Chapter 43
The morning after my loss, I roll over to the sound of my cell buzzing. It’s too early for this to be a good call. I pick up, holding it close to my exhausted face. “Hola.”
“I’m so sorry, Yolanda,” Liza, one of my instructors, blurts. “I hate to flake on you again this morning. My son is so sick. He’s been up all night.”
If this were anyone but her—a single mom struggling after a bad divorce—I wouldn’t put up with it. I blink at the clock on my nightstand. Four a.m. “No problema.” I yawn. “But can you handle the afternoon class?”
We have a bunch of tourists and the new judges coming in for the next show. Pain pierces my chest, a hard reminder of my loss. I swallow.
“Sí. My mom will be here by then.”
“Okay. See you later.” I hang up after she thanks me and calls me a saint and tells me God will rain blessings down upon me and she will never forget my kindness. Some bosses would say I’m being a sucker, but Liza had never missed a day until her divorce. I’d rather be a sucker than someone so wrapped up in themselves they can’t be a decent human.
I roll out of bed and stumble to the bathroom. My legs and arms ache from my performance. Another painful reminder that I gave it all I had.
Easton’s T-shirt brushes my knees as I walk by, bringing a smile to my lips. I sniff the collar. It smells like spice and heat, the masculine odor that is all him.
There’s one good thing to come from losing—now I don’t have to hide how I feel about him.
I trod across cold tiles that, thanks to an overhead vent, get colder in the bathroom.
Running water, I tie back my hair, splash my face, and begin to get ready. Liza called early enough that I could go back to sleep, but I’m not going to. A half hour more of sleep will only make me more tired.
After dressing, I check my texts. There are way too many. I know many of them are encouraging and gentle, but I can’t face them.
My chest aches. Curious—maybe masochistic—I click on Haydée’s text.
Haydée: Fuck those idiotas. You looked amazing. And Kim still wants to talk to you. All is not lost. She’ll pay top dollar. It will all work out. You’ll see. Te amo.
Wiping the stubborn tears from my cheeks, I decide I’ve had enough punishment. I read Easton’s text next.
Easton: Couldn’t sleep after we spoke. Got an early flight. Be there before you know it. Hug incoming.
He’s coming back early for me? A knot of emotion pushes warmth into my throat. It’s okay. It really is. Yes. It’s—I wipe more tears—not what I wanted, but I can do this. Who knows? Maybe Kim and I will get along. And Mateo is bound to have something good happen after that show that demonstrated his equipment. That’s something that wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t competed. And Haydée has gotten some really positive attention from the show, too. I helped with that by being a contestant.
I sniffle, blow my nose, and put on my game face. Despite the pain of my loss, I’ll focus on the things that will help me move forward. Tonight, when Easton gets here, I’ll curl into his side and cry. For now, I’ll do my job.
After slipping into my trainers, I leave my apartment and head up to the gym.
It’s 4:30 when I stride toward the gym doors and see the automatic lights are already on. Someone is here ahead of me? Mateo is not a late sleeper, but definitely not an early riser. Easton and Stone aren’t in town, so maybe there’s someone else from the show? Not Cameron. He’s gone.
Striding through the door, I listen for the tell-tale sign of someone working out. I don’t hear the grunts of weights or even the thud of a treadmill. The person must be in the locker room, likely changing.
I start to stack the towel cubbies around the desk. At a flash of dark across the desk, I startle and spin around, hands raised.
“Whoa. It’s okay. I’m your new security,” the silver-haired man says with a tight smile.
I hadn’t been expecting the security to show this morning. Last night, I’d told them their presence was no longer necessary since I wasn’t on the show any longer. They must’ve decided that, since I wasn’t paying them, I couldn’t make my own decisions.
It’s only a day. Easton will come home tonight. I relax. “Buenas dias,” I say, stacking the remaining towels. “You’re new. I wasn’t expecting?—”
I’m jerked back against the man’s chest. An air mask clamps over my mouth. Every one of my muscles locks in place. I hang there, rigid as a Barbie. My heart starts to pound.
I have to do something. Fight!
Panic unlocks my body. Kicking frantically, I twist at the waist and drive my free elbow into the man’s hard-as-steel stomach over and over.
His hold tightens. The plastic mask pressed over my mouth bites into my cheeks.
Automatically holding my breath, I look down. It’s attached to some kind of slim canister. My mind screams with fear. I can’t breathe that in.
Heart hammering, I rock and kick, rock and drive my elbow against him. I shove every bit of power I have into twisting free or trying to inflict pain.
As if it’s no more effort than for a doll, the man picks me up and propels me forward.
My ribs slam into the desk. There’s a crack. Sharp pain spreads through me. A swell of nausea rises up my throat. The air is crushed from my lungs.
Unwillingly, I gasp. The taste of metal and compressed air whooshes across my tongue and down into my lungs.
The gym blurs, swirls, then goes dark.