Chapter Twenty-Three
“Good job, everyone!” Ms. Coolidge’s voice rang across the ice. Seeing as everyone had stayed on their feet more often than not today, Misty felt it was warranted.
“I’d like to introduce you to someone else you’ll be working with closely over the next few weeks.
” A set of doors on the side of the rink opened, and a group of burly employees pushed a plain silver bobsled in.
Misty felt her eyes bulge at the sight of it, and she wasn’t the only one.
A ripple of awe went up around the entire group.
“Before we take it out on the track, we’re going to learn to maneuver it in here,” Ms. Coolidge said. “During this time, you’ll have the chance to try all the different positions.”
“That’s what she said.” Damn! The speaker behind Misty had beaten her to it.
A round of snickers went up, but Ms. Coolidge ignored them.
“Not only will this give you an idea of what you might like to do, but it will help me see who’s the best fit for which position.
I will certainly take people’s preferences into account when choosing the team, but you are by no means guaranteed the one you want. ”
Her expression turned solemn. “That especially goes for the pilot. This might sound like the most exciting position, but it’s the one that comes with the greatest responsibility.
Whoever I choose for this must know every inch of the course forwards, backwards, and every which way.
By getting in the driver’s seat, she’s assuming responsibility for the lives of everyone else in the sled.
If you think you might want that responsibility, please step forward. ”
Misty felt the pressure of that like the free weights on the sled all those weeks ago and stayed put. She wasn’t surprised when Tish stepped up, though. All those years of track team captaincy must have prepared her for something like this.
“Good,” Ms. Coolidge said when it looked like all the potential pilots had stepped up.
“We’ll start with you eight” — she sliced a hand in front of three extra girls — “and give you a chance later. For now, line up behind a pilot to make groups of four. We’ll start by practicing push starts and getting in and out. ”
Misty lined up behind Tish, and two others joined them. Everything else they’d done over the past week and a half had felt as if it could have applied to any sport, and it had turned suddenly specific. She was excited to start and nowhere near ready for it at the same time.
“Go!” That sucker was heavier than anything she’d tried to push at the gym, and yet that might have worked in her favor to help it move faster once they put some force into it.
At least, that was what Misty thought. She didn’t remember enough from high school physics to explain why that was. What she knew was that at least this time, she wasn’t bearing the weight alone, not with the others pushing alongside her.
As Misty kept going, she felt muscle memory kick in from the first time Spencer had had her try this. Her grip on the bobsled’s bar was different, but everything else was similar. She bent lower, drawing on his advice for more speed, and everyone else picked up speed.
When they pulled up at the end, she looked up to see Ms. Coolidge’s appraising look.
“Remind me again of your athletic background?” the coach asked.
“Track and kickball. Why?”
Ms. Coolidge didn’t answer, but her eyebrows remained up as she called the next group forward. Tish looked similarly awed.
“Spencer had me do sled training at the gym.” Eva Gardner’s stance on the ice indicated that she was familiar with the concept, but her groupmates looked less sure of themselves.
Tish shook her head. “I can’t believe I didn’t take the initiative to try that. Dad, Coach Brynn, and everyone else said I was a shoo-in because of my speed, but when it comes to things like this...”
Tish’s self-deprecation faded against the roar of Misty’s heartbeat and racing thoughts. It had been a few days since she and Spencer had talked, and she had a lot to say now.
“You’re up again!” Ms. Coolidge’s summons pulled her forward, and Misty lost herself in the motions. The workout fired up her adrenaline for the rest of the day, but utterly sapped her when they got back to the room. She was too beat to stand up for long in the shower, never mind talk to Spencer.
****
Spencer was trying to finish his report, but it wasn’t going well. Despite going to bed at a normal time (it wasn’t like he’d stayed up talking or texting with Misty), he could barely keep his eyes open or concentrate on this.
Maybe low blood sugar was his problem. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and all the little demonstrations he’d done throughout the morning might have added up to burn off everything he’d eaten. He didn’t feel hungry at all but forced himself to get up and get in a short line for the juice bar.
“...and my trainer says sour cherry juice is good for healing,” a brunette in a blue and white Lululemon set was telling her friend, a woman whose black hair matched her top and leggings.
“That’s what my guy says too, but I can’t quite stomach it.”
The brunette only seemed to hear the first part of the sentence. “Wait a sec, do you work out with Kurt Boswick?”
“Yes! I needed to lose 20 pounds for Ginny’s wedding, and he got me there. He was great.”
