by Randi Rigby
“I know.”
“I’m sorry, Kel.”
I looked at him with tear-filled eyes. “I know.”
“Come here.” He wrapped his arms around me. “Are we okay?”
“Yeah.” I laid my head against his chest. “I know it doesn’t look like it, but I’m happy for you Dad.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Thanks.” Dad’s voice had grown thick. “That means a lot, Kel.” He kissed the top of my head, straightened up and then cleared his throat and looked sternly at the two of us. “But don’t think this means you’re getting out of explaining that ring on your finger, young man.”
Drew grinned. “It’s a great story. We’ll save it for dinner.”
“Good idea,” I said. “Then he can’t kill us.”
Erin Caffrey was a slim brunette with dark eyes, a great smile, and a quick wit. She wrinkled her nose whenever she laughed and she laughed a lot. So did Dad when he was around her. He was lit up from the inside again.
“So, what do you think?” Drew asked, sliding his arms around my waist as he stepped in behind me while I started the dishwasher. Dad was walking Erin to her car.
“I like her.”
“You think he’s serious?”
“He wouldn’t have asked her to have dinner with us if he wasn’t.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“I’m not sure. Give me time. I’ll get there.”
We finally got the ring off using a YouTube trick with dental floss. “I think the universe was trying to tell me something,” Drew said, flexing his now bare but much abused finger. We were sitting on my bed, a mishmash of long limbs.
I tugged on his shirt and cocked my head. “Marriage isn’t for you?”
He leaned over and kissed me. “Next time bring a bigger ring.”
A text popped up on my phone, which was currently lying on my nightstand.
It was from Jack. Tony’s tomorrow, right? Good luck with that.
“Tony?” Drew said, handing me my phone. “Sorry, didn’t mean to look.”
“Tony. It’s been a really long week.”
Tony Ardestrani was short and bulky. He was balding so he’d just given up and gone full cue ball, which was sad. He couldn’t be any older than 35. He wore a muscle shirt and cut off sweatpants at the knees and carried a clipboard when I walked into his facility Monday after school. On his biceps he had inked some Chinese characters. I made a mental note to figure out what they meant.
“Tony Ardestrani. You must be Kel McCoy.” He squinted up at me.
“I am. Thanks for agreeing to meet with me, Tony.”
“Kirstie said there was some urgency.”
I set that aside. For the moment. “I’ve never had a personal trainer before. I’m not sure how this works.”
It started with a lot of measurements. Modeling, you get used to complete strangers handling your body. With the exception of a few pertinent private inches, Tony now knew me as well as my mother did. And he’d taken pictures. He plugged it all into his computer program and turned me into a spreadsheet.
Then we worked out, forty-five minutes of plyometrics and an hour of boxing and he pushed me harder than I’d ever been pushed before. He left me planking while he printed out my diet and workout schedule for the rest of the week. “Any questions?”
I slowly got to my feet. Several things hurt already, but I’d done ballet for ten years. I had grit to spare. “I’ll let you know.”
I hated him.
“I hated him.”
On the other end of the line Jack laughed. “I think you meant that.”
“Oh, I did.” I was lying flat on my back in my bed. I had him on speaker because I didn’t have the energy to hold onto the phone. “He’s got me on a strict diet. I have to weigh in every time he sees me. He wants to reduce my body fat by 2% before the Fit shoot.”
Jack stopped laughing. “Seriously? Has he seen you?”
“He spent three hours with me today Jack.”
“Where the…where does he think you’ve got 2% to spare?” He was angry.
“He has a spreadsheet I’m sure he’d love to show you,” I sighed. “It’s fine. The shoot is in less than a month. I can do anything for a month.”
“Whatever. Don’t think I’m dropping this—I’m not, but I actually called you for a reason. Have you looked at your Instagram lately?”
“Um, define lately.”
“Grace. Kelly. McCoy.” Pretty sure if Jack ended up with TMJ it would be all my fault.
“What? I’ve had midterms.” There was a long pause broken only by something that sounded suspiciously like more teeth grinding on the other end of the line. “All right. Don’t say it. I know, I’m lame.”
