10. Joey
Sleep didn”t come right away.
That burst of energy I”d had after wrapping up my phone calls had slowly faded, leaving behind a wake of dreary self-doubt and second guesses. What had I done? And why hadn”t I bothered to think it through?
I tossed and turned, replaying my mother”s voice in my head.
It wasn”t so much that they had cut me off. I mean, yes, money was something I was used to. Something I would need at some point soon when my cash ran out. But it was more than that. It was the feeling that if I didn”t conform to Mama”s expectations, then I wasn”t worth her effort. The notion that if I strayed from the cushioned and well-tread path she”d set me on, I”d get no support from her—financial or otherwise.
I hoped she was just hurt. And maybe Daddy would help her come around a bit. But before I could expect anything like that, I had to figure out what exactly I was asking them to accept. Who was I now? Who would I become?
I”d been shaped and formed for such a long time I didn”t have any real idea. And worse? I felt weak. Powerless. I”d exerted all the power I had in running away. Now? I had nothing.
* * *
I was awakened by an obnoxious and very loud whirring sound. Mechanical. A lawnmower?
I glanced at my phone. It wasn”t even seven yet. Who was mowing their lawn at this hour? And why did it sound like they were in John”s kitchen?
Moving clumsily from the soft, cozy bed, I cracked the bedroom door open. Louder. The noise was definitely coming from inside the house.
”Rooowwwwllllr.” Hank sat just outside my door.
”Hello,” I told him.
He seemed to see that as an invitation, and he pushed past me into the room, winding his way past my sock-clad feet to leap up onto the bed and judge me from there.
”What?” I asked, shutting the door again. ”Did that noise wake you up too?”
Hank just watched me, saying nothing.
Cats.
”I”m going in the bathroom. You”ll have to stay out here. Staring in there would just be rude. And weird.”
I closed myself in the little bathroom and stared into the mirror for a minute, trying to see if I looked different somehow. If my exterior matched my suddenly discombobulated interior.
Besides smeared eye makeup and a sleep crease along one side of my cheek, the answer was no. I splashed water on my face and tugged my hair into a ponytail, did the other required business, and stepped back out into the bedroom to slip on some clothes. Hank was nowhere in sight, which was strange, because I didn”t see how he could have left the room with the door shut.
With a sigh, I pulled the door open again and was about to step out when the cat brushed past me in a hurry, having appeared from nowhere.
Cats.
I stumbled toward the brightly lit kitchen, and identified the source of the noise. John was pouring something bright orange from the top part of a blender into two tall glasses.
”Smoothie?” I asked.
”Protein, some healthy fat. Some fruit. You”ll need it.”
I accepted the glass he held out and looked at him over the rim. His handsome face was clean shaven, and his hair slicked back. He wore a sleeveless workout shirt and a pair of athletic shorts, and if I hadn”t been so sleepy, I certainly would have managed some admiration for that. His arms did not need sleeves, that was for sure. They were better bare so a person could admire all the various muscles. If a person was so inclined.
”Why exactly will I need this?” I sipped the smoothie. It was delicious, if a little over-healthy tasting. I liked bacon in the morning. This was not bacon.
”You”ll need the energy.”
I felt myself frown. Energy was one thing I did not feel like I had a whole lot of at the present time, and not just because it was so early.
John saved me from asking more questions. ”I”m taking you to the gym.”
”Ew. No. I don”t... gym.” Visions of sweaty muscle heads filled my mind. ”I belong to a yoga studio at home.”
Home. What a strange word.
”I mean I did. In Peach Tree Grove...” My statement dwindled with my desire to speak at all. Yoga, like everything else, was part of my life before. Which I”d abandoned. Suddenly. Without thinking through the long-term consequences. Like no longer belonging to the fancy yoga studio I loved.
”Yoga”s great. We can do that here too,” John said, tipping a finger to the bottom edge of the glass forgotten in my hand as if encouraging me to drink more. I obeyed. ”But I have the sense you need to do something a bit more intense.”
What? Why? John was speaking another language suddenly. Where was this coming from? ”Intense? Like kickboxing?”
”We”ll start with weights and go from there.”
