22. Isaac
22
ISAAC
Another day, another dollar.
It's just money.
It doesn't grow on trees.
Money isn't everything, but everything needs money.
Money is the root of all evil.
Money can't buy happiness.
Focus on the positives, even if your bank account is in the negative.
I step back, hands on my hips, surveying the progress around me. Things are coming together. It's finally starting to look like a gym rather than an active construction site. It's still a mess, but it's a contained mess. That's progress, and progress is good. I need to focus on the good, or the stress of it all is bound to drag me under.
Locker stalls that I bought second hand and refurbished are lining the walls of the main room, waiting to be set up once the plumber is finished. Huge flat boxes with privacy stalls are stacked high in one corner. And closest to the bathroom is a box of tiles, grout, and tools. The plumber informed me that they'll need to open a small section of the wall behind the showers to make the modifications I need. It wasn't great news, but I can handle it. I knew the risks when I tiled the bathroom before most of the plumbing work could be done.
No biggie. Deep breath. No stress.
If anyone was around, the forced smile on my face would probably be terrifying, but I'm trying the fake it ‘till you make it method to keep things in perspective. Every time I turn around, there's something else that requires more money, more time, more work. The work I can deal with, but the money is close to breaking me. Before I started this project, I made a very careful budget, accounting for anything and everything that could go wrong. I accounted for catastrophic plumbing or electrical issues, which I've luckily not had, but I'm still well over budget and bleeding money at an alarming rate.
I couldn't have accounted for the skyrocketing costs of materials, supply chain shortages and delays, and the rising cost of shipping which is affecting the availability and costs of the equipment I need. Orders I've already paid for are ready to ship, but shipping costs have more than tripled since I made the original purchases. Some of them have been canceled outright. At this point, it would be cheaper to rent a truck and drive across the country to pick up directly from the manufacturers. It's… a lot.
My positive mindset was already close to cracking. And that was before my surprise visit this morning. I was eyeballs deep in sawdust, installing the cabinets for the break/meeting room when there was a knock on the open door behind me. The front door was open to let in some fresh air since it was a warmer morning and I was waiting for the plumber to get here. The moment I saw the suit, I got a bad feeling. Martin Jensen, an official from the town zoning office, came to discuss the new zoning ordinances that were passed at the town's most recent council meeting. Despite looking at me like I might get his lapels dirty, he was polite. Maybe too polite. The way he went through the paperwork bordered on condescending, and he seemed almost happy about the changes that are going to severely delay the opening of a small business in this town.
Just when I was starting to feel optimistic about the chances of us opening as early as spring, I'm hit with new ordinances that are specific to fitness centers in residential areas. It seems odd, because one of the reasons I chose to open my business here, along with its proximity to a larger city, is that there are no other gyms aside from the fitness center at the town recreation center.
Most of the guidelines mentioned won't change anything as far as passing inspections. I've taken every precaution for safety, both to protect myself and my prospective clients. I wouldn't cut corners and put everything I've worked for at risk. The problem lies with the new fees and added inspections that will not only add to my timeline due to short staffing in the town planning office, a fact Mr. Jensen informed me of with what felt like false sympathy, but will cost me an additional ten to fifteen thousand dollars. When I asked if there was any possibility of leeway given the timeline of my opening and the new ordinances only just now being filed, his patronizing tone was in no way disguised when he suggested that I start attending the town council meetings if I wish to have any input on the town I've decided to move into. The worst part is that I do remember getting a notification about the meeting with my utilities bill, but not only would I not have thought to go since my business can't be registered until I've passed inspections, which I can't do without finishing the renovations, but my life was turned upside down around the time the meeting occurred.
All of these are obstacles that I can, and will, overcome. I'll find a way. I have to.
What worries me most is Mr. Jensen's attitude towards me, and the very specific ordinances that seem to only affect my business. Maybe I'm just paranoid after a lifetime of being looked down on for being working-class trailer trash, but my anxiety is making this feel targeted.
The town doesn't want you here.
I shake myself out of it. No. It's all going to be okay. I'm making a plan. I'll pick up regular fights, and if these ordinances are going to push the opening, I might have to put in a few weeks on the rig. I'll hate being away from Tyler, but he'll understand and we can talk on the phone every day. There's no way I'll be able to make enough money fighting and rigging to pay off the rising tally of expenses, but I'll look into a small business loan. It's not something I wanted to do, because I know I'll be drowning in interest for the rest of my life, but I'll find a way to make it work.
