chest. “They’re okay with it, too?”
“Of course they are. Gabi will be beyond thrilled.” Benji lifts up his cap and runs a hand through his hair, beaming. “And here I was, thinking I’d already gotten the best news I could today.”
“What do you mean?” I blink, confused.
“I got the call,” he says, eyes gleaming. “One of the Minnesota Chill players is out with a concussion. At least a month, maybe two.”
I frown. “I don’t understand. How is that a good thing?”
“It’s not, I mean, not for him. Well, in a way it’s good because they’re taking the recovery seriously, which the league only started to recently –”
He pauses, inhaling to reorient himself, and I can’t help but smile at the contagious energy of his babbling.
He’s acting like Winston when he’s excited for a walk, but forced to sit still so I can leash him up.
I can almost picture Benji tippy-tapping his feet like Winston, and my grin widens.
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from giggling.
“It means they need another player for the next few weeks,” he continues, “and they called me.” He picks me up and swings me around, and I start laughing outright, my heart near bursting with happiness for him, because now I know what he’s going to say before he even says it.
“I’m going to the show!”