I shook my head. ”I don”t think I want to lift weights.” I”d lifted weights before. Small ones. In organized classes with lots of other ladies who had small weights to lift too. It just wasn”t something I had experience with. Weight lifting—real weightlifting—was for athletes and bodybuilders. Also... ”John,” I ventured, narrowing my eyes at him and sucking in my stomach. ”Are you suggesting I need to lose weight?”
John”s eyes flew open and his free hand went up in front of him, palm toward me. ”No, no. Nothing like that.” He adopted the appropriately apologetic tone of a man caught commenting on a woman”s size. ”That”s not what I”m saying at all. Like, at all.”
I sipped my smoothie, still eyeing him. ”So what, then?”
”This is about how you feel inside. Not how you look outside. Outside you look...” John paused, a blush climbing into his cheeks suddenly. ”Ah, I mean, you know how you look. You”re perfect.”
I gave him a second to struggle with his discomfort, enjoying it a bit more than I probably should have. ”Perfect, huh?” I swayed from one foot to the other. Even if superficial compliments changed very little about my current predicament, I liked the idea that John thought I looked good. ”So we”re going to go work out my insides with weights.”
”Something like that,” John said, clearly relieved to be back on safe ground. ”Do you have anything else to wear?” He eyeballed my capri pants and sleeveless top. ”Shorts?”
”You saw what I got at Target,” I reminded him.
He nodded. ”Leggings maybe?”
”I have leggings. And a long tee.”
”Perfect.” He grinned widely at me, and I had the distinct impression he was summoning up extra enthusiasm to make up for my total lack.
”I guess I”ll go change,” I said, not finding the energy to even feign excitement for John”s plan.
He must”ve heard it in my voice, because he called after me, ”you”ll like this. I promise.”
”Don”t make promises you can”t keep, Sammy.”
* * *
The gym John took me to was a sprawling industrial space filled with machines, weight racks, and people of all shapes and sizes working intently at various pursuits.
”I”ll head over there,” I told him, pointing to a row of treadmills where the occupants wore headphones and all seemed to be watching home improvement shows on the built-in TVs. I could zone out and stroll for an hour while John did whatever he needed to do.
”I don”t think so,” John said, catching my arm and tugging me back to his side. ”We”ll do a functional warm up and then we”re lifting.”
I cast another envious gaze at the people left to their own devices on the cardio machines and followed John to an open spot on the floor near a couple benches and a lot of free weights lined up along a mirror. There were a few men around, most of them large and sweaty, and none of them paying any attention to us. Or at least to me.
”How”s it going, Samuels?” one of them asked as he dropped a set of enormous dumbbells back onto the rack.
”Good, Foster. How are you? How”s the family?”
The man”s face broke into a friendly smile. ”Great. Twins are a lot though.”
”You get time to escape,” John pointed out.
”Mental health is important.” Foster”s eyes drifted past John and found me for a brief second, and he gave me a little smile. ”Hey, enjoy your workout,” he told us both, turning back to the rack.
”You too, man.” John gave me a smile and turned to the benches on the floor. He moved a couple out of the way and then looked at me. ”You stand here. Just do what I do. We”re going to move through some exercises to get our muscles ready to work.”
”Aren”t you supposed to be doing this kind of thing with your team? Like, don”t you have a bunch of fancy facilities and stuff?”
”I do go there sometimes,” John answered, his face growing solemn. ”But I like to work out on my own too.” I sensed he was not going to add more to that, so I nodded my acceptance and filed away a thought to ask him more about the team later. Seemed like something was up.
I watched as John reached up over his head and then folded in half. Easy. I could do that. I did the same, feeling the stretch through my back. Stretching was good. I should remember to do more of it. Then he dropped his palms to the floor and walked his hands out until his body was straight, balanced between his hands and feet. Harder, but I could do it. I followed suit.
Next, John lowered himself, his chest almost touching the ground. Eh. Okay. I did the same, my arms feeling shaky.
John pushed himself back up. I flailed, but managed it after lowering a knee.
”Down dog,” he said, pushing back with his hands into the familiar yoga post.
”I know this one,” I said, happy to be back on familiar ground. I pushed my hips into the air and let my head hang between my hands. I didn”t know about weights or going to the gym, but John had been right—moving felt good.
He walked his hands back between his feet and then rolled slowly back up to standing, and I did the same and gave him a grin in the mirror.
”We done now?” I knew we weren”t, but I”d found my stride playing the resistant student and I wasn”t going to quit yet.