Focus on the positive.
Focus on Tyler's smile, his unwavering support, the cute way he puts on his overalls and tool belt to help me with even the smallest projects. Focus on the perfection of waking up next to him every morning and having him in my arms every night. Focus on the way he showed up here between classes yesterday, just in time for Mac to pull up, pulling a trailer with a huge, heavy metal and wood desk for my office. He found it on a buy-nothing group and wanted to surprise me with it. Then he surprised me again by bending me over it and fucking me so good, I could do little more than limp around in a daze for the rest of the day, sending him dirty text messages about his newfound breeding kink and how it was going to be my turn when he got home.
And last night… Fuck. Everything we do is amazing, and I didn't think it could get better than the night he let me inside him for the first time. But every night, and sometimes day, it just gets better between us. Stronger. Hotter.
The mental image of my cock buried in that tight little ass while he took me standing in front of a floor to ceiling mirror he installed in the apartment bathroom will forever be burned into my brain as a core memory. The confidence, his brazenness with telling me what he wanted, the glazed over, pleasure drunk look on his face when I reached around to pump his perfect dick until he sprayed all over the glass. The way he moaned for me to fuck him harder, to fill him with my cum. The way it looked when he let me spread his cheeks and watch it drip, how it felt to push it all back in and keep fucking him when the sight made it impossible for my erection to go down.
Jesus.
The plumber's voice snaps me out of my thoughts. "Hey boss, we got a problem."
Uh, yeah we do. How the fuck am I going to hide this rager so I can talk to the guy?
All it takes is his expression—brows drawn tight, lips pressed into a thin line, and the look of pity in his eyes—and I know it's bad. Boner problem immediately alleviated.
My stomach knots as I follow him to the bathroom. What was supposed to be a small opening in the wall is now a jagged opening large enough to fit a body through. I can see the problem right away. The corrosion eating through some of the larger pipes, the metal dull and pitted even where there's no obvious leaks.
"How bad is it?"
"Rerouting the pipes like we planned is a no-go. The pipes are degraded. If we do anything, the whole system could fail. And if we leave it, you won't have long before one of these pipes burst."
"How could this get through the building inspection?" I mutter to myself. I paid for an inspection before I signed the lease, wary of any catastrophic issues and building codes in an older building like this.
"A basic inspection couldn't pick up on this unless there's water damage. If we hadn't opened this wall, you probably wouldn't have found out until you noticed an obvious leak or something burst."
I exhale sharply. "What’s the damage?"
He scratches at his beard. "We're looking at a full replacement for this section at least. New pipes, new fittings… It's gonna take time, and it ain't gonna be cheap. And that's hoping there aren't any major issues with the rest of the room." He pauses, looking at me sympathetically. Steve is a nice guy, and I trust him. He's been straightforward from the beginning, helping me with the process of converting two separate large bathrooms into a larger combined space. It's by far been the biggest and most expensive part of this entire remodel. And that was before this.
"The good news is that I'm pretty sure the toilets are good, I just need to double check the lines behind the sinks to make sure you aren't going to have more trouble down the line."
I nod and drag a hand down my face, inhaling through my nose. This hits harder than any punch I've ever taken.
I planned for setbacks—any smart business owner taking on a project like this would—and I could have handled this with my original budget. It would have hurt, maybe would have wiped me out for any more big projects, but on top of everything, and now with the news about the town ordinances and all the other extra expenses, this might be it. This is where I stop treading water, choking a little every time a wave hits, and get pulled under by a cinder block tied to my ankles.
"Can you give me an estimate?"
"I'm assuming you'll want to do the rebuild yourself?" I nod. If I can do it myself, I will, no matter how much work it is. "I need to sit down and do some figures, but with materials and labor, I could do it for twelve."
I'm biting down on the inside of my cheek, but I nod curtly. I know he's giving me a heavy discount on labor with that number. Materials and permits alone are likely to eat most of that up. It's a kindness that I probably wouldn't accept if I had any choice at all. I need to remember to thank Mac and Anders again for the recommendation.
