by Stacy Wise
Ryan steps closer. “Time’s up. You can set the rope on the bench and grab your gloves. Did Jazzie set you up with some wraps?”
I pull the red ACE-bandage type things wrapped in plastic from my bag. “These?”
“You got it.” He takes them and rips the plastic with his teeth, pocketing the trash before unrolling the wraps. He’s different from other guys I know. There’s a primal assuredness about him that stirs something in me. He’s far from the clean-cut, conservative guys I typically gravitate toward, but I’m intrigued by him. “I’ll show you how to do these. Spread your fingers out on your left hand.”
He takes my hand and begins twirling the wraps between my fingers. “Why do you use these?”
“It’s another layer of protection. Your hands are your weapons, and we have to protect our weapons.”
I focus on his hands—his weapons—curious if he’s ever used them on anything besides a bag. He secures the wrap around my wrist with an easy touch and moves to my right hand. “Can you take off your ring? I don’t want it digging into your skin.”
I slide the ring from my index finger. It’s a gold band with a tiny arrow centered in the middle. I hold it in my palm, not sure where to put it.
“Here.” He takes it from me and drops it into his pocket. “I’ll hang on to it. Remind me to give it to you after our session.”
“Thanks.” I wonder if he has a stash of unclaimed jewelry in a drawer at home. He finishes wrapping my hand, and I tug on my gloves.
“Let’s get started. Show me your fighting stance.”
I position my feet and hold up my arms with my hands near my face, the way the woman in the online kickboxing tutorial did.
Ryan nods his approval, and a lock of hair falls into his eyes. He flicks it back and says, “That looks good. We’re going to start with some easy punches—just the one and two. You’ll do five sets: one, two, pause; one, two, pause; and so on. Now go.”
I fire off the punches in rapid succession, dropping my hands when I finish five sets.
He steps back and raises a brow. “Let me guess. You practiced.”
I shrug. “Yeah. I hate sucking at things.”
He considers me, and I wonder if he’s figured out that I’m a bit neurotic. “First of all, you didn’t suck. You’re new to this. There’s a learning curve. Hell, you should’ve seen me when I first started.” He looks upward, as though remembering. “I looked like a bear swatting flies.”
“Liar.”
He laughs. “Okay, maybe not that bad, but I practiced. A lot. Now get those hands up, and let me see some more of those fierce punches.”
Forty minutes later, my gloves are off, and I’m breathing hard. Sweat trickles down my nose onto my lip. I lick it away and quickly brush my hand across my mouth when I notice Ryan watching me.
“I think I’ve sufficiently kicked your ass for the day,” he says, shifting his gaze from my mouth. “Stretch time. Do what I’m doing.” He takes his right arm by the elbow, crossing it in front of his chest so his right hand reaches over his left shoulder. “This move will work your deltoids, which form the rounded part of your shoulder. They’re responsible for most of your arm movements.”
I nod, copying him. As he stretches, I glance at the tattoos on his knuckles and wonder how long he’s had them. Was it a spur-of-the-moment thing, or did he think it through? I’m curious why he chose live and love. Maybe one of the girls he’s seeing has matching words in a pretty font stamped across her lower back. He would’ve sat next to her, stroking her hand as the artist punctured the words into her skin. They would’ve gone out after, giggling over tequila shots at their rebelliousness.
“The shoulder is one of the more biomechanically complex joints, because it has the greatest range of motion in the body. You use them a lot in boxing, so you really want to take care of them.” He shifts to stretch the other side, and I follow, relieved he spoke before I fired off questions that are entirely too personal.
“You know a lot about all this. I mean the mechanics above and beyond boxing.”
“Yeah. The human body fascinates me. It’s constructed so perfectly, you know?” He shifts out of his stretch. “If you feel any knots later, you can use a tennis ball between your shoulder and the wall, and roll up and down.”
Jasmine stalks across the mats, phone in hand. I steal a glance at Ryan, wondering how he’ll finesse his way out of trouble this time.
“Sorry to interrupt, Ry, but do you remember the guy who did our computers a month ago? Roland something?”