”Not even close. Take a deep breath and let”s do that about ten more times.”
”Meh.” I followed John through the movements, my body warming and loosening with each repetition. The pushup was the hard part, and I managed a couple that I thought were pretty good, but I didn”t like how weak I felt in that position. Surely, I should be able to lift my own body weight, but I could not.
When we were done, my breath came a little harder, and I could feel my blood moving. Even though I”d be happy to stop and go get a mocha latte instead, there was something about moving that felt intrinsic, like this was what my body was supposed to be doing. It had been a while since I”d had that feeling.
”Today we”ll focus on chest and a little bit of legs,” John said, glancing around the gym, appearing to take stock.
”You want to focus on my chest, huh?” I teased.
John blushed, but managed to ignore it. ”Those pushups looked a little rough.”
”They were.”
For the next forty-five minutes, John led me around the weight floor, sitting me on equipment, handing me weights, and directing me. He corrected my form frequently, which was no surprise since this was the first time I”d done any of these movements. But he did it in the same friendly and encouraging way he did everything.
”Keep your elbows at ninety degrees,” he said, kneeling behind me as I lay on a bench with a dumbbell in each hand. I lowered the weight carefully, my arms shaking a little, and my elbows landed in John”s warm palms. ”Right there,” he said. ”No lower than that, okay?”
I gathered my strength and pressed the dumbbells back up, feeling John”s reassuring presence just behind me the whole time. He showed me how to use my legs to lower the weights without hurting myself, his hands brushing and pressing my arms, my legs, my back—all of it in the name of guiding me and correcting my form. The gentle touches were having a few other effects on me too, namely forcing me to notice how warm and rough his hands were, how carefully he touched me, how hot he looked when he was concentrating.
But none of that was what this was about. John wasn”t here for me to transfer my desperate need for purpose onto him. I”d barely ended a serious relationship, anyway. These were probably just some kind of chemical rebound urges. Only... I”d never had thoughts like this about Evan. Ever.
”You doing okay?” John asked as we finished the last set of incline chest press.
”Tired,” I said, taking stock of my body in a way I hadn”t done in a while. ”A little shaky, I guess.” I glanced around. I”d felt self-conscious when we”d begun, but all the other people here seemed focused entirely on their own workouts. Except for a couple friendly nods and hellos, they”d left us alone.
”That”s what you want to feel,” John said, putting our weights back and wiping them down. ”You”re stressing and tearing muscle fibers, and now we”ll work on nutrition and rest to help them grow back stronger.”
I looked at the very pronounced muscles on John”s arms, and traced one finger lightly over the swell of his shoulder tapering into the biceps and down to the muscled forearm. ”These are nice on you,” I told him, dropping my hand and meeting his startled eyes. ”But I”m not really looking for the gainz, I don”t think.”
Those dark eyes crinkled at the corners as he laughed. ”Don”t worry about that. You”re not going to get huge any time soon. And most women just aren”t built to put on tons of muscle without really trying to achieve that look.”
”You saying I”m weak?” I challenged, grinning.
”I”m saying you”re stronger than you realize and I”m going to help you remember it.”
Well. I hadn”t expected that answer. I wasn’t quite sure what he meant, or what strength John thought I had. It had been a long time since I’d felt anything like strong. I didn”t have a snappy comeback, so I sucked down some water and then followed John to the little cafe counter at the front of the gym.
”Protein,” he said. ”And whatever else sounds good.”
I gazed up at the menu, which was full of bowls and shakes and all kinds of add-ins and confusing supplements. Then I spotted it. ”Can I have the coffee shake?”
”One coffee and one banana-peanut butter shake, please,” John told the teenage boy behind the counter.
”Coming right up,” he said, turning away. He went about his business, mixing up ingredients and running blenders, but he glanced at John as we waited. ”You”re the goalie, right? For the Wombats?”
I loved watching John react. He dropped the kid”s eyes for a second and one hand went to the back of his neck as he looked back up and nodded with a smile. Bashful, but proud. ”Yeah, I am.”
”Dude, you”re incredible. We can”t wait to see what you do this season.”
”Well, that makes two of us,” John told him. ”Thanks.” He paid for the shakes and we headed outside.
”Thanks for this,” I said, lifting my cup towards him. ”And for the workout.”
