After a few more minutes, I was huffing and puffing and, worse, bored out of my head. “Sorry, Tate. I’m not sold. This feels lame to me. Maybe if I had headphones or something.”
“You’re thinking about it wrong,” he said, shaking his head. “Headphones will only fill your mind with something else. Think about this as a time to listen to what’s already in there. It’s just you and the road, you know? Clear your head and focus on each step at a time, what your body’s doing.”
I tried, I really did. But as night set in and the quiet settled around us, I couldn’t clear my head. Over and over again, I went through the fight with Chris, the way I had felt myself pushing him away and had felt completely powerless to stop it. Why?
I could hear my mom’s voice in my head, her telling me that Chris was like my dad. Was I trying to push him away because I thought, deep down, that she was right? Or had I simply been spooked by what my parents had gone through? Why hadn’t I just told Chris what had happened? If I had explained about the affair, about how messed up and scared I was feeling, he would have understood.
Yet, according to my mom, that was part of the problem, wasn’t it? That guys like Chris and my dad were too understanding. What had she said? No passion.
“Well,” Tate said, a moment later, “I don’t know what you were thinking about there, but it sure seemed to help. You just ran a nine-minute mile.”
“I did?” I gasped. I hadn’t realized I was going any faster. My normal rate on the treadmill was around a ten-minute mile. I couldn’t believe I was really capable of doing so much more.
We had returned to the doors of the gym, and I bent over, trying to catch my breath. Tate patted my back, his hand lingering. “You did great, Ashley. I’m proud of you.”
I knew I should have been skeeved out by his hand on my back—particularly as he transitioned from patting to a gentle rubbing motion. There was absolutely no reason for him to still be touching me. And Ryan had warned me to watch out for him. But I couldn’t help but be comforted by his touch. Everything had been so crappy lately—that simple human contact felt great.
“Thanks,” I said, straightening. “And thanks for taking me out.”
He held the gym door open for me. “It was my pleasure.” As I passed through the doorway, he leaned down, so his face was close to mine. “I like spending time with you, Ashley.”
I stared up at his beautiful face. It wasn’t like being close to Chris—my tummy didn’t flip and my heart rate didn’t speed up. In fact, I didn’t really feel anything. But he was really, really good-looking. And I couldn’t help but feel flattered.
“You do?” I asked stupidly.
He grinned. “I do. In fact, I was thinking we should go grab some food after this. You know, recharge a little bit. What do you say?”
“Uh, I’m not really, um,” I stammered. Being flattered was one thing, but agreeing to see him outside of the gym was something totally different. I headed for the stairs to the workout floor, trying to think of a way to turn him down.
“I know a really great smoothie place nearby,” he pressed. “We could go get protein shakes, rebuild the muscles.”
We had reached the workout floor, which was nearly deserted. Most of the class had already left. I looked frantically for Ryan, hoping he had shown up, knowing he would come over and save me.
But Ryan was busy. I spotted him, finally, on the other side of the room, standing with Chase. He was laughing; their heads close together. Too close. As I watched, he rested his hand lightly on Chase’s chest and whispered something in his ear.
I felt a sudden swell of rage. At Ryan, for so blithely throwing away the good thing he had with Brian. For my mother, for what she had done to my dad. Even for Chris, though I wasn’t sure why. I was the one who was messing up. I was the one I should be angry with.
Maybe there’s hope for me yet, Ryan had said on Sunday. Or maybe there wasn’t. Maybe he would screw up every good relationship he would ever have. If people like my parents couldn’t even make it work, what chance did anyone have? I felt a swell of recklessness swoop through me. It was almost like feeling free—like I had nothing to lose.
“Yeah,” I heard myself say. “A smoothie sounds great.”
Chapter Twenty-four
I rode to the smoothie place with Tate in his sporty-looking red Volkswagen. I had planned to drive myself but realized, when I got to my car, that I had locked the keys inside.
