Head down and legs spinning, I hear happy chatter and look up to see the ‘crew.’
Violet, Abi, Archie, a stranger . . . and Courtney. I’m assuming the new guy is Archie’s latest. Violet mentioned that he’s been dating a bit recently. I’m happy for him. He deserves a good guy, and they do look mighty cozy.
“Hey, guys . . . everyone ready to run?”
Archie and his guy are dressed for a run in matching shorts, Nikes, and muscle compression shirts. Court, Abi, and Violet all have on yoga pants and One Life tees, supporting Ross and me, though Violet’s is a little more oversized, hiding the beginnings of her baby bump.
Archie laughs. “Absolutely not. I’m here to watch my man dance. And strut my stuff a bit too.” He flails his arms around, his expression going full stank-face. I think he’s trying to vogue, or bitch slap someone . . . one or the other, for sure.
Violet, who Ross says is no longer throwing up every day, shakes her head. “No running at all, and no stuff strutting for me. I got enough stuff in my strut for the next several months, maybe too much if I don’t lay off the ice cream.”
Abi locks her elbow through Violet’s. “No way. This is the time to eat ice cream, all the ice cream you could possibly want. You’ve got a total free pass. And you should totally strut your stuff with me. There’s no yoga today.” Abi glares at me frostily. “So I’m planning a Zumba party in my pants instead.”
Court eyes her sharply, and Abi corrects herself, standing straight and chanting military-style. “Keeping my last name in mind and doing nothing to embarrass One Life or our parents, ma’am.”
“It’s one thing to drop it like it’s hot in the relative privacy of a fitness class, quite another to do it when there’s a lineup of press waiting to take pictures and video at any rather awkward moments,” Courtney says calmly but sternly. “I can see the headline now—Andrews Girls Gone Wild. And they’d be sure to get the angle just right so it looked like you and me were the only ones going hoochie mama out there.”
“Fine, fine . . . jeez, you’re worse than Mom sometimes.” Abi crosses her arms and huffs, obviously playing.
“We can do a little,” Courtney concedes. “In the middle of the crowd and no Hello Kitty moves. Keep it press-friendly.”
“Yes!” Abi hisses, pumping her fist. But then she ruins it, thrusting her hips forward and throwing off a crotch chop that would leave any pro wrestling fan proud of her skills. “I’m always friendly for a press.”
Courtney huffs, but I can see the smile fighting to break free. We all know Abi’s just kidding and keeping things light.
Done with my first leg warm-up, I lean forward on the handlebars of the bike. “Thanks for being here, guys. It really means a lot to Ross and me.”
Archie answers for everyone. “Of course we’re here. For you, Ross, and ahem . . . the strongman competition. Actually, we need to get a front-row spot for that because I don’t want to miss a thing. Come on!” He snaps his fingers, and Violet, Abi, and Archie’s new guy, who he never even introduced, follow Archie away like he’s the Pied Piper.
Courtney stays at my side. “Everything looks amazing. Is there anything I can do to help?”
She’s so beautiful, so open, that I let my guard down for a moment and take her hand. Fuck, she feels good. I want more—to take her in my arms and kiss the shit out of her. But I don’t. It’d be too dangerous, too risky to let myself forget my place again. Instead, I ask, “Mind being at the finish line of the truck pull? I could use the motivation.”
Courtney smiles, and I hate that even this tiny bit of being let back in makes her so happy. She doesn’t ask for much, but she deserves everything. Definitely more than the way I’ve been shutting her out lately. “Of course.”
Her eyes meet mine, and I wish I could communicate everything I want to tell her. But this isn’t the time. There may never be a time. And damn me to hell for it, but I’ll take her strength and support for a while longer, greedily sipping from her fountain in order to get through all of this.
She pops up on her toes to give me a kiss on the cheek, and I give in, catching her jaw in my hand and guiding her back for a deeper kiss. She’s surprised, which guts me, but when she opens her mouth, I dive in, trying to tell her, to make her understand, to show her what’s in my heart. “Thank you.”