John didn”t say anything, but we walked to his truck, and he popped the locks, throwing his bag inside. He looked at me across the front seat, since I”d just pulled open the passenger side door. ”Want to go sit in the park for a second while we finish these?” He angled his head at the green space next to the gym, where trees bloomed with leaves and blossoms, and kids ran with dogs around the little central playground.
”Sure,” I agreed. It was a beautiful sunny day—a little warm, but nothing like Alabama.
We headed for the park and found a shady bench, the summer air wafting gently around us in a magnolia-scented breeze.
”So,” I said, letting my eyes rest on the stumbling strides of a toddler crossing the sandbox carrying a toy truck to another kid. ”Why do you work out at a different gym than your teammates?”
For a moment, I didn”t think John was going to answer me. But then he said, ”It”s complicated.”
I turned to look at him, studying the way his smooth forehead tucked into those dark expressive brows, his proud nose jutting out just above soft, full lips. He had a very nice profile—and besides the fact he was handsome, there was also a lot about looking at him that made me feel calm and centered. John was my past, my happy place. It was why I”d come to him when my world was falling apart. And now? He looked like maybe he needed a happy place of his own.
”Tell me,” I pushed.
He took a long pull from his straw, making his Adam”s apple bob in a very distracting way, and then lowered the cup and gave me a little smile that didn”t look happy at all. ”I have a lot to prove to those guys, is all. To everyone, really.”
I waited because that didn”t begin to answer my question or explain why he sounded so tormented.
”I told you before that I’m the youngest starting goalie in the FHL,” he went on finally. ”And while I”m glad to be that guy, it”s a lot of pressure.”
”Okay,” I said, still not understanding the origin of what felt like a deep-seated worry somewhere in that heavy gaze.
”It”s just... I”m not sure I”m ready for it. And so I throw in some extra workouts. The rest of the guys are just holding their spots, right? The spots they earned and contracted for. But I got pushed into mine before anyone was really expecting me to be there, least of all me.”
”Why?”
”Because Mizzoni wasn”t supposed to leave yet. I was supposed to have at least a year to learn from him, to grow. Instead, I ended up being first string at the end of last season, and I barely held it together.”
”You”re worried you”re not qualified?” That seemed unlikely. John had been a hockey prodigy since he”d started playing in junior high, and no one worked harder than he did.
”I know I”m not.”
I felt my mouth drop open. I snapped it shut. ”Of course you are. They don”t go drafting just anyone and hoping it works out. You climbed a very rough ladder to prove you belong right where you are.”
John let out a sigh, rubbing a hand through his hair and tipping his head back to stare up at the crystal blue sky through the branches of the tree under which we sat.
”Are you supposed to do extra practices in the off season? Don”t they worry about you getting hurt?”
He rolled his head to squint at me. ”Maybe.”
”I see.” John was suffering from imposter syndrome. He didn”t think he deserved to be where he was. And I knew why. ”Well, I hope you”ll forgive me for saying so, but your dad is a dick, by the way.”
A laugh sputtered from John”s lips and he sat back up, smiling at me. ”Where did that come from?”
I sniffed. ”I saw it when we were kids, and I”m guessing he”s the one making you feel this way now.” John”s father had come to pick him up from my house a few times, and I”d met him at school as a kid. He”d also joined our family for dinner once at my father”s invitation. That had not gone especially well. The man had spent the meal telling my parents how fantastic his other son TJ was at football. While John sat beside him.
”He”s okay. This isn”t about him.”
I didn”t believe that for a second, but John”s tone had grown gruff, and I sensed it was time to move on. ”So am I going to have new, big muscles tomorrow and be able to lift couches with one hand?”
”That something you need often?”
I shrugged. ”I was going to marry a big strong man to lift heavy things for me, but now that plan”s scrapped, so I guess I”ll be moving my own furniture for a while.”
”For the record, I”ll always help you move furniture,” he said, his dark soft eyes meeting mine and generating a tornado of warm squishy happiness inside me. ”But no, tomorrow you”re probably going to be sore. You”ll be strong later.”
”So much for instant gratification,” I pouted. ”At least the shakes they have there are good.” The caffeine was definitely taking hold, and I was feeling better about the world in general. Maybe it was being outside. Maybe it was the company. ”What”s next, Sammy?”