“Should you call someone?” Tate asked, clearly disappointed.
“No,” I said, the reckless feeling not yet waning. “I’ll deal with it later. I just want to get out of here.”
He smiled. “Your wish is my command.”
The smoothie place was only ten minutes from the gym. “I come here all the time,” Tate told me as he opened the door for me. “They have really great shakes.”
“Sounds good,” I said, feeling shivery. I wondered if it was the adrenaline. Tate ordered us each a peanut butter protein shake, and we sat down at an empty booth.
“I’m glad we did this,” he said, smiling at me. “I’ve been wanting to spend more time with you for a while now.”
I smiled, feeling some of the adrenaline trickle away. What was I doing? It’s just a smoothie with your trainer, I thought, pushing the doubt away.
“So, how does your fiancé feel about you spending so much time at the gym?” Tate asked.
I shrugged, not wanting to talk about Chris. At the mention of him, more doubt had crept in. “He wants me to be happy.”
Tate chuckled, his eyes roaming briefly over my body. “I bet he’s not complaining. You’re getting into really nice shape, Ashley.”
Oh God, what was I doing? Just like that, the remains of the adrenaline left my system, leaving me feeling annoyed with myself—and slightly scared. I didn’t want to be here with this guy. Why had I done something so completely stupid?
“Tell me about being a trainer,” I said quickly, hoping if I could get him talking about something harmless, I might actually get through the outing without freaking out. It seemed to work. Tate clearly loved his job and was happy to regale me with tales of being a trainer—most of which seemed to include him hooking up with girls or out-lifting his male clients.
He talked pretty steadily until I had finished my smoothie. “Want to do something else?” he asked. “Maybe head back to my place, watch a movie.”
“No, thanks,” I said, very relieved I had locked my keys in my car. It gave me the perfect excuse. “I really should get home so I can get my roommate to drive me back to the car with my spare keys. Thanks though.”
“Another time, maybe,” he said, smiling at me.
“Sure,” I said brightly. Anything to get me out of here, I thought. I needed to go home and do what I should have done last night—tell Chris about my parents and everything that had happened that weekend.
Tate picked up right where he left off as he drove me home. From the way he talked, half the women at the gym wanted to hook up with their trainer. No wonder he thought I’d be an easy mark. I had never been so happy to see my apartment building.
“Thanks for the smoothie, Tate,” I said, hurrying to unbuckle my seatbelt. “And for the run.”
“It was my pleasure, Ashley,” he said, his voice low. Then he was leaning toward me in the darkness. Before I could protest he had pressed a soft kiss to my cheek. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Uh, yeah,” I said, overwhelmed with the desire to get away from him. “Thanks again.”
I pushed the door open and scrambled out of the car, wanting nothing more than to get upstairs. In my haste, it took me a moment to realize that there was someone sitting on the front steps, waiting for me.
It was Chris.
“Holy crap, you scared me!” I cried, putting my hand to my heart.
“Sorry about that,” he said, his voice flat.
It suddenly occurred to me that my fiancé had just watched me get out of another man’s car. Had maybe
even seen him kiss me. Oh, shit.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, my heart pounding.
“Ryan called,” he said, his voice still flat and expressionless. “He was worried when you left your car. I came over to make sure you got home okay. But I see someone else already did that.”
“Chris, it’s not what you think—”
“Save it, Ashley,” he said. He sounded exhausted. “I saw him kiss you—”
“He kissed my cheek. He’s my trainer, for God’s sake. It was nothing.”
“Ryan told me about your parents.”
Crap.
“He did?”
“He did. And I couldn’t help but wonder why you didn’t tell me, last night. That’s what that was all about, right? That fight? You were freaking out about your parents.”
“Chris, I know I should have told you—”
“But you didn’t. Instead you went out with that guy.” He stared at me, his eyes searching my face in the darkness. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, Ashley, but I’m done hanging around, waiting for you to open up to me.”
