by Stacy Wise
He raises a brow in question.
“I’ve done a lot of research online. In fact, I found a place where I might be able to start volunteering. It’s called the Holden Center, and it’s really close to my office, so it could work out great. Maybe it’ll feel like I’m finally putting my law degree to good use.”
“You’re one tough chick. And you impress the hell out of me. Come here.” He pulls me into a hug, resting his hand on my hair. It’s protective and sweet, and I’d be perfectly fine if we stayed this way for the entire hour.
“Thanks. You impress the hell out of me, too.”
His arms suddenly drop, and he steps back, sliding a hand through his hair. His eyes flash to where Jasmine sits. “We should get rolling.”
In the mirrors that line the wall across the gym, I see a reflection of Jasmine. She’s watching our every move, unsmiling. But maybe she’s not watching us at all and just staring into space. God knows she has a lot on her mind.
Ryan claps his hands together. “We’re going to mix it up today. I’m going to have you start with two minutes of nonstop punching on the bag. Get your wraps on, and we’ll get to it.”
“Okay.” I roll the fabric around and across and through, like a spider making a web. I secure the Velcro and walk over to him.
“You ready?”
“Yeah.”
He clicks the stopwatch and says, “Okay, go!”
I start punching the bag. Left, right, left, right. Ryan stands to my right, but he’s not looking at me. From my peripheral vision, I see he’s focused on the stopwatch as though he’s timing something really important, like the departure of the space shuttle. “You’ve got a minute forty-five left. Keep it up. Move your feet. And don’t forget to breathe.”
A ragged breath escapes me, and I’m back in the yoga class, a bug-eyed iguana, unable to breathe normally. The bag looms in front of me, and I drag my arms up, ready to fight. It’s just the bag and me.
I punch until he tells me to stop. But then it’s roundhouse after roundhouse. It’s almost like he’s avoiding having to talk to me. Did something happen between him and Jasmine last night? But he texted me…
When I can’t lift my leg to do another kick, he lets me take a quick water break. It’s the perfect time for him to say something funny to alleviate the strange tension. Or maybe he’ll ask me if I’ve thought about our kiss. And I’ll say, Yes, I haven’t stopped thinking about it. I dreamed about it last night. Then he’ll push me up against a heavy bag, kissing me hard, right here in the middle of the gym.
But I’ve barely unscrewed the cap to my water when he runs off again. When he returns, he hands me a fifteen-pound kettlebell. “I checked out some cool kettlebell exercises online over the weekend.”
My ears perk up at his mention of the weekend, and I look at him, eager for more, but he simply nods and shows me the first exercise. And all we talk about is the many uses for the stupid kettlebell. I’m ready to chuck the thing through the window.
He’s right next to me, close enough to touch, but he might as well be standing outside. I can’t stop thinking about how desperately I want to drop everything and kiss him. I’m crazy about a guy who I never would’ve picked out of a lineup for me. He is so far from what I thought I needed—so far from the paper version of Brad that looked great to my mother but essentially added up to nothing for me. The way Ryan stares at me makes me feel like I’m the only person in the room. No one has ever looked at me the way he does. The way he did. Something must’ve happened last night. But what?
I finish the kettlebell swings, and he nods toward the battle ropes. “Let’s get three sets in with the ropes. First set is twenty star jumps, second is twenty double waves, and the last is twenty snakes on the floor. Let’s go.”
I hold back a groan. He knows I hate snakes on the floor. They’re exactly what they sound like—making the ropes look like snakes slithering along the ground—and they absolutely kill my shoulders. I’d normally joke and ask if I could lie on the floor for a twenty count instead, but I can’t bring myself to say a word.
A bare bulb clicks on, shining a line of harsh light onto the turf. It must be set to go on at dusk. Ryan steps to the side and shades his eyes as I swirl the ropes. “The cover broke the other day. We need to get a new one. That bulb’s killing my eyes.”