She’s silent as her chin drops, but I see the soft smile. With so little, she easily and utterly melts for me again.
You don’t deserve her.
“Kaede . . . I’ll be there for you,” she says, her spine and strength returning as she walks off. Does she mean at the finish line or the end of this arrangement? Both? Fuck, I want it to be both.
Coming out of the backstage area, I look around for Ross and head over to him for one last check-in before we officially begin, though the DJ is already playing tunes and welcoming everyone.
“We’re ready,” I tell him. He nods and introduces me to the reporter he’s talking to.
He offers his hand, and as we shake, he catches me up. “I was just telling Ross that we’ll do about one minute with him, then you get to do your thing. Good?”
I look down at the end of the course, and I see Courtney already in position for me. “Let’s get it started.”
The DJ turns the music down and asks everyone to gather around Ross in a loose circle for the opening interview. They wander over and the reporter welcomes them, and Ross says a word before they kick into interview mode, but I’m already checked out on that, letting Ross do his part.
Instead, I’m in the zone. It’s the same zone that I remember from football, where the crowd’s a dull background hiss and everything becomes simple and narrow.
Twenty-five yards.
The rope to help with the pull.
Courtney at the end, flashing me a double thumbs-up.
AJ taps my shoulder, bringing my attention back enough to hear Ross. I wave to the crowd and the camera.
“So for our first event, my best friend and co-owner of One Life, Kaede McWarren, is going to demonstrate the truck pull. Twenty-three thousand pounds are going to be pulled down the track by pure human muscle. Today’s ref and One Life’s head trainer, AJ Bradford. AJ?”
This was a conversation AJ and I had during the planning process. He said he would feel better overseeing the competition and not competing, giving an impassioned speech about safety and keeping everything running smoothly. I’d been convinced. And when we got a good number of contestants lined up, we came up with the idea for me to do a demo and then let the real pros get at it.
I’m relieved, to be honest, because now I don’t have to kill myself against AJ or any of his guys. The challenge is just me, the truck, and the finish line.
AJ squares himself up next to me, a whistle in his hand. “Take your grip!”
I reach down, and with one of AJ’s helpers, pull up the slack on the inch-thick rope. Leaning forward, I give AJ a nod. I’m ready.
AJ blows the whistle, and it’s on. I drive forward as hard as I can, knowing that momentum is the key to this. Once I get the wheels on this fucker moving, I can’t stop. Because if I do, I won’t get going again.
Like life, I suppose.
The world narrows, my pulse pounding in my temples and my breath heaving as I pull with my arms and drive with my feet. I’ve done the prep, the sprints, the sled pushes and drags, the squats, the deadlifts . . . but nothing can prepare me for this agony.
My back’s screaming. My biceps are screaming. My legs are on fire, my lungs burn, and I can barely see. But there’s Courtney, an angel at the end of this torture, and if this is the last moment I can indulge in our fantasy, then all the demons of hell can’t stop me from getting to her.
Strap me to a truck, a semi, a 747 . . . I’m going to reach her.
I see her clapping, the rest of the world going hazy except for her. Her voice cheers me on, and I dig deeper, push harder, finding that extra few feet to get closer to her . . . five yards . . . four . . . three
. . . two . . . one.
The whistle blows, and Courtney steps forward to catch me as I collapse, utterly shattered. AJ and the trainer staff unhook me, getting the harness detached and pulling my belts off to give me more air. Someone offers oxygen, and I take a few grateful pulls, Courtney still holding me up until I can stand on my own.
Damn, she’s strong.
Sound comes back slowly, and I hear AJ calling out my time. “31.64 seconds!”
The newscaster and Ross gush over my time, and moments later, there’s a roar from the crowd. I hear the newscaster say a few words, and then the camera cuts off and Ross is pounding me on the back.
“Awesome job, man, awesome job!” Ross says, helping me down into a folding chair backstage. “Captain America, pulling a truck!”
“Not blonde,” I gasp, grinning as we pound fists. “Everything else?”