“Yeah. You are. Look at it.”
“Right now?”
“No. Next month.” Someone was getting grumpy.
“Fine.” I rolled over and opened it up on my phone. 500,097 followers?! Whoa. That was over half a million people. “Half a million?” Dropping the phone back onto my chest, I licked at lips that had suddenly gone dry and pushed my hair back off my face. “When did this start snowballing?” The last time I’d checked we’d barely cracked 80,000 and that was after I worked the beach volleyball tournament Tropically Kissed sponsored in Miami where Jack had been manically pimping out my socials. “Is this for real?”
“Apparently your Dopamine Dressing segment got name dropped on L.A. Lit last night and it was picked up by all the major entertainment news carriers. Subscriber adds to your YouTube channel have been skyrocketing.” He was like a kid on Christmas morning. “Kel? You still there?”
“Dopamine Dressing, huh?” It was hard not to sound the teeniest bit smug. If I had the energy I might have even gloated.
“Okay, fine. I’m man enough that I can admit when I’m wrong.” Of course he could, he so rarely was.
We argued over what to call our latest Texas Tall vlog for a good hour but I wanted this title so bad I even made it personal and proposed dragging my reluctant father on camera to give us a punch of fun chemistry context (Jack: How many teen-age girls even know what dopamine is? Me: We’re not stupid. And we have Google).
He finally caved because I’d become passionate about finding and wearing clothes that made you feel good about yourself and I really sold it. Dad’s dry sense of humor was pitch perfect for his brief cameo. Hands down, it was my favorite piece we’d ever done.
“We make a good team, Donnelly.”
“Yeah. We really do.”
“Half a million people. Kirstie should give you a raise.”
“Actually, you pay my salary.”
“I do?”
“You do.”
“Hmm. How are you at holding up flashcards?” I asked, eyeing the stack of French vocab I still had to get through before I could call it a night.
“Go hydrate, McCoy.”
The next morning I was aware as I woke up that a large portion of my body was already sore. Moving just confirmed it. I ran anyway.
“A less graceful Grace Kelly?” Blake said as I shuffled into English Lit. The heat from running and a hot shower that had offered my aching muscles a temporary reprieve was now officially over. And the ibuprofen had yet to kick in.
“Not today, Blake.”
“And submissive as well. What’s going on?”
I sank carefully into my desk chair. It was always a toss-up—just get the excruciating pain of sitting down, engaging those screaming quads, over with all at once or handle it gingerly? I breathed through it. “Personal trainer. I don’t want to talk about it.”
Tactical error on my part because of course, now his interest was piqued, but I wasn’t myself at the moment. He followed me around all day long. Even to the parking lot when school was over and Becca had long abandoned me for some online gaming tournament she’d cut sixth period to make. “Victoria’s Secret?”
“What?!”
“Just tell me. You know I’m going t
o find out.”
“No.”
“No, it’s not Victoria’s Secret or no, you won’t tell me?”
Scrud. Andy Jarrod was waiting for me by the Mini. At. My. School. SO many red flags. “Blake, stop talking.” I dropped my voice but it was urgent and possibly a little frantic. “Will you do something for me without asking any questions?”
He regarded me intently, the cockiness dropped away. “Okay.”
“See that man standing by my car, he’s been following me. I don’t think he wants to hurt me but I don’t want to talk to him. Will you just walk me to my car and help me get away?”
Eyeing Mr. Jarrod suspiciously, Blake nodded and put his hand on the small of my back, positioning himself so he was between me and Drew’s father, who had backed away from the Mini looking irritated. “See you tomorrow,” Blake said when he was sure I was safely belted in. Then he closed the door and watched me lock it and drive away.
Who knew? When push came to shove Blake could be a good guy. What to do? If I told Drew about his father showing up at my school he’d lose it. If I didn’t and Drew found out…I’d better tell him. Later. He had a game tonight. I didn’t want him distracted.
“BURPEES!” Tony was spitting in my face. Well, actually, it was more like my collarbone—he couldn’t reach my face when we were both standing. Not unless he got a stool.