“Uh, not really. Should I?”
She holds up the phone as if it’ll refresh his memory. “I don’t know. He keeps calling to check in and make sure everything is working. It seemed nice at first, but now it’s annoying. He calls every fucking few days.”
“So tell him we’re cool and you’ll call if something comes up.”
She smacks his biceps with the phone. “Duh. I did. He doesn’t seem to get it.”
He rubs his arm. “Don’t get violent. I’m here to help. Invite him to come down and spar with Javi or me. We’re always looking for new partners.”
“Great. That’s all I need. Do you think it’s cool if I send the phones to voicemail for the next few days, but I’ll check messages?”
“Totally fine. I treasure your sanity, Jazzie.”
She smiles sweetly. “And I treasure your smart-ass remarks.”
As she heads back to the desk, I hold in a laugh. Ryan catches my eye and grins. I toss my gloves into my gym bag and see my cell is lit with a voicemail. I’m sure it’s Lauren wondering when I’ll be done, but I check anyway. The number displayed makes me catch my breath. I grip my phone in a choke hold and stare at it, wishing I could discern just by looking whether the news is good or bad. The message is from Janks and Lowe. “Damn,” I mutter.
Ryan gazes down at me. “What’s that?”
“I don’t think I can do this.” My stomach flips, and I press a hand to my forehead. This is everything.
“Uh, not gonna lie. I’m starting to worry here. Don’t tell me the computer guy is calling you now.”
I look up at him. “Sorry. I um… It’s a message from the law firm where I interviewed. I’m scared to listen to the voicemail.”
He laughs. “You don’t seem like the type to scare easily.”
I slowly loosen my grip. “It’s fine. I’ll listen to it when I get home. If I don’t get the job, there’s a distinct possibility I’ll fall apart, and I’d prefer to do that in the privacy of my own home.”
“Come on. What if it’s good news?” Holding out a hand, he says, “You want me to listen? If it’s bad, I’ll break it to you gently. Then I’ll let you beat up the bag for a good half hour.” A mixture of sincerity and humor floods his green eyes.
I stand and pass my phone to him, studying his face. He nods as if listening to typical pleasantries, and in seconds, he ends the call and hands me the phone. “You got the job.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah. The guy—Steven, he said—emailed you an offer.”
I throw my arms around him. “Thank you!” It occurs to me too late that he probably doesn’t want to hug a sweaty client, and I drop my arms, stepping back. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to get my sweat all over you.” I dab at his shirt. And then I realize I’m touching his chest and yank my hand away. “Oh, man. Sorry. I’m just beyond excited.”
“Really? I couldn’t tell.” He grins. “How about I buy you a celebratory wheat grass shot?”
“Ooh. Tempting.”
He brushes a hand down his chest. “I try. Would you rather have something sweet, like turmeric with honey?”
God, he makes that sound appealing. “I can’t tell if you’re joking.”
“I never joke,” he deadpans.
The excitement of the job offer, Ryan’s teasing—it makes me laugh louder than I should. “Never. You’re one of the most stoic people I know.”
“Total drag, righ
t? By the way, they want you to start in a week.”
“Wow. Okay. Thanks. For everything.”
“No prob.” He raises a brow. “How about that turmeric? You up for it?”
“I’d love it.” Although I have no idea what it tastes like. It could be gross.
With a hand on my shoulder, he says, “To the smoothie bar with you.” We reach the compact smoothie bar in the corner of the gym. A girl in a red La Playa Mixed Martial Arts T-shirt smiles as we approach.
“Hey, Jen, can you make two turmeric shots for us?” He turns to me. “Do you like cayenne pepper? I always add some to mine.”
“Really? But it’s so hot. You like it?”
“Hell yeah. The spicier the better.”
“I’ll skip it, but thanks. Maybe extra honey for me.”
He laughs. “We make a great pair. You’re sweet, and I’m spicy.”
The girl behind the counter raises a brow. “I’m sure there’s a fabulously sarcastic comment I could respond with, but I just can’t think of it at the moment.” She lifts two plastic cups. “One with extra honey, one with a light sprinkling of cayenne. To your health, peeps.”