“I liked him too. He never made me feel stupid for having a question, and I could reach him whenever I needed him.”
“Things like that made me glad I got assigned to him.”
“Assigned? I asked for him after what Tessa said!”
“And what did Tessa say?”
The brunette smirked. “That he’s always willing to go the extra mile for a client, if you know what I mean.”
Her friend looked disappointed. “He hasn’t with me yet.”
“Maybe he doesn’t know you want him to—you know how dense guys can be. Ask him to help you stretch, or say your hamstrings are sore, and be sure to wear something tight.”
Spencer’s stomach clenched as the blender drowned out the rest of the conversation.
It was one thing for his colleagues to know Kurt’s reputation as a player, but it could be disastrous if word was getting around among the gym members.
He thought about warning Kurt, but what could he say?
A martial arts instructor from his youth had once compared gossip to squeezing toothpaste out of a tube, because there was no putting it back, and it could make a mess.
The last part seemed all too apt now, considering who else was waiting at the juice bar.
“Barry!” he nearly screamed.
His boss looked alarmed and amused at the same time. “Yes?”
Spencer hadn’t intended to say anything and scrambled for a reason to address his boss. “I don’t know if you heard, but a woman I was training got chosen for the World Winter Games combine. She’s there now.”
“That’s great.” Barry nodded but seemed preoccupied. “You haven’t seen your friend Kurt around, have you?”
“Not yet today.”
“Well, if you do, let him know I’d like a word with him.” Barry’s voice sounded extra ominous today. He accepted his wheatgrass smoothie and headed back to the office area.
“Sir?” The barista’s voice sounded like it was coming from the end of the hall instead of a foot and a half away. “Are you ready to order?”
Spencer heard his kale protein smoothie order come out of his mouth, but couldn’t imagine how he was going to get it down. He looked around for Kurt’s clients, but they’d gotten their drinks and moved on, unaware of the consequences they’d unleashed.
He gathered his drink and sipped it as he walked around the gym. Kurt wasn’t in the cardio area, weight room, or locker room. He thought about checking the pool, but there wasn’t enough time. Not with back-to-back sessions. All he could do was send a text and hope for the best.
Spencer: Brace yourself...Barry’s on the warpath.
About halfway through the afternoon, he watched Kurt go into the office. His stomach dropped. He’d allowed himself to hope Kurt wasn’t working today, and Barry would have forgotten all about what he thought he heard by the time Kurt came back. It didn’t look like that happened, though.
“Excuse me?” His client gestured to the dumbbells in her hands. “Can I switch these out for something a little lighter?”
He glanced down. “Let me see you again with those first.”
She did a bicep curl to demonstrate, and he adjusted her grip. “See if that’s better.”
“Yeah, a little.”
“Good.” This had to be the most half-assed session Spencer had ever led, and he wasn’t proud of it. When it was over, he bypassed the office and headed to the men’s locker room, where he was greeted by a loud thud and the sound of swearing. The few other guys in the room looked startled.
“What the fuck?” He rushed to the end of the room to find Kurt cradling one hand in the other as he sat doubled over on a bench in front of a locker that was swinging as if someone had just hit it. “Dude, what happened?”
Kurt looked up. “I got suspended without pay. Barry overheard Naomi and Callie talking and determined that I was violating our anti-fraternization policy.”
“Oh, man.” It was all Spencer could think of to say. He’d known Kurt wouldn’t have gotten away with his womanizing scot-free, but this was the last time for I told you so. And yet, if that was the only consequence, it seemed his friend was getting off lightly. “I’m really sorry.”
Kurt’s eyes glittered with tears that Spencer suspected weren’t just from the pain in his hand. “He made it out like I was raping teenagers in the locker room. This was all people around my age, on our own time, off the premises, so what business is it of his? Everybody does it. You do it.”
“Keep it down,” Spencer hissed, seriously resenting that. Not only had he never done anything to the degree Kurt had, but his time with Misty felt more meaningful than Kurt’s hookups with more of his clients than Spencer could name.
Kurt pulled himself off the bench and started packing his duffel bag. Spencer hung around helplessly. “You gonna be okay for the next...”
“Month,” Kurt grimly filled in the blank. “I’ve got some saved, but I’m gonna have to crunch some numbers and figure out what to do. Freelance training? Go temp somewhere? Shit, I don’t know.”
Spencer watched with a sinking feeling in his stomach. This reminded him all too much of what he stood to lose if he lost this job, and he couldn’t take the idea. Maybe that was one upside to Misty’s ghosting: he could be assured of keeping his job.