Chapter 5
I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but the experts are right.
Exercise and a good night’s sleep can do wonders for your mental health.
It’s even worse news, then, that despite the brand-new mattress I covered in brand-new sheets, a brand-new down comforter, and more pillows than I’ve ever seen outside of an advertisement, sleep has evaded me yet again.
So it’s terrible, awful, horrendous news that exercise is not only great for my cardiovascular health, but the best option for my mental well-being too.
Boo.
Thanks to my unreliable sleep schedule, early-morning boxing classes were a staple to my morning routine.
Other than Gabby—and easy access to wacky tobacky on occasion—my boxing gym is the only thing I think I’m going to miss from my life in Colorado.
Not only was I obsessed with every single instructor, there’s something very therapeutic about punching your worries away.
And although I’ll never admit to anything, I’m pretty sure I can credit those heavy bags for keeping me out of prison a time or two… or three.
The cool breeze I was hoping for when I left my house early this morning is nowhere to be found, and I’m starting to think it will never come.
It’s too early for anyone in Colorado to be up, let alone texting me, but that doesn’t stop my uncle’s name from popping up on my phone as I pull into an empty parking spot.
I avoid the preview of what he has to say and delete it without reading.
I refuse to let him ruin my day before it even begins.
The sun shines bright in the cloudless blue sky as I navigate through the crowded parking lot to the high school stadium.
The air is thick with humidity from the rain that’s supposed to come later in the day.
My workout hasn’t even begun and sweat is already falling down the back of my neck.
I miss my air-conditioned gym even more.
It’s not that the Celestial High School stadium isn’t nice.
Outside of college and professional ones, it’s the nicest stadium I’ve ever seen.
Nothing in Denver compares. Fresh paint lines the turf, and a huge scoreboard looms over the end zone.
The sun glares off the glass of the press box sitting high atop the silver bleachers that seem to grow larger with every step I take.
Tall lights surround the field like a promise for many exciting Friday nights to come.
It would probably be the best workout destination ever if they added some shade… and removed the football team.
The few times I’ve driven past the stadium, it was completely empty, but this morning bodies crowd the field and spectators fill the stands.
Part of me wants to go home—I much prefer simple torture over working out in front of a large group of strangers—but I force myself to stay and find a seat in the empty row at the bottom of the bleachers instead.
Chaos ricochets around me. Whistles echo throughout the air. Coaches yell from the sidelines, and parents scream in opposite directions from behind me. Cameras snap and shutter, and drones buzz as they hover above the field attempting to capture the seriousness of Texas football.
The temperature is steadily rising. I know I need to get my run in before it’s too hot, but I somehow manage to get caught up watching the impressive practice alongside the rest of the crowd.
What should be a shit show, with at least a hundred kids—and curiously, a bulldog—running around, moves like a well-oiled machine.
Small groups are scattered all across the field, everyone working in tandem at their respective stations doing different drills.
They work as one, even stopping to help teammates who are struggling as they move from location to location.
It’s so mesmerizing that by the time I tuck my headphones in my ears, I’ve almost forgotten why I came here in the first place.
Almost.
I tighten my shoelaces and walk to the track.
Logically, I know everyone here is watching the football practice, but it still feels like all eyes are on me.
Anxiety prickles at the base of my neck.
I rush through my stretches, not giving proper time to my hamstrings, which have been tighter than normal since my move, and start to jog.
Beyoncé blares in my ears, and before long, my feet fall into a familiar rhythm and the rest of the world drifts away.
All thoughts of projects, to-do lists, and the niggling worries always itching the back of my brain disappear as my muscles relax and my pace picks up.
Maybe it’s because I’m outrunning them with the well-timed efficiency of an adult girl boss who is running away from her feelings, but much to the surprise of the insecure, anxiety-riddled teenage girl always lurking in the back of my mind, I don’t even notice when the hordes of teenage boys start running on the track with me.
I round the curve of the track for my third mile, and the only thing on my mind is keeping my breathing even with the ever-increasing burn in my muscles.
I’m so in the zone that nothing could distract me.
Nothing.
Except a pair of onyx eyes that somehow managed to haunt the few hours of sleep I had last night.
