41. Gabe
41
GABE
Another rep. And another. On the weight bench, I make it through more reps than usual.
“Damn, are you hitting the juice?” Shaw asks as we go through our morning workout.
“Yeah, just like I did back in Texas.”
“Ah, I always suspected you were a ’roid head in your playing days.”
“That’s me.” My voice is pure monotone.
“How did it go with your lady the other night? Didn’t get to ask.”
I finish my set, sit up, and scratch my jaw. “Let’s see. On a scale of one to ten, it was a negative fifty.”
“Ouch. That bad?” Shaw switches to the bench, and I move behind, spotting him.
“She gave me my official let’s be friends forever card.”
“Damn. And you told her how you felt?” He pushes up the weights. “You told her everything?”
I shrug, keeping my hands near the bar. “Pretty sure.”
“Pretty sure?”
“I asked her to go out. That’s clear, isn’t it? Like on a date?”
His eyes widen as he raises the weights again, wincing, then lowering. “And you told her you’ve had it bad for her for a year?”
“I told her I’ve wanted her for a long time.”
“Wanted?”
“Yes. Wanted. ”
He grunts, lifting. “Dude. She probably feels like a piece of meat.”
More like the other way around. “I think I was pretty clear.”
“You’re pretty sure you were ‘pretty clear’?” He finishes his set and sits up. “As in, you said you’re in love with her?”
“Hell no,” I answer defensively.
He furrows his brow like he’s deep in thought. “Did you, by any chance, say you were crazy for her?”
“No way.” But now he has me wondering if I totally botched my plans to lay it on the line.
He taps his chin. “Wait. Wait. Did you say, ‘I have no brains’?”
I sigh heavily. “All right. Spit it out. What should I have said?”
He doesn’t answer because a dark-haired guy with a swirl of sunburst tats up his left arm strides over to us. “Hey there. Any chance one of you can spot me? I’d appreciate it.”
“Go for it.” Shaw moves behind him, and the guy starts lifting, using more weights than either of us. “Damn. You training hard for a fight, bro?”
The guy laughs, barely breaking a sweat as he lifts. “Nah, my fighting days are behind me. I’m turning over a new leaf as a pacifist.”
Shaw arches a brow. “For real?”
“I’m kidding. Well, I’m all for world peace. But no, I just need to stay in shape for work. I’m starting a new job in a few days.”
“Lifting heavy shit?”
“ Bodies. Very heavy bodies sometimes, ” he says, playing up the spooky card, as he raises the bar. Then, he’s pure deadpan as he answers. “I’m a paramedic. And sometimes the bodies are quite heavy.”
I look at Shaw knowingly then say, “Welcome to the club. Well, we’re at the local firehouse, so we’ll be seeing you around.”
“No shit?” He sets down the bar, wipes his palms against each other, and offers a hand to shake. “Good to meet you. I’m Derek McBride. Just moved here from San Francisco. Some other guy is heading back home, right?”
Shaw answers, “Yeah, that’s Charlie. Friend of ours.”
“Sorry to hear he had to go, then. It’s never fun when a good bud moves away.”
“So are we,” I say, then make the official intros to Shaw and myself. “But let us know if you need anything. Rescue workers—we look out for each other, right?” I knock fists with Shaw, then the new guy.
“Amen to that.” Derek scratches his jaw. “Speaking of, I’ve been looking for a place to stay. It’s getting crowded as hell where I am right now. Couches are the worst.”
“The absolute worst,” Shaw echoes.
“And finding a decent rental in this town is harder than tracking down a beer for less than $5. Do you happen to know anyone in town who has a place to rent?”
Shaw grins. “As a matter of fact, I do. I’ll hook you up. And you’ll find cheap beers at The Barking Pug. Awesome dive bar off the main drag.”
“Dive bars are the best kind.”
Shaw grabs me by the shoulders, then speaks to Derek in a deliberately leading-the-witness voice. “Also, don’t you think Gabe should tell the woman he loves how he truly feels about her?”
Derek grins. “Always. Always let the woman know how you feel.”
He gives a quick wave then takes off.
When we finish working out, Shaw punches my shoulder. “And you, dipshit, think about what I said. Think about whether you said all you needed to say to her.”
As if I can think about anything else.
As I head home, I replay that last night at her house.
My questions.
What if we tried to be more than friends? To date. Go out.
At the time, my meaning seemed patently clear. But now, with a few days’ perspective, was it?
I flash back to my year in the majors, and it feels like déjà vu. Was I simply warming up in the bull pen with Arden? Rather than going full tilt in a game with a pennant on the line?
More importantly, what if Shaw is right?
Later, I head over to see the one person who tells it like it is. I’ll never sort it out for myself, and I can’t let this uncertainty go on a moment longer.