One to Love (One to Hold #4) (2 page)

“Good morning.” Her voice was quiet and had the faintest hint of remorse, but I didn’t respond.

Instead I went straight to the smoothie machine and loaded it up with almond-coconut milk, a banana, Dino kale, and two scoops of crushed ice.

“You’re the one ordering all the kale?”

I glanced up to see her pert nose wrinkled. “I didn’t order it,” I said. “The girls over at Veggie-Smooth asked me to try this recipe for a week and send them clients. If I like it, of course.”

“I can’t even imagine.”

Hitting the button, an irritating
WHIRR!
filled the space, mirroring how I felt inside. “I’m leaving at noon today,” I shouted over the noise. “When Pete gets here.”

Her light brows clutched together, and I could tell she was working out a response. She knew I was pissed, but to be honest, I wasn’t really sure why. I didn’t begrudge them a healthy, married sex life, and it was their club, after all. Still. They should’ve at least closed the damn shower curtain.

She took a step closer and leaned against the bar beside me. “I’m sorry, Ken. About earlier. Your key was in the cubby.” It was her way of saying they didn’t think I was here, and she watched me a few moments waiting for my response. “Are you very mad?”

I released the button on the machine and poured the green mix into a cup. Exhaling, I took a sip of the surprisingly tasty drink. She had a point. Leaving my key in the cubby
was
the internal code I hadn’t arrived, but I wasn’t convinced she hadn’t heard me in the small boxing room. I was being pretty loud.

Clearing my throat, I nodded. “A little. I mean, Jesus! Weren’t you just in bed with him at your house?”

“You’re right, of course you’re right.” She held a hand up in agreement. “It’s just... Rook had to be up here early this morning, and well, I guess... He heard me showering?”

“Why were you even showering here? What’s wrong with the shower at your house?” One look at her face, and I knew the answer—she was as horny as he was. “You know what? Just forget it.”

I shook my head and did a little growl. “I’m feeling tense. I’ll take off early today, decompress over the weekend, and we’ll just forget the whole thing.”

Her hot-pink lips pressed together, and she gave me a little smile. “I’ll try not to let it happen again.”

I suppressed an eye-roll before taking another long sip of my breakfast. “I would
really
appreciate that.”

The women were filtering in for her class, all dressed in booty shorts and neon spandex just like their instructor. They were as bubbly and festive as she was, but a few steps behind them, a short, slightly stooped elderly woman followed. She was dressed in cotton sweats, very old-school and real, and she wore small glasses.

“Mrs. Clarkson!” I called, giving her a wave. “Over here.”

Confusion left her face when she saw me waving, and she smiled. “Kendra!” She held a hand straight up, and I laughed, thinking of Rook’s silly motivational posters. We were signaling each other across the Amazon—familiar tribe here.

“Come on.” I caught her hand and led her in the opposite direction, toward the free weights and the machines where I’d work with her on strength training and balance. We got started with our first circuit: curls.

“Keep your elbows in line with your shoulder.” I lightly touched her joints as Mrs. Clarkson curled the four-pound dumbbells toward her chest. “That’s right.”

She exhaled a laugh as she lowered the weights. “I’m such a weakling. I don’t know how you have the patience for me.”

“No way, you’re doing great!” I easily lifted the small purple hand weights she used, but as I turned, I caught the shimmer in her eyes. “Are you okay? Was that too heavy?”

She hastened to reassure me. “Oh, I’m fine! I’m fine.” But her voice trailed off on the second
fine
.

Guiding her workout had eased the irritation...
frustration?
simmering in my chest over this morning’s shower surprise, so I gently tried again. “It’s okay if you want to talk.”

Mrs. Clarkson was about the same size as I was, five foot, just at one hundred pounds. She was also forty years older than me, and while I was basically all muscle, she was working to get hers back.

She gave me a tired smile. “It’s Friday. I don’t want to spoil your weekend fun with my old problems.”

Blinking down, I helped her lean forward, her knee on the bench, as she slowly extended her elbow behind her, dumbbell in hand.

After I was sure her form was correct, I answered. “My fun weekend will most likely consist of lying around on the couch watching television.”