I pull out my headphones and slow to a walk as I approach him on the side of the field.
“It’s you,” I say. “I guess you were right about this being a small town.”
“Lived here almost my entire life.” His voice is as quiet among the rowdy boys as it was in the bar. I have to strain my ears to hear him. “Trust me, there’s no hiding from anyone here.”
“You were hiding from me? Maybe that’s why I almost didn’t recognize you,” I tease, and a spark of pleasure twists my stomach when the lips that have taunted my memories curve into a whisper of a smile. I’ll figure out why this practical stranger’s smile lives in my mind rent-free another day.
Or never.
“It’s this.” He points to the navy floppy bucket hat he’s wearing. “Nobody knows it’s me when they don’t see the locs.”
He’s not wrong—the bucket hat hiding his locs and shielding his face does make him hard to spot—but that’s not why he looks so different today.
He’s as stoic as he was the other night and his eyes are just as dark, but there’s a lightness about him that wasn’t there before.
The hardness to his jaw is softened, and the lines around his eyes look suspiciously like smile lines.
I don’t know this man from Adam, but he looks… happy.
“That must be it,” I lie. “I didn’t take you as a monogrammed polo and khaki shorts kind of guy.”
Not that I have room to talk about clothes right now.
Other than the mint I spend on keeping my running shoes in tip-top condition, I think I may be one of the few women in the world who doesn’t see the appeal of a matching workout set.
I got the shirt I’m wearing now at a soccer tournament in tenth grade and my shorts on clearance at the Nike outlet five years ago.
Something I’ve never regretted until this very moment.
“I’m not,” he reassures me, and a happy thrill zaps through my veins knowing I was right. “I only wear this for football. I’ll change before I leave.”
“Don’t let him trick you. This is his favorite outfit.” A kid with an impish grin that promises as much fun as it does trouble appears next to Tate. “He has a closet full of khakis, don’t you, Coach?”
“You’re supposed to be running laps, so why are you talking to us, Aiden?” Tate’s deadpan voice cuts through the noise, but instead of seeming alarmed, the kid, Aiden, seems amused.
“I’m trying to help you out in front of your lady friend. Girls like it when guys dress good.” He drapes a sweat-covered arm over Tate’s shoulder and turns his attention to me. “Right?”
“Well—”
“Don’t answer that.” Tate shakes his head, and his hard gaze cuts from me to the jokester beside him. “If you’re not running in five seconds, I’m adding four sets of barrel rolls for you and two laps for everyone else.”
“Dang, Coach T! I know you didn’t act like this when you were all big, playing college ball.
Why you gotta be like that?” Aiden clutches his heart, and I bite back my laughter at his dramatics.
“I was trying to run, but your lady friend here was embarrassing the rest of us with how she was lapping us.”
“Aiden.” Tate points to the track. “Go.”
“Fine, fine. I see how it is.” Aiden throws his arms in the air and starts to jog away backward with a smirk that says he absolutely does not see how it is. “Showing out in front of the hot new girl in town. I thought you had more game than that.”
Nobody is braver than a child without a fully developed prefrontal cortex. If Tate was looking at me the way he’s looking at Aiden, I’d be shaking out of fear, not laughter. But going off the roar of laughter that breaks out all around us, I’m the only one.
“Five sets of barrel rolls!” Tate shouts to Aiden’s back as he sprints away. “And the next person who says anything can join him.”
“Don’t worry, Coach T,” another kid says as he jogs by. “We all know your game is as good off the field as it is on it.”
“Dammit, Josh.” Tate shakes his head. “You threw up the last time you did barrel rolls. Don’t make me have you rolling across the field with him.”
“I would never.” Josh holds up his hands in surrender. “But you should know Coach Linc promised to send twenty dollars to the person who gets you the most worked up in front of your friend.”
Tate spins around, and I follow his gaze to the redheaded man waving from the end zone, his shit-eating grin visible from fifty yards away.
“Children.” Tate shakes his head as he turns to face me, and even though I can tell he’s trying not to break, it’s impossible to miss the amusement dancing in his eyes. “Even the adults I work with are children.”
“They seem like fun though.” I wave back to another group of kids as they run past us.
Or at least, I try.