I toss the ropes aside when I reach twenty and heave a breath. “Yeah. It’s bright.”
“You enjoyed that, didn’t you?” He motions to the ropes, lifeless on the ground.
“Hated every minute.”
He laughs, and I feel lighter and brighter. The power he has over me is scary. “Great job tonight.”
“Thanks.” I don’t even try to hide my smile.
He shoves a hand through his hair. “There’s something I want to run by you.” His tone is different—just slightly—but it draws me in, making my head buzz with butterflies.
“Sure.”
“I think it’d be cool for you to try some sessions with Javier.”
The smile drops from my face. “Why?”
He looks at the ground, at the wall, anywhere but at my eyes. “It’s good to mix it up so you can develop your own style and not become too dependent on one trainer.”
My heart pounds against my chest. It’s trapped and needs to escape. Too dependent on one trainer? It doesn’t make sense.
Oh God. Unless it does.
Their constant banter.
His concern.
They had the entire night to talk after he texted me. Maybe they didn’t just talk… My stomach aches with the thought. He’s moving me aside so he can have the one he’s always wanted but just couldn’t see. That time when she was watching Claire’s little dog and said, Fuck you, Brincatt, and he said, Keep dreaming of the day, I thought he meant you keep dreaming, when the truth is, he meant I keep dreaming of the day.
“But I—” The look on his face makes me shudder to a stop.
“Javier is awesome.” He smiles like everything’s okay. “Is it cool if I give him your number so he can set something up with you?”
Humiliation and sadness battle for real estate on my chest and face, both threatening to display their red stain. I tug at my wraps and begin to unravel them from my hands. “Sure. Pass my number to him.”
“Cool. I’ll do that.”
I’m too flustered to respond. And now my wraps are a tangled disaster piled at my feet. With a sigh, he picks up the slack and begins rolling it into a tight ball. Does he see my heart down there, breaking on the ground? He places the neat rolls into my palms and presses them shut. It feels final, like he’s folding my heart into my hands and asking me to leave. “There you go. You’re set.”
Won’t he miss me? Even a little bit? “Thanks. I’ll see you around, I guess.”
He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Hang on a sec. I have something for you.”
He jogs inside, and I consider leaving before he returns. What does he have for me? A copy of Javier’s bio so I know how lucky I am? His sister was right. He has issues.
He returns before I’ve succeeded in making my legs work, a flat paper bag the size of a piece of copy paper in hand. He stands in front of me, sturdy and stable, and I feel like sand streaming through an hourglass. My time with him is up. But the nervous smile on his face tells me to wait. “I, uh, I’m not sure I was supposed to do what I did, but I couldn’t resist.” He carefully pulls a single sheet of thick paper from the bag. “I took a photo of one of your dad’s pictures, and I painted this for you.”
I take the paper from his hands and stare into my own beaming face. It’s the picture of me running to my dad in Central Park. The one that matters the most. Thoughts are rose petals in my head, drifting and floating, but words stick like thorns in my throat.
“Do you like it?” He shifts on his feet.
My eyes meet his, and I bite my lip, afraid I might accidentally tell him I love him for doing this. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”
“You should always look this happy.” He gestures to the picture. “It reminds me of how you looked after getting off my bike.” He bites back a grin. “Happy looks good on you.”
I want to scream at him. Doesn’t he know he can’t do nice things like this for female friends he’s accidentally kissed? They’ll all fall for him. God, he’s probably left a trail of broken hearts across every gym and tae kwon do studio he’s ever set foot in. “Thanks. This means a lot to me. More than you’ll ever know. I, um—”
The door clatters, and we turn. Javier steps onto the turf along with a trail of his students. “Okay, guys, the medicine balls are on the racks. Grab one to share with your partner. Make sure it’s not too heavy.”
Ryan presses a hand to his forehead. “God, I can’t even get a minute,” he mutters. “I need to get to my next client, but I’ll have Javier get in touch with you.”