“Boyfriend out of town?”

“No.” I shook my head, exhaling a laugh. “No boyfriend. Not for me.”

Switching the weight to her other hand, we rearranged her position. She didn’t say anything, but I could tell the wheels were turning in her head.

I gave her a little wink and a smile. “So tell me why your
fine
doesn’t sound so convincing.”

She shook her head. “It’s just an anniversary. George and I would’ve been together fifty years today.”

Taking a step back, my eyebrows rose. “Fifty?”

A smile softened her face at my look of shock. “People got married younger back then.”

“I’ll say. You must’ve only been, what? Eighteen?”

She nodded setting the weight on the rack. “That’s right. And we had forty loving years together.”

The idea of that teased an old ache in my chest, a fantasy I thought I had moved past clinging to—what my life might have been like if only... My inner masochist forced me to ask, “Do you still miss him?”

“Every day.” Her scratchy voice was just above a whisper.

Sitting on the bench where we’d been kneeling, I only half-realized I was leaving my one client of the day hanging. It didn’t matter. She turned and sat beside me, looking at her own shoes the way I studied mine.

“Now your turn.” She sounded like the grandmother I didn’t have. “Why would your
fine
not be very convincing?”

“I am so sorry.” I stood then, starting to move past her to the next machine, but she caught my arm.

“It’s okay to talk.” Her smile was warm, soothing. I turned my palm up and ran my finger over the black teardrop I’d inked there years ago.

“It’s not my anniversary or anything. But sometimes I feel like my life will always be this way.”

She held my hand. “What way?”

I blinked up at her and did a little smile. “Alone. Missing... I was only twenty-one when Blake died, but it never seems to get easier.”

Compassion was all over her face, and for the first time in a while, it didn’t make me want to clam up or run away. “Was Blake your boyfriend?”

I thought about the question as I looked at the small window above us. “He was my first real boyfriend. When he said he was leaving for Princeton, I couldn’t let him go, so I married him and went with him.”

“Oh, dear!” She stood up and pulled me into a hug. “I’m so sorry.”

Shaking off the bad memories, I forced a real smile. “Now who’s spoiling Friday? I’m sorry. Let’s work on your balance.”

She followed me over to the large ball in the center of the room. Facing each other, I held her hands as she slowly lowered to a sitting position on top of it. Her gray eyes were full of concern as she watched me.

“You lost him... five years ago?” Her voice was quiet, and I nodded.

We were talking softly, although the only other person in the club was a man on the treadmill running hard, earbuds firmly in place.

“Was he the father of your sweet little boy?”

At that question, my cheeks warmed. “Umm... no,” I stammered. “That was somebody else. Sort of a random thing that turned into something more permanent, I guess. But we’re not together or anything. Patrick’s just my friend.”

It was hard to explain my relationship with Patrick Knight to anyone who didn’t know him. We’d had a stupid, drunken hook-up that turned us into parents. It didn’t change the fact that we were completely wrong for each other. Now he was blissfully engaged to someone else—to Elaine—and I was... alone.

Still, that encounter had given us Lane, my beautiful little golden-haired boy with the big blue eyes. He lived with Patrick and Elaine, but I visited every chance I got, and when I hugged him and buried my face in his soft skin, I could almost believe it was enough.

Mrs. Clarkson was strangely reassured by my news. “That is a
very
good sign.”

I almost laughed. “The fact that I’m an irresponsible person who shouldn’t be allowed to shoot Tequila is a good sign?”

“The fact that you were willing to open your heart again. Maybe you handled it poorly, but you’re too young to give up on love. I’m glad your heart knows it even if your head has to be checked out for it to happen.”

“Head checked out. That’s a great way to put it. I should’ve had my head checked out.” I did laugh then.

We were finished with her routine, and I walked with her back to the juice bar. Before we parted, she took my hand and gave it a squeeze. “You have a kind, loyal heart. It’s not a betrayal to Blake’s memory to live your life.”

It was the same thing everybody always said, but for some reason, hearing it from another survivor hit me hard. I had to clear the thickness in my throat before I was able to answer.