“Thanks, Jen.”
Ryan lifts his cup to mine. “To you and your new job. Congrats.”
“Thank you.” I eye the cup warily. “Promise this isn’t disgusting?”
“Promise.”
With that, we both tip back our shots of the gold liquid. It’s thick and smooth with hints of warm spice and honey. “Wow. That’s good. It tastes like fall.”
“The season?”
“Yeah. Cozy and warm.”
He blinks and shakes his head. “And mine was all fire. The light sprinkling was more like a dousing. Delish.”
“Tough guy.”
“You know it.” He chuckles to himself. “Only you would describe something like a season. If fall is warm and cozy, what’s summer?”
I roll my eyes. “Now the pressure’s on. Okay, let me think. Summer is sunsets and sand on your toes.”
“Well done.”
“Thanks. See you later.” I hold up my cup. “And thanks for the turmeric. I’m a fan now.” And not just of the turmeric. I spin to leave, but he touches my shoulder, and I turn back to him.
He holds up his palm, fingers spread. My ring is perched on the tip of his index finger. “Don’t want to forget this.”
“Right. Thanks.” I take it from him and slip it on.
“You have tiny fingers. That thing wouldn’t even fit on my pinkie.”
“Small hands, big heart?”
“I think it’s cold hands, warm heart. Cool ring, by the way. I like the arrow. Is it from someone special?”
“No. I just bought it because I liked it.”
“Cool. Congrats again on the job.” He high-fives me, and I turn to go, my mind lingering on his question. Was he simply curious? He was probably just making polite conversation. And I honestly shouldn’t give it a second thought. It’s not like anything can ever happen between us. Our worlds are way too different. So we’ll just be friends. Good ones.
I slide into my car, pressing my new key chain into my palm. “Thank you, Gran,” I whisper. My eyes fall shut, and I picture her smiling. I wish I could call her and tell her. She was always the first one I called with news.
I turn on my phone and call my mother instead. She answers on the first ring. “Hi, dear. Any word yet?”
“I got the job, Mom!”
“Wonderful! I had a good feeling about it. This will be a solid starting point for your career. Congratulations.”
“Thank you. I’m so happy—you have no idea.”
As soon as I end the call, I send a text to Hannah. I got the job!
Then I click open my email. The one from Steven Janks is right there, waiting for me. I have to read the offer twice. The salary is staggering.
Perfumed air greets me as I step into my apartment. Lauren bustles to switch her wallet from her tote to a pretty clutch.
I’m bursting to tell her about the offer, but the words stick in my mouth. “You look great. Date night?”
“Yes. Paul has been so busy with work we haven’t been able to go out. How was the gym?” She dots her lips with gloss before smacking them together.
“Great. And…I got the job!”
She snaps her clutch shut and looks up. “Wait. What?”
“You’re looking at Janks and Lowe’s newest law clerk!”
“Katie! That’s awesome!”
“Yeah. And the crazy thing is, they’re offering almost twice what my other firm had offered. I can’t pass this up. I mean, I would’ve accepted anyway, but this makes it even sweeter.”
“I’d say so. Wow. Go change your clothes! You have to come out with us tonight. We’ll celebrate.”
“We’ll do it another night. I’m a sweaty mess, and you need to spend time with Paul.”
She studies me. “Are you sure? I can reschedule with him.”
“Positive!”
“Okay. Think about where you want to go, and I’ll text Tracey and Fi. This is amazing!” She gives me a quick hug. “I’ll be back late. Congrats again.”
She slips out the door, and I stand in the middle of the apartment. The orchid my mom gave me a few months ago sits in the center of the kitchen table. Only two of the five original blooms remain, despite my best efforts to nurture it. I lug it to the bathroom with me. Maybe the steam from the shower will revitalize it. According to the instruction tag, they need lots of humidity.
I move my blow-dryer to the drawer and set the plant on the bathroom counter. Funny that Lauren will be having a romantic dinner tonight and I’m showering with a high-maintenance plant. But I have a job, so things are looking up.
