15 - Dane
Dane
The heat on my left cheek was a localized wildfire, throbbing with every heartbeat.
The woman was a lunatic. A small, unstable nightmare who ran like a chicken and reacted to a basic safety maneuver with physical assault.
It’s not like I’d been plotting to have my arms wrapped around her.
Or get a face full of her tangled hair. But the alternative was watching her split her chin on a steel treadmill deck.
And this is what human decency got me. A five-finger map stamped into my skin.
“Maniac.” I threw my shirt back on, and marched after her. “She needs a reality check, and fast. Going around slapping people and storming off.”
“Dane,” Hunter called the second I reached the lobby. When I slowed my stride long enough for him to get a look at me, his face scrunched up in confusion. “What the hell happened to your face?”
“I’ll give you one guess.”
Whatever he said next was lost in the static buzz of my anger as I crossed the floor to the Muscle Mansion.
The weight room was a cavern of concrete and iron, dominated by the constant thud of plates hitting rubber mats. The gym's true disciples hung out here, people who didn't talk during a set and didn't appreciate a scene.
I spotted her in the far corner, near the heavy dumbbell racks.
Her small frame looked even smaller against the background of steel cages.
And wouldn’t you know it, she wasn’t alone.
Surprise, surprise. Brock was right there with her.
His broad shoulders inclined toward her until his face was inches from hers, his posture full of an intimate, protective gravity.
I slowed my charge, watching as he raised a hand, his thumb catching a strand of her hair that had stuck to her wet cheek.
He tucked it behind her ear with a softness that looked completely foreign on a man of his size.
My stomach took a violent turn as a surge of heat hit my chest. First she ratted me out to Hunter, and now she was sniveling to Brock. What the fuck was this, kindergarten?
The manipulation was sickening. She’d gone straight to the biggest guy in the room to spin her little story, establish herself as the delicate victim of my monstrous assault.
It was a calculated move, a classic play to turn my own friend against me before I could even present the facts.
By the looks of it, he was falling for her bullshit.
Brock was nodding, his expression dark and stony as he listened to whatever garbage she was whispering into his chest.
I crossed the black flooring in four long strides, my sneakers squeaking against the clean rubber. “Hey! Yeah, you.”
Her head snapped up, eyes widening as she saw me closing the distance. Brock reacted a fraction of a second later, his frame moving to block her from view. He stepped forward, a solid wall of meat and black cotton, his chest expanding as he tried to dictate the boundaries of the encounter.
“Back off, man,” he said, his arm extending flat against my chest to stop my momentum. "She’s done for the day. Walk away."
“Get out of my way,” I said, my voice rising above the clatter of the lat pulldown behind us. I planted my palm against his shoulder and shoved him sideways, putting my full weight into the movement to break his leverage. “This has nothing to do with you, so butt out.”
Brock stumbled back a step, his foot catching on the edge of a mat, but his balance restored itself almost instantly.
His face went from defensive to murderous in the span of a heartbeat.
He lunged back into my space, his chest slamming hard into mine, his chin dropping down until we were nose-to-nose.
“Make me,” he said, the challenge hovering between us like an iron bar.
“Brock, don't. It's fine,” her voice cut through the high pressure system building between us. She stepped around his flank, her chest still rising and falling in shallow, rapid bursts. But she kept her head up. Stubborn, as usual. “I want to hear what kind of logic he’s using to justify his existence today.”
Brock didn't back down easily. He kept his stance rooted, his gaze remaining locked onto my eyes for a beat longer before he glanced around the gym floor. A couple of powerlifters by the platform had stopped mid-session, their plates dangling from their hands as they watched us.
“This isn’t the time or place,” he said, his voice a tight, disciplined whisper. “We have people trying to work out. Nobody needs a scene on the floor.”
“Then in here,” I said, gesturing with my head toward one of his private training rooms.
I walked without waiting for their agreement. She’d follow. No way would she back down now. Something told me she wasn't the type to drop the argument when she thought she held some kind of moral high ground.
But this was my gym before it was hers, and I’d be damned if a mouthy little bitch was going to make it unbearable for me.
The training room was small but clinically clean. Organized just how Brock liked to keep his shit. The proximity made the space feel instantly crowded, the heat from our bodies bouncing off the drywall.
“You have about sixty seconds,” she said, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “Before I find a manager and have you banned for harassment.”
“Harassment?” I let out a dry, incredulous laugh, my left cheek pulsing where her hand had left its mark. “You slapped me. In front of a few witnesses, actually. All because I kept you from cracking your skull open.”
“I didn’t ask you to,” she fired back, taking a step toward me until the toes of her sneakers touched mine. “Just like I didn’t ask you to steal my parking space.”
“I was saving your life, you ungrateful lunatic!”
“Hey, watch your tone,” Brock interjected, sticking close to her shoulder. “And you know the rules about respecting clients’ personal space.”
“Her legs gave in and I stopped her from falling!” What was so hard to grasp about that? “Quit playing bodyguard and get real for a second.”
“I mean it,” he warned, stepping forward.
The laugh that rose out of me was paper-thin. “She’s been looking for a reason to get me thrown out of here since day one, and you and Hunter have been too busy falling for her games to see what’s right in front of your faces.”
“You’re an arrogant prick.” Her face flushed a furious crimson. “You’re the one who’s had it in for me. You make a point of getting in my way, and you hate that I’m not one of your skanks, pandering to your every whim.”
“My what?”
Brock pushed between us, hands raised to hold us back. I didn’t need it, but Jess looked about ready to rip out my throat with her teeth.
“Look, it’s obvious this is going nowhere,” he said. “Dane, why don’t you call it a day and we figure this out tomorrow?”
