Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
Nate stared at the intimidating array of equipment at Seattle Elite CrossFit, already regretting his life choices.
"There's my favorite publishing prince," his oldest friend called out, already warming up with annoyingly perfect form on his air squats.
At forty-three, Alex had managed to maintain the kind of fitness that made the rest of them question their life choices.
Nate was no sloth when it came to fitness, but Alex was an absolute unit.
And he knew it. "Ready to sweat out your sorrows? "
"Remind me again why we're not at Blue Tap?” Nate grunted, dropping his gym bag and eyeing the workout posted on the whiteboard with growing dread.
"Because," Alex said, flicking a sweaty strand of hair off his head before transitioning smoothly into arm circles, "you sleep-texted me at midnight about how Melody wishes you would burst into flames and your life is fucked.
This seemed like a more productive way to process your crisis than day drinking. "
Nate started his own warm-up. "I did not sleep-text you."
"Want me to read it back? 'Alex, I've screwed it all. She thinks I'm just another soulless corporate drone. Maybe I should buy a motorcycle.'"
"Please tell me you're joking."
"The motorcycle part was actually from your follow-up text at 2 AM."
Their coach, Jake—who was probably half their age and twice as fit—called the class to order. The workout looked like something designed by a particularly sadistic personal trainer: burpees, kettlebell swings, rowing, wall balls, and something ominously called "death by air squats."
"Remember," Jake said, his enthusiasm offensive at this hour, "modify as needed. Listen to your bodies."
"My body's telling me to go back to bed," Nate muttered to Alex.
"Your body's not the one making bad decisions about beautiful authors," Alex shot back. "Now come on, old man. Time to earn your midlife crisis."
They started with a "quick" warm-up that felt more like a full workout. Between sets of jumping jacks and high knees, Alex got down to business.
"So, tell me what happened with Melody. The non-dramatic version."
Nate explained about the ghostwriting deal and their fight, pausing occasionally to catch his breath or curse whoever invented mountain climbers. Alex listened, only interrupting to correct Nate's form or offer the occasional grunt of understanding.
"The worst part," Nate said as they moved to the rowers for the actual workout, "is that she's not entirely wrong. The old me—the pre-Melody me—would have pushed this deal without a second thought."
"And now?" Alex set his damper to a reasonable resistance while Nate, like an idiot, cranked his up too high.
"Now I can't stop thinking about her face when she talked about her vision for the book. The passion in her voice, the fire in her eyes..." Nate trailed off, already regretting his damper setting.
"Sounds serious." Alex's rowing form was disgustingly perfect. "So you just played along with your dad’s backstabbing plan?”
“I had to. I can’t undermine him to our employees. No matter who they are.”
“Ah, I see. So, what are you going to do about it?"
"That's why I'm here, isn't it? For your sage advice?"
"No, you're here because your coping mechanisms needed an upgrade from single malt scotch." Alex checked his monitor. "Also, your stroke rate is terrible."
They transitioned to kettlebell swings, which felt like some medieval form of torture. Between sets, Nate continued pouring out his heart while trying not to throw out his back.
"I want to support her vision," he grunted, hoisting the weight. "Fight for her book the way she wants it written. But my goddamned father..."
"Forget your father for a minute," Alex said, making the movement look effortless. "What does Nate want?"
"Besides for my shoulders to stop burning?"
"Besides that."
Nate set down his kettlebell, taking a moment to catch his breath. Around them, other class members—most younger, some their age—moved through their own workouts, each fighting their own battles with gravity and self-doubt.
"I want her," he admitted finally. "Not just physically, though God knows that's part of it. I want her passion, her fire, her complete refusal to compromise what matters to her. I want to be worthy of that kind of conviction."
"Now we're getting somewhere." Alex checked his fitness tracker. "Also, your heart rate's concerningly high. You might want to scale back the emotional revelations during kettlebell swings."
They moved to wall balls, which felt like punishment for sins Nate didn't remember committing. The rhythmic thud of medicine balls hitting targets provided a backdrop for Alex's next round of wisdom.