“Chris, come on.”
He held up a hand to quiet me. “No, Ashley. I mean it. I’m not going to sit here waiting while you screw everything up because you’re scared. Your response to our fight was to go out with your trainer behind my back? Really?”
He paused, searching my face. “If you’re trying to end this with me, you’re going about it the right way.”
My entire body went cold. “No,” I whispered. “Chris, no.”
He stepped down from the concrete step and began to move past me. “You need to figure out what the hell you want, Ashley. I’m going home.”
“Chris.” I tried to call after him but my voice came out raspy and weak. “Please, wait.”
But he didn’t listen. I watched as he walked across the dark parking lot, climbed into his car, and drove away, leaving me standing there, alone.
Chapter Twenty-five
“Have a good long weekend, Ashley.”
I looked up from my desk to see Susan peeking her head in my classroom. “Thanks,” I said, giving her a little wave. I saw her pause, as if considering, before she came into the room and over to my desk.
“Any big plans?” she asked, her voice cautious. I wondered if she could tell that I’d been upset. It would explain her tiptoeing around me now. I did my best to cover the dark circles from not sleeping with make-up, but my red-rimmed eyes were a dead giveaway of the tears I’d been crying.
I tried my best to smile sincerely at her. “I’m going to visit my sister in Boston.”
“That’s nice.” She paused again. I wondered if she wanted to ask if Chris would be joining me.
“How about you?” I asked, trying to head her off.
“We’re going to try and get the yard cleaned out,” she said. “If the weather cooperates.”
“Good luck.”
“Thanks.” Another pause. “You doing okay?”
“I’m fine. A little tired. The four-day break will be great.”
“Yeah. Well, have a great time. See you Tuesday.” With a last concerned look over her shoulder, she was gone. I looked up at the clock. Almost three thirty. I had to get home if I was going to make my flight.
* * *
Allison met me at the airport. Neither of us cried this time, but she did hug me for an awfully long time.
“Food first or home first?” she asked, loading my bag into her trunk.
I shrugged. “I’m not all that hungry.”
She eyed me. “You’ve lost a ton of weight.”
“I’ve been working out,” I said, not mentioning that I also hadn’t eaten much since Ryan left my house Sunday night.
Allison lived on the second floor of a cute old brownstone in the city’s Kenmore neighborhood. She could walk to Fenway Park from her apartment, a fact that continued to rile my father to this day. She assured him that, whenever the Tigers were in town, she wore her old Kirk Gibson jersey to the games, regardless of the boos she might receive from the residents of her adopted hometown.
Allison deposited my bag in her bedroom and walked immediately to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of pinot noir and two wine glasses. “Do you want to spill your guts in here or out on the couch?” she asked.
I smiled at her directness. “May as well get comfortable.”
“Couch it is,” she said, leading me out to the living room. We settled into her somewhat tattered sofa, new from Ikea the day she got her first apartment at MSU. While Allison poured, I looked around the room. My sister’s decorating tastes were eclectic. Built-in bookshelves covered an entire wall, filled with a vast assortment of paperbacks and shiny hardcovers. She had painted the walls a cool lime green and covered them with framed, black and white prints, mostly of city buildings. Brightly hued cushions were scattered about on the couch and chair, neither of which matched. It had a cozy, warm feeling. My mother would have hated it.
“Okay,” she said. “Start from the beginning.”
I took a deep breath, and a deeper sip of wine, and told her everything. About Ryan seeing Mom, and me going to confront her. About the email and going down to see Dad, and his subsequent passing out at the table. I even told her about my fight with Chris, and agreeing to go to the smoothie place with Tate.
“So, basically,” I finished. “Everything is totally and completely screwed up.”
“Wow,” she said, her eyes wide. “When you said drama, you really meant drama.”
I reached for the wine bottle on the coffee table, having run out somewhere around the part of the story where Chris saw me get out of Tate’s car.