“Thank you.” I whispered, nodding, and she was gone.

A quick glance at the clock told me it was almost eleven. The women were filing out of Tammy’s class, laughing and making noise. Zumba was one of the few fitness classes where participants came out more excited than when they went in. My irritation started to return, and I collected my things.

Eleven was close enough to noon, and I really needed a break. Stopping at the cubbies where we stowed our personal items, I saw a small, white box in Mariska’s. Pulling it down, I recognized Pete’s handwriting and shook my head. As many times as she said No, he still gave her little gifts. It was sweet and heartbreaking at the same time.

It also reassured me that he was in the club somewhere. I grabbed my keys and my hipster bag and headed out the door.

––––––––

R
ook Callahan was not what I expected to meet at my job interview at the Jungle Gym Friday afternoon. He was a head taller than me and built like a mountain. Black tattoos showed faintly on his ripped arms, which rested in front of him on the desk as he studied my resume. A heavy, stainless watch was on his wrist.

I’d spent two days poring over the Help Wanted section, looking for anything that didn’t require a lot of background information—restaurants, garages, cranberry bogs. Most places wanted references, and I was lucky to have Doc, even if he wasn’t always available to take phone calls.

“You say you’ve never worked at a health club before?” His black eyes cut to me.

“No.” I held his stare a moment before I looked down at my hands, running my thumb over the bold
21
inked on the back of my right one. A blue, red, and green network of vines and a skull covered my forearm above it, and I was glad he had ink as well. That was one additional bit of prejudice I didn’t need. “I’ve used gyms quite a bit, but I’ve never worked at one.”

“You’ve got one reference listed. This somebody related to you?”

“No.” Looking up again, I met his gaze head-on. “References are difficult. If I can speak for myself, I’m a hard worker, and I’m only looking for honest work. Nothing more.”

He chewed the inside of his bottom lip as he looked back to the sheet in front of him. Then he leaned back in his chair and ran a large hand over his close-cropped hair.

“You used to be a fighter?”

My insides clenched, and I wanted to push us quickly through this part of the conversation. “Years ago. I had to... I was forced to quit.”

For whatever reason, that admission changed him. The hard intimidation softened, and he leaned forward to stand, circling the desk so that he was in front of it, facing me.

“When I played ball, I knew a lot of guys forced to quit for whatever reason.” He paused and looked at the door as if reliving it. “They’d get mixed up in some shit or the other. Couldn’t let it go.”

His words were probably meant to build a bridge, but I could feel the heat rising in my chest, that old anger sparking to life. I tightened my jaw, searching my brain for one of Doc’s mantras, hoping to head off whatever he might say next.

“I just need a job.” My voice was flat.

Bridge unbuilt, intimidation back. I was far more comfortable with that arrangement. “Any of your shit going to come to my gym?”

“No, sir,” I answered fast. “It’s in the past. Over.”

He nodded once. “I’ll give you a shot, a probationary period. You show me we need you up here, that you won’t cause any problems, and I’ll see about making it permanent.”

“Fair enough.” I stood and held out my hand.

He stared at it before pushing off the desk and going to his office door. “I’ll give you the tour.”

I put my unshook hand in my pocket and followed him down the short hall. He paused at a set of double-glass doors to the right. “Through here are racquetball courts and on the other side is the group fitness center. The women’s lockers are behind that. You’ll take care of them after hours—mornings, evenings, you decide.
Not
when the women are present.”

I nodded. “Understood.”

He continued a few steps, and we were near the center entrance, where a large juice bar was situated.

“Mariska works the bar. She’s off Fridays, but we can usually handle the traffic. Keep the floors mopped and the trash emptied back here. She can handle wiping down the counters.”

I nodded, and a very blonde, very stacked female stepped into the center of the bar area. She had the kind of body that made any guy’s dick twitch, and by the way she moved, I could tell she knew it.

“This is my wife Tammy.”

She was also officially off-limits, not that I was interested in romance of any kind. I did a quick nod before looking down.

“Nice to meet you.” Her voice was smooth and friendly. “You our new maintenance guy?”