My chest tightens as my mouth goes dry. He said happy looks good on me. A lump forms in my throat. I want to ask if he thinks this makes me happy, but my voice is trapped. And I’m left with yet another reminder that all endings aren’t happy ones.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I’m sitting on the couch, staring at the dark TV screen when Lauren walks in. “Hey.” She glances at the blank screen and turns back to me. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know.”
She pulls off her boots and pads over to the sofa, moving a throw pillow to sit next to me. “Talk to me.”
“He passed me off to someone else today. Said he doesn’t want me to become too dependent. He made it sound like I’m a clingy girlfriend, and he dumped me.” I snap my fingers without making any noise. “Just like that.” Grabbing a pillow to my lap, I hug it close. “What the hell is wrong with me? As soon as I start to get close to someone, they’re like, ‘Oh God no. Why would I want you?’ Like I’m the suckiest person alive.”
She rests her head on my shoulder. “You’re the furthest thing from sucky, and you know it. At least, on a better day you would. Maybe it’s their policy to switch trainers after a certain number of sessions.”
“Nope. I read the contract. It’s me.” The lump in my throat prevents me from sharing my fears about him and Jasmine.
She sighs. “I don’t know what to say. He seemed like he cared so much about you.”
My thoughts screech to a halt. “What do you mean? When?”
“That night he brought you home—I mean, I was pissed at first because I thought he was the one who got you drunk, but I knew that couldn’t be right, because he was so gentle with you.”
I wrap my arms around myself, remembering the way he insisted on getting me home, and how he told Lauren to make me toast. If only I could remember every sweet thing he did that night, but it’s a hazy blur. “That may be true, but I think he just likes to be the good guy. He is a good guy, but it doesn’t matter.” I sit up straighter on the sofa. “I’ve done a lot of thinking since I got home.”
“And?”
“I think I put myself in situations where there’s a high potential for a painful outcome. It’s like I want to experience pain that I inflict upon myself so no one else can hurt me. I knew Brad and I wouldn’t last. God, I couldn’t even say I love you back when he said it.”
“Oh, man. I didn’t know that.”
“I’m an emotional hazard to myself.”
“Aw, sweetie. It sounds to me like you’re making a lot of important discoveries about yourself. And think about it—maybe being with Brad was the launchpad you needed to break through some issues. You stayed true to yourself, and you didn’t try to fake feelings. That’s huge. And now you’ve fallen for someone unexpected. It seems your heart is more open than ever. You can call yourself an emotional hazard all you want, but I think you’re the opposite.”
A small laugh whooshes out of me. “You’re good at the positive spin.”
“Maybe, but it’s the truth.”
“Thanks for saying that. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
As I head to my room, memories of the cab ride with Ryan drift into my mind. They’re hazy and scattered, but I know how I felt. Safe. Protected. The picture he painted sits on my desk where I left it. I pick it up, staring into the bright eyes of the younger me. “I’ll take care of you, sweet girl,” I whisper to the picture. Tears flood my eyes. If he had painted a picture of me on the day we got caught in the rain, my smile would’ve dazzled through the gray skies. Or on the day I saw him at the beach with Sydney, or when I slammed the freaking battle ropes the first day we met. Every day with him was perfect.
But it’s over. The tears spill down my face, stinging my lips with their salt, and I sink onto my bed. I think it’d be cool for you to try some sessions with Javier. The words were like a sword to my heart. No, not a sword. More like getting the wind knocked out of me. Like I knew all along he didn’t feel the way I do, but when I was forced to hear the words, it took my breath. I pound one of my pillows before tossing it to the floor, wishing I could make the searing pain go away. But there’s only an empty, hollow place inside where my heart once lived.
Brad only bruised my ego. Ryan shattered my heart.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Lenore from the Holden Center greets me as though I’m an old friend as I take a seat across from her in her cozy office. “It’s good to meet you in person. We always appreciate law school grads volunteering their time. I know how busy your first few years as an attorney can be.”