I glared at him. If this was a battle of wills he should know mine was being jet fueled by my intense dislike for him. I didn’t like the way he stabbed his meaty finger at my chest when he was trying to make a point. I hated being called “Barbie.” And I couldn’t stand the way he sucked air through his teeth when he was thinking. I was almost excited for boxing just so I could direct some of my aggression at its intended target. Not that he couldn’t lay me out with one punch, but he wouldn’t. At least I didn’t think he would. The hatred might be mutual. I suspected that it was.
Not thirty minutes later Jack unexpectedly strode in with one of Tony’s assistants trailing unhappily behind him. “Hey Kel.”
“You’ll have to wait outside,” Tony said, lowering his boxing gloves and glowering. I was doubled over, panting, and evilly considering throwing a cheap shot at that iron jaw while he was distracted but it would probably break my hand.
“Sorry, Kirstie asked me to stop by and check on our client.”
“And you are?”
“Jack Donnelly. I’m head of Kel’s personal team.”
That mustered a smile out of me. What that boy wouldn’t do for more cookies.
Tony frowned. “This isn’t part of our arrangement. Do I need to call Kirstie?”
“I don’t know. Do you?” Jack wasn’t backing down. He took a seat and pulled out his laptop, making himself comfortable. He was here for the duration.
“Again!” Tony barked at me. We resumed sparring, which consisted mostly of Tony egging me on, telling me I punched like a girl and pushing me around the ring while he yelled at me to hit him already. We finished with me jumping rope at a quick clip for twenty minutes. “Tomorrow I expect you to work harder.” Again with the finger jab. “We go full out or not at all. Do I make myself clear, Barbie?”
I didn’t have the breath to answer him. Instead, I threw up on his shoes, something I found supremely satisfying. And in some sick and twisted way, so did he. Smirking, Tony hunkered down on the floor, removed his shoes and socks, and left them in a pile by my vomit for someone else to clean up and walked away.
“Are you okay?” Jack asked staring hard at Tony’s departing back as he helped me to my feet. Jimmy from the front desk was already on his way with a mop.
“Dandy.” I swiped weakly at my face with the bottom of my sweat-soaked tank top and headed straight for the water fountain to rinse out my mouth. “What are you doing here?”
“After we talked last night I did some research on this guy. Talk to Kirstie, tell her what’s going on here Kel. I’ll back you up. This is just wrong. I get that he gets results, but no one deserves to be treated like this. It’s inhuman.”
“He wants me to quit. He doesn’t think I can take it.”
“Are you kidding?!”
“One month.” I grabbed my water bottle and my bag. “I’m going to go home and make a paper chain, one link for every day I have left with him. He’s not going to win this.”
Frustrated, he shook his head.
“What? Just say it, Jack.”
“Why are you doing this? Look at you, Kel. You’re already in great shape. You got this feature because you’re real—not some unrealistically cut, fitness freak who lives her life in a gym. You don’t need this. You don’t need him.”
“Kirstie thinks I do.”
“Kirstie’s wrong.”
“You going to tell her that, Jack? Because I’m not. She wasn’t wrong about me needing you.”
Jack glared at me. “I’m not Tony.”
“No, but I didn’t want you either in the beginning. And look at us now.”
“Yeah? Well, you make me crazy.”
I smiled at him and bumped him with my hip. “Psh. You know you love me.”
10
“If I could turn back time”
Cher
“Kel?”
Startled, I jumped. My hand flew to my throat as I spun around on my heel. It certainly didn’t occur to me in the moment that a mugger or rapist probably wouldn’t know my name. Drew’s father—again. The parking lot at Barton was practically deserted. I’d come in early to do a make-up lab since I had to be gone the rest of the day for work. Besides being caught off guard, I was more than a little freaked out that he was here waiting for me when school didn’t officially start for another hour. “Mr. Jarrod? I wasn’t expecting you.”
He put both hands out in front of him, palms up. I guess to show me he was unarmed, which wasn’t always the case in Texas. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. I just want to talk.”