I don't hear anything Steve says after that. My mind is racing, trying to find a solution, figuring out what I can do without or put off so I can prioritize this. There's no safety net left. It was gone when Mr. Jensen notified me of the new ordinances. But this needs to be done before I can even get to that point, and there's really no choice other than to take it one crisis at a time. I sunk everything I have into this gym. Every dollar saved, every grueling twelve-hour shift followed by whatever second or third job I could pick up, every punch taken. Every day spent doing the bare minimum to take care of myself, every penny pinched, every sleepless night agonizing over all the problems that money could have solved. Like a better place to live for my family, for one.
I can't take another hit like this. I'll do anything to make this work. I can't lose everything and fail before the doors ever open.
I just need to come up with a solution and fast.
"Isaac?"
Tyler stands in the doorway, head tilted, concern written all over his face. He must have walked in while I was spiraling. What time is it? He's not supposed to be home until later this afternoon. How long have I been standing here, staring at the hole in my dream, lost in the panic of everything falling to pieces around me?
I try to smile, because he might be the only good thing I have to cling to right now, but it feels wobbly.
"What's going on?" He approaches warily, wrapping an arm around my waist.
"Plumbing's screwed. The whole thing needs to be replaced."
His arm tightens around me, and I relax into his scent. I always imagine he smells like books and academia when he comes home after school, especially if he's wearing one of his cardigans or his glasses. Not even my sexy professor fantasy can pull me out of this funk, though. I'm holding back tears, not wanting to give in to the fucking hopelessness I feel.
There's no panic or stress in his words when he looks up at me and shrugs. Fucking shrugs. "We'll figure it out."
"Yeah, I'm not sure how I can figure out almost thirty thousand dollars' worth of fucked before my six months is up. And that's not even knowing if I'll have the clientele to keep the lights on after that." Especially after the town official made me feel like I'm not welcome or wanted here.
"We'll find the money," he says confidently.
Just like that. Like it's easy. Like it's a matter of looking under a few couch cushions and pulling out a spare few thousand dollars here and there, or like skipping my five-dollar meal at The Nook once a week will be enough to save that much money.
Something inside me snaps. I snap.
"It's nice you think it's so simple," I say, sharper than I really mean to.
Tyler balks, his posture going rigid. "I didn't mean–"
"You don't get it, Ty. You don't know what it's like to scrape by, to count every penny, work yourself to the bone, and still come up short." I step away from him, putting space between us. "You don't know what it's like to have the entire system rigged against you, because poverty is a generational spiral that's impossible to rise above. You don't know what it feels like to be turned away because your hands are calloused and dirty. To be denied opportunities because of your address or lack of education." I throw my arms out in frustration, and he flinches. Because whether he recognizes it or not, he sees what they see, and expects the worst from me. Running my hands through my hair, I hook my arms behind my neck to keep from frightening him further, and pace.
Silence hangs thick between us. Tyler's lips press together, his shoulders drawing in like he's trying to make himself smaller.
What am I doing?
I know that far-off look, the tension in his jaw, the way his hands curl at his sides. He's not pissed or upset over my outburst. He's hurt.
"I didn't say it would be easy," he says quietly. "I was just trying to help."
Regret punches through me like a knee to the solar plexus, knocking the breath from me. I step forward, but he steps back. Once, then twice. "Tyler, I–"
"I'm sorry. I should go, give you some space."
He turns before I can stop him, the sound of the front door closing echoes into the bathroom. The moment he's gone, panic sets in on an entirely new level. I scrub a hand over my face, heart pounding.
I'm such an asshole. Worse, I made a mistake that I can't seem to stop making. I'm no better than Mr. Jensen or Guy or Tyler's father or anyone else that's treated me like I was less because of my position on the class hierarchy.
All because I'm fucking insecure, and the threat of failure is making me feel even more inadequate. So what do I do? I lash out and prove that I'm truly not good enough for him. Not because of my financial status, because I'm not worthy as a man.
For the first time since Jax Keller found me on the brink of losing myself, I'm truly afraid.
Not of losing the gym or everything I've worked for. Not of drowning in debt and never crawling out of the hole I was born in.
I'm afraid I just pushed away the best thing that's ever happened to me.