“And Mom is still running around town planning this wedding?” she asked.
“Yup. I got an email from Jen just this afternoon, letting me know they finally agreed on the shade of ivory for the invites.”
“She’s insane,” Allison breathed. “I mean, I always knew she was, but this takes the cake.”
“Apparently she thinks we can get through the entire wedding without anyone knowing they’ve split up. Even though she is currently moving her things into her lover’s house, and Dad is filing for divorce.”
“I still can’t believe he had the balls,” she mused.
“I know.” I felt the familiar squirm of my stomach. “I hope he’s okay. He keeps saying he is, but what if he’s lying?”
“He’s a grown-up, Ashley,” she said. “You can’t babysit him all the time.”
Easy enough for her to say, from seven hundred miles away. She hadn’t seen him Monday morning, drunk and crying.
“So what are you going to do about Mom?”
I looked at her, confused. “What do you mean?”
“I mean the wedding. You can’t let her keep this up. It’s crazy.”
“There probably won’t even be any wedding.”
“Ash, give me a break. You guys love each other.”
“You didn’t see him,” I countered. “He was so mad at me, Al.” I paused. “Actually, mad isn’t the right word. He was almost…disgusted. Like he couldn’t even be bothered to care anymore.”
“And you haven’t talked to him since?”
I shook my head. After Chris had left, I had immediately gone inside and called up Allison, asking her if I could come out for the holiday weekend. I’d somehow managed to get through the next two days at work, but I hadn’t heard from Chris, and I’d been too scared to call him.
“Well, what does Emily say?”
I felt my stomach clench. “We haven’t talked about it much. She’s so busy with work.” I didn’t want to admit to Allison that Chris had talked to her first, that I’d almost gotten the feeling she was mad at me. Chris and Emily had been friends for much longer than I had known either of them. Was I just imagining that she had taken his side?
“What are you going to do?”
I took another sip of my wine. “I have no idea. I was hoping maybe I could forget about things this we
ekend. Maybe if I get my mind off of it all, the answer will come to me.”
“We can do that,” Allison said. “I’ve got plenty of ways to keep you busy for a few days.”
“I’m not cleaning your bathroom, Al.”
She grinned at me. “We’ll see.”
* * *
Allison wasn’t joking when she said she had ways to keep me busy. She had planned an entire weekend’s worth of events. We went to eat at her favorite restaurants, met up with her friends at local bars, browsed for produce at the Haymarket, window shopped on Newbury Street, and even walked part of the Freedom Trail. I fell asleep every night, exhausted, with barely any energy to worry about my problems. I ate better than I had in a while, too, and the break from my grueling workouts seemed to revitalize my entire body.
Allison waited until Monday morning to bring up the situation with Chris. She dragged me out of the apartment first thing in the morning, deaf to my complaints. “I don’t care if you’re tired,” she said. “Your flight leaves in a few hours, and you cannot leave Boston without having breakfast at The Friendly Toast. Besides, we need to get there early in case there’s a line.”
By the time we were seated, my grumpiness had dissipated. Allison’s favorite breakfast place was really cool, in a retro, fifties, kitsch kind of way. I could immediately see why she liked it—much like Allison, this place had flair.
Over French toast and coffee, my sister once again asked me what I was going to do.
“I guess I have to go talk to him, huh?” I said glumly. “Try and apologize.”
“Yeah,” she agreed. “But I was actually talking about Mom. What are you going to do about the crazy lady planning your wedding for you?”
“I let it get so out of control,” I said softly. “Letting her take over like that, completely shutting myself off from everything related to the wedding. What a mess.”
Instead of offering platitudes, Allison nodded. “You did let it get out of control.”
I laughed. “You’re a great shoulder to cry on, you know that?”
She smiled briefly before turning serious. “Why do you think you freaked out so much?”
An (Almost) Perfect Love Story (Love Story Book Three) Page 19