Tucking a container of cookies under my arm, I locked the Mini and started briskly making a bee-line for Barton’s front doors. “You should probably talk to Drew.”
I wasn’t the only one with long legs—we were practically the same height. Mr. Jarrod had no problem keeping up with me. “I would but as you saw the other night, he refuses to talk to me.”
“Then you can understand why I can’t talk to you now.”
“I’m just trying to apologize to my son. I need to make things right. I don’t expect it to change anything between us. I just want the chance to be heard.”
Keep on walking. Ignore the obvious desperation in his voice. “Then write him a letter.” It sounded cold, even to me.
He grabbed my arm, so abruptly the cookies slid around in their container. “Would you give it to him if I did?”
I was a bit frightened at how tight his grip was. “If you think that would make him more likely to read it, you don’t know your son at all.”
“I’ve seen the way he looks at you. If you ask him to read it, he will.”
“Please let go of me. I’m going to be late for my lab.”
He stepped in front of me, stopping me altogether. “I screwed up Kel. I’ve done nothing but screw up where Drew and his mom are concerned. Nothing I can do or say will change that. But they should know that I’m sorry. That’s all this is. Does that seem like a bad thing to want?”
I hesitated and then felt myself give way. Those Jarrod blue eyes were endlessly my undoing. “I honestly have a lab I’m going to be late for and then I’m gone for the rest of the day. If there’s a letter waiting on my windshield when I come out—and you’ll only have an hour—I’ll give it to Drew. I can’t promise anything more.”
He let go of my arm. “Thank you.”
An hour later I emerged victorious from another successfully made up chem lab. I had to bribe Mr. Frantz into coming in early using Gran’s oatmeal chocolate chip cookies and Becca slept through most of it, but the important thing was I had just enough points now that I could still squeak out an A i
f I aced the final. Which was a good thing. I wasn’t looking forward to trying to explain to my father how his only child, with his love and mastery of chemistry clearly coded into her genetics SOMEWHERE, could only manage a B.
My euphoria was short-lived. From the front steps of the school I could clearly see an envelope tucked under the wiper on the driver’s side of the Mini. I’d really hoped there wouldn’t be. I still hadn’t told Drew about the first time his dad was waiting for me at my school. I had no idea how I was going to explain this. But I knew someone who might.
“Kel?” There was a long silence behind the surprise in Jack’s voice. I knew exactly what he was doing right now. He was pulling up my schedule on his laptop and squinting at the screen because that boy refused to get glasses. “You’re supposed to be on your way to Archer Darby. Don’t tell me you’re using your cell phone in the car?”
“Of course I am, Jack. Don’t be a pain; I’m hands free. I need some advice.”
“Well, since you asked me so nicely…hang on.” His voice was muffled. Someone had stopped by his desk to chat. That someone was female and flirty and slow to take a hint. “Sorry, I’m back. What can I help you with?”
As I continued to negotiate traffic I explained everything, beginning with Drew’s basketball game and ending with the sealed envelope I now had sitting in my purse, an undetonated bomb. Jack just listened quietly without interrupting once. “So, Wise One,” I finished. “What should I do?”
“First of all, always say ‘Wise One’ with awe and reverence. What do you really know about this guy, Kel?”
“Drew’s father?” I chose my words carefully. I didn’t want to betray any confidences. “He was in the Air Force. Apparently being faithful isn’t really his thing, neither is paying child support. I think he’s lived life on the edge. Drew and his mom figured out how to get by without him pretty early on. Why?”
“Let me just recap so I make sure I’ve got this right. Drew’s father cyber stalks you when he figures out you’re his son’s girlfriend. He knows your name and what you look like. He knows what car you drive, even though we’ve been painstakingly careful to make sure there are no existing photos of it across both your socials and Drew’s. He not only knows what school you go to, he’s shown up there twice—a grown man who should have a job and a life, neither of which should include harassing a minor. He physically restrains you and practically forces you to carry a message to his son, who so far has refused to have anything to do with him and in all likelihood is going to be furious with him and you for doing so. Did I miss anything?”