“Thanks. It’s good to be here.”
“You mentioned you have a friend whom you helped with a TRO?”
“Yes. I wasn’t sure how to go about it, so I did some online research. Your website was really helpful.”
She nods and removes her glasses, folding them in her hand. “That’s our goal. Navigating your way through the process can be daunting. And let’s face it, going to court for the first time is totally intimidating. We want to make every step as painless as possible. It’s why we truly value the help of our volunteers.” She smiles and slides her glasses back on. “We have a range of opportunities for law school grads, including drafting pleadings and filing documents with the court. And, of course, we’ll have you conduct client interviews. Once you’ve passed the bar, additional opportunities are available.”
“It sounds great. When can I start?”
“We’ll have you come in for training and then get you added to our volunteer schedule. The next training is set for tomorrow at five thirty if you’re free.”
“I’ll be here.”
I know Kenneth is in a foul mood before he says a word. It’s in the way he elbows his way into my office and manhandles the guest chair. “I’ve been looking for you all morning. Do you have the interrogatories I need?”
It’s 8:39. He hasn’t been looking for me all morning, being that I’m not even required to be here until nine o’clock. “What interrogatories are you referring to?” I ask. I know my question will piss him off, but there is no way to ask without him getting all bent.
He crosses his arms in front of him and rolls back on his heels. “Jones v. Lankershim. I need them immediately.”
He stands there all puffed up like he’s the most important person in the world. “I don’t have them.”
“What do you mean you don’t have them?”
I clench my hand into a fist. I. Can’t. Stand. Him. “You never asked me to do the interrogatories.” I grab a sheet of paper from my desk and hand it to him. “This is a list of everything you’ve asked me to do up through last night at nine. Next to each item, I’ve noted the method in which the request came through, whether it was in person, via email, text, or phone message. Take a look.”
He grabs the page from me and scans it before tossing it onto my desk. “I’ll email you the information.”
“Thanks.”
Once he has the door closed behind him, I lay my head on my desk. It has to get better.
By four o’clock, I’m ready to punch a h
ole in the wall. I’ve been yelled at by Hammond’s manager three times, by the security guard downstairs once for forgetting my badge when I raced out to grab a quick sandwich that I ate at my desk, and I’ve lost count of how many times Kenneth has shouted at me. He storms into my office, shoving a handful of gummy candies into his mouth, and I brace myself for another flurry of demands.
“I can’t make the Harold Kroeker fund-raising event tonight. I need you to attend for me.”
My training at the Holden Center is tonight. I push a hand through my hair. “What time do you need me there?”
“It starts at seven thirty. Business attire is fine. I know we both have plenty of work to do until then. I’ll text you the details.”
“Thanks.” I breathe a sigh of relief. I’ll have just enough time to go to the training and make it to the event. I grab my phone and text Craig.
Any chance you’re going to the Harold Kroeker soiree tonight?
He replies immediately.
No. I didn’t have an extra fifteen hundred bucks. And I’m in Bumfuck, Idaho, for depos.
Ohh. Rough.
Rough doesn’t begin to describe it. You should see what they pass off for towels at the motel. I was about to snatch some rags from the local car wash as an upgrade.
Aw, hang in there.
I lean forward in the classroom chair, my legal pad on my lap and pen in hand. The instructor sits on the edge of a rectangular table, facing us. Her black hair is pulled tight into a bun at the nape of her neck, a red silk flower tucked behind her ear.
“Thank you for coming, everyone. My name is Valentina Ramirez. I’m a second-year attorney, and I’ve been here at the Holden Center for three years as a volunteer.” She hops down from the desk and paces across the front of the room like a skilled talk-show host. “So a little bit about my history. I moved to Los Angeles from Guatemala when I was eight, along with my parents and four younger siblings. None of us spoke a word of English.” She lifts her hands. “But we knew poverty. We knew abuse. School and the hope that I could help people in my community one day were my escapes.”