“You’re seriously kicking me out? She almost crashed into my truck getting here, she’s been nothing but annoying and childish—”
“Childish?” Jess snapped her head around Brock’s guarding arm. “That’s rich coming from you.”
“I’m not the one running around here crying to management whenever I don’t get my way.”
“I’ve never cried to anyone about you!” Her voice cracked at the end, her chest heaving as she struggled for breath.
“You’re an insecure bully who can't handle the fact that I’m not impressed by your little performances.
You think you're some kind of prize, but you're just a loud, irritating obstacle in my day.”
“If I'm such an obstacle, find another gym.” I slapped Brock’s arm away. I wanted her to see my face, to see how much I meant what I was saying. “Go find some boutique yoga studio where everyone pretends you're special. Because in here, you're just another body in the way of my equipment.”
“That’s enough,” Brock said, his hand coming down onto my shoulder with real force, his fingers digging into the muscle to haul me back. “Get out of her face.”
The contact broke the circuit, and the anger in her face suddenly shifted, buckling beneath a wave of something much sharper.
Something raw and exposed that made her features look suddenly fragile.
Her mouth opened, but no words came out.
A single, hot tear broke from her lower lid and ran down her cheek, cutting a clean path through the salt and grime of the workout.
She didn't stay long enough to let me see the second one.
“Jess, wait!”
But she was already on her way out, the door swinging on its hinges as she stormed through it.
The sudden silence of the small space rang in my ears. My chest was tight, and the red mark on my cheek felt colder now. It was as though the heat of the argument had drained out of the room along with her hasty exit.
“Nice work, genius,” Brock said, his voice filled with quiet disgust.
I moved to the threshold, my hand resting against the wooden frame as I watched her retreat across the main floor. She was practically running, her head down, shoulders hunched as if she were trying to disappear into her own skin.
Through the clear plexiglass panels of the lobby partition, I saw her hit the turnstiles.
Hunter was there in an instant, abandoning his post at the desk to intercept her before she reached the exit.
His arms came up, his hands catching her shoulders to steady her, his head bowing down until his mouth was near her ear, his posture full of an immediate, protective softness.
The same protectiveness I’d seen from Brock moments ago.
I bit the inside of my cheek as her forehead dropped against his shoulder.
Then he guided her around the counter, turning her away from the prying eyes of the remaining clients.
He opened the door to the administrative office behind the desk, ushering her inside.
The door closed behind him with a final click.
“If you can’t contain this, he’s gonna have to escalate it.” Brock sounded like my dad instead of a friend. “What’s your deal with her anyway?”
I turned slowly, letting my back rest against the doorframe. Brock hadn't moved from the center of the room. His arms were still crossed, his massive shoulders squared, his face a mask of unbothered contempt.
“I don't need a lecture on gym etiquette from you,” I said, my voice flat, the adrenaline from the screaming match leaving a bitter, metallic taste under my tongue. “She crossed a line, and you know it. The question is, why are you taking her side?”
“You stole a parking spot, and then grabbed a woman because your ego couldn't handle her beating you to a machine,” he said, sounding done with me. “You've been riding her since the day she walked in here. Every set, every repetition, you're tracking her like a hawk. You're obsessed.”
“I didn’t grab her. I helped her,” I hissed, my fists tightening inside my pockets. “And all the other stuff… Okay, maybe I’ve been giving her a hard time. But it’s harmless fun, not obsession.”
Brock let out a short, mocking sound that wasn't quite a laugh. He shook his head, his eyes boring into mine. “You're an idiot if you can’t see how this is playground politics 101.”
“What?”
“You're into her,” Brock said, the words falling into the room with the blunt force of a lead plate.
“You like Jess, but because she doesn't fall out of her chair when you walk past, and because she actually calls you out on your bullshit, you don't know how to handle the physics of it. So you act like a total asshole to keep her from realizing how much space she’s taking up in your head.”
The accusation hit my chest in a burst of cold water. “You're out of your mind.”
“I don’t think so.”
“She's a pain in the ass.”
He shrugged. “I’m just calling ‘em how I see ‘em.”
“Well, you’re wrong,” I said, fighting the urge to run and hide. “She's the most annoying, stubborn, combative woman I've ever met. Not my type, thanks.”
“Sure.” A knowing smile broke through his stern expression. “She’s all those things. She’s also crazy smart, and she doesn't break when you push too hard. And that drives you crazy because you know you don't stand a chance with her.”
“And you do?” I scoffed, the heat in my blood flaring up all over again. Thicker this time, darker. “Is that what that little huddle by the dumbbell rack was about? You playing the sensitive protector so she’ll give you a five-star review on your training portal?”
Brock just stood there, looking down at me with the supreme, maddening confidence of a man who already knew the score. Like someone who had already occupied the territory I was blocked from entering.
“I don't need to play anything,” he said then, the tension leaving his shoulders. “Unlike you, I actually know how to talk to her without starting a riot. And unlike you, I know exactly what she likes. How she likes it. And how to give it to her.”
The implication hung in the tight space between us, dense and suffocating.
How to give it to her.
The phrase uncoiled in my brain, translating instantly into a truth I couldn’t stomach. The subtle lean of his head by the dumbbell rack. The way he’d tucked her hair behind her ear with a familiar softness. The way she had trusted him with whatever she was whispering before I interrupted.
“You fucked her.” The words sounded hollow, and I didn’t know why.
They were both consenting adults, free to do what—and whom—ever they pleased.
Brock didn't deny it. He didn't even try to soften the blow. He just shifted his weight to his back foot, his chin rising slightly in a gesture of silent, arrogant confirmation.
“That's none of your business.”
The world shrank down to the space between his jaw and my knuckles. Every thought in my head pulled into a stinging flatline as I dropped my shoulder and swung. The impact was a dull, cracking explosion of bone against cartilage as my fist met his face, and he fell to the floor.