"You know what your problem is?" Alex launched his ball with perfect accuracy. "You're so busy trying to be the perfect son, the perfect executive, that you've forgotten how to just be Nate."
"And who's that?" Nate's ball barely grazed the target.
"The guy who used to believe in changing the world through stories. The guy who'd risk everything for something he believed in." Alex's ball hit the center with a satisfying thump. "The guy Melody seems to bring out in you."
Nate let Alex's words sink in along with the growing certainty that he would never be able to raise his arms above his head again.
The final part of the workout was the promised "death by air squats." Between sets of increasingly wobbly squats, Alex continued his counseling session.
"So you've got two options," he said, somehow maintaining perfect form. "You can play it safe, do what Daddy Dearest wants, and probably lose both Melody and your self-respect. Or..."
"Or?" Nate paused, his quads screaming.
"Or you can grow a pair, stand up for what you believe in, and maybe end up with something worth more than quarterly profits."
The timer finally—mercifully—beeped to end the workout. They collapsed onto their mats for the cool-down stretch, Nate's body feeling simultaneously destroyed and oddly energized.
"When did you become the ginger-haired Dr. Phil?” Nate asked, groaning as he tried to touch his toes.
"Around the same time you got so damn dense about matters of the heart." Alex checked his watch. "Also, I think I might be dying, so I figured I should dispense my wisdom while I still can."
They lay there for a moment, catching their breath and letting the endorphins do their work. The gym was starting to fill with the early morning crowd—other professionals trying to fit in their workouts before facing the day.
"You know what else is nice about exercising instead of drinking?" Alex said as they gathered their bags. "You can actually drive yourself home afterward. Also, your liver thanks you."
"My everything else hates me, though."
"Small price to pay for clarity." Alex clapped him on the shoulder. "Speaking of which, what's the plan with Melody?"
“This might sound crazy…” Nate winced, both from the shoulder pat and the question. "I need to talk to my mother first. If I'm going to take on my father and the board, I'll need allies."
"Taking on the family business for love." Alex grinned. "It's like one of your romance novels but with more joint pain."
They headed to the gym's smoothie bar, their muscles already protesting every movement. The morning crowd was picking up—other professionals trying to fit in their workouts before facing the corporate world.
"You know," Alex said as they waited for their protein shakes, "ten years ago we would have handled this crisis with scotch and bad decisions."
"Now we handle it with burpees and protein shakes," Nate observed. "Is this what they call personal growth?"
"I think they call it middle age." Alex accepted his green concoction from the barista. "But seriously, Nate. What are your Melody plans?”
Nate took a long sip of his shake, the pieces finally falling into place. "I'm going to fight for her. For her book, her vision, all of it. Even if it means going against everything I've been groomed for."
"That's my boy." Alex raised his cup in a toast. "To fighting the good fight.”
"To fighting the good fight,” Nate echoed. "And to hoping I can still move tomorrow."
As they headed out into the early morning light, Nate felt clearer than he had in days. Maybe it was the endorphins, or maybe it was finally admitting what he wanted—what he needed—to do.
He pulled out his phone, his thumb hovering over Melody's contact. It was too early to call, but he could at least text.
"Working on fixing things," he typed. "May need a wheelchair after this morning's CrossFit session, but my heart's in the right place."
He hit send before he could overthink it, then turned to Alex. "Think she'll give me another chance?"
Alex grinned, already walking toward his car. "If she's as smart as you say she is? She'll at least enjoy watching you grovel. Try to work those sore muscles to your advantage—nothing says 'I'm sorry' like a grown man who can barely sit down."
Nate laughed, and his abdomen muscles ached as soon as he did. For once today, he didn’t give a shit. Whatever happened next, at least he was finally being honest—with himself, with Melody, with everyone.
Now he just had to hope it wasn't too late to fix the mess he had made. And that he would be able to climb stairs again sometime this week.