Chapter Seven
Two days later, my laptop sits in front of me, my gratitude list bright on the screen. I inadvertently type a row of Fs—probably because my fingers have been poised in the ready position for too long. I’ve already added my new job. That was an easy one.
I try to come up with something else, but I can’t stop thinking about how Gran should be here to celebrate with me. How my dad should be here. Would he have taken me out to dinner? Brought me flowers? He used to give me flowers on my birthday—one stem for every year I was alive. The last time he gave them to me, there were ten red roses. Had I known I’d never get flowers from him again, I would’ve pressed them between wax paper, preserving them forever.
My phone buzzes, and I glance down to see the screen. Ryan the trainer pops up, along with my heart rate.
Hey, everyone, sorry for the late notice. I need to cancel all training today. I’ll reschedule with you ASAP.
Well, that sucks. I was looking forward to punching something. As I try to come up with an appropriate response, I realize it wasn’t only the punching I was looking forward to. The truth is, I wanted to see Ryan, too. There’s something about him that makes me forget everything else that’s going on. My phone sounds again, and I grab it, hoping he’s sending me a private message that he won’t have to cancel my session.
Guess what?!!
I don’t have to look at the name to know it’s Hannah.
Do tell!
Alex and I looked at rings last night. Engagement rings. OMG!
No way! That’s so exciting! Is he proposing soon?
I watch as the little dots appear, still absorbing the news. I mean, they’ve been dating since college, so I shouldn’t be surprised.
I don’t know. He played it off like he was shopping for his mom, and then we kind of drifted over to the rings. I’ll call you later to discuss! The bell just rang. Gotta get the kiddos from recess! Xoxo
Xoxo. Can’t wait to talk more. Love you!
I stare at my phone, thinking. We’re in such different places in our lives now. She may be getting engaged soon, and I’m totally single. But it’s good. I’m right where I should be. I close my list and head to my room for my running shoes. There’s an entire stretch of beach awaiting m
e, and I could use the adrenaline rush.
The midday sun is gentle, a pleasant change from the harsh rays that have plagued Southern California for the last week. I reach the pier, pausing to stretch my quads. Out of habit, I turn right, heading north. My legs feel tight as I get into stride. Ahead of me, an older woman pushes a baby jogger, her head bobbing happily, as though she’s singing to her grandchild. The straps of her purple tank cause the extra girth of her back to pucker. She looks like comfort, as though a hug from her, hearty and warm, could solve all the world’s problems. I zip past her, enjoying the feel of the wind in my face.
Thoughts race through my mind, waving a hand, desperate to be noticed, but they become garbled like a warped voicemail message. The woman’s bobbing head and solid figure shine bright in my mind. She reminds me of Gran. It’s not her appearance but rather her entire aura. The happy singing, the comfort, the joy. I run faster, trying to escape the tears that well up in my eyes. Nothing exists but the pavement ahead of me that I destroy with each pounding step, but it’s not enough. Every time something big happens, like getting the job and Hannah’s imminent engagement, I want to share it with Gran. It should get easier with time, but little things like the lady in purple take me by surprise and send all my feelings of loss surging to the surface.
I want Gran to be here.
I want my dad.
I flip a U-turn at the pier in the neighboring town in two efficient steps. Sweat trickles down the center of my tank, and my eyes burn as I tear down the path. I pass the woman with the jogger once again—this time heading toward her. Does she realize I’ve more than lapped her?
In my head, she says, “Patience, dear. You have all the time in the world.”
No! I need to get there before death steals everything from me when I’m not looking. Whoa! I stagger and slow my pace. Where the hell did that thought come from? But even as I wonder, the truth of it resides in my bones. We never know when our time is up. God knows my dad didn’t plan on having a heart attack. With my hands on my hips, I try to gain control of my breathing as I walk like a Lego figure—stiff and jerky—back to the La Playa pier where I started. I pause at the drinking fountain, quenching my parched mouth with the metallic-tasting water.