Ross shakes his head. “You haven’t even recovered and you’re already back to your checklist.”
I go to shrug, but my shoulder doesn’t move. I’m too drained. “Habit.”
“More like a personality trait.” I grunt in agreement, and he finally gives me the answer I want. “AJ is doing a truck pull reset now. Stacylynne is on-stage, ready to go for the quick warm-up, and then it’s open season. All according to plan. Or at least the list on your iPad.”
I nod my approval. “Announce expansion?” I can’t get more than two words in a row out yet.
Ross looks around and squats down at my side. “Missy said Jeffrey is running late this morning, but he wants to be here for that part. I told her we could do it when we hand out the awards.”
I can hear it in Ross’s tone, and he and I exchange looks. “Don’t like it.” Pant. “Something’s up.”
Ross nods and pats me on the shoulder. “I know. We’ll keep watch.”
I recover quickly enough, taking my time to get my support stuff off, though I still need Court to help me get out of the chair. But once I’m moving, I can keep going. It’s just more of a slow trudge than I’m used to. I can’t imagine doing the truck pull and then two more events. AJ’s guys are beasts, and while I admired them before, I have a whole new respect for them now.
By the time we get back to the front, Stacylynne has started her warm-up. “Let’s go, people! Nobody wants to pull an ass muscle today!” Oh, God, did she just say that? We specifically talked about toning down the crazy cues for the camera. At least she’s doing moves that are more Jane Fonda and less Twerk Queen . . . for now.
“Help me over to the starting chute?” I ask Courtney, who nods. As we slowly walk, I give her a smile. “Thank you. I couldn’t have gotten those last five yards without you.”
Courtney gives me a hopeful look. “Kaede, after this, I was hoping we could—”
Her words are cut off by the sound of Ross firing the starter’s pistol in the air and Courtney’s whoop of surprise as she jumps and then laughs at herself. The runners are off. It’s about half the crowd, but those who are left behind are quickly able to shift and stay entertained as the strongmen start their runs on the truck.
It’s a well-oiled machine, the first competitive runners getting back as the tenth and last competitor finishes his truck pull.
This is going well . . . maybe too well.
Runners and strongmen stream over to the refuel station, guzzling cucumber water, organic produce, smoothie shots, and a few baked treats.
But there’s still no Jeffrey as Ross announces the beginning of the Zumba portion.
Stacylynne gets everyone calling back with her trademark craziness, cupping her ear with her hand and leaning over the crowd. “I can’t hear you! Let’s get loud, people!”
Assured I’m not going to collapse, Court leaves me so she and Abi can make their way to the middle of the group, as ordered. Archie and his guy are in the back row, which surprises me. I figured Archie would want to be up-front and center, but after watching for a moment, I see why that’s not the case. They don’t know Stacylynne’s choreo and are doing their own thing, which is more vogueing, some do-si-do square-dancing moves, and . . . a TikTok dance?
As entertaining as it is to watch Archie, my eyes find Courtney. She’s doing great, easily keeping up with Stacylynne. Before we started this whole crazy thing, she was never this relaxed. I know because I watched her every week. But now, watching her move, powerful and free, my heart yearns for her.
Do it. Burn the fucking world down for her, my heart whispers.
Zumba ends as the last runners come in, and quickly, the strongmen take over the stage, which I’m glad is reinforced as they have to overhead press a sandbag, a rock, an oversized circus dumbbell, and finally, a car engine block for time. Even with crash pads, there are some big bangs going on up there.
And yet, still no Jeffrey.
Kayla talks folks through her demonstration in her hilarious, funky deadly pixie look. A roar of appreciation rises from the crowd as Kayla shows off her fanciest throws, starting with what she calls ‘World War Z’, burying a hatchet in a watermelon she’s suspended over her usual wood target like a head and finishing with a sidearm throw that cleanly slices an apple that’s been placed on top of a mannequin head in half. Even I’m impressed with that, and I’ve seen what she can do.
We’ve only got one more event. Maybe the bomb is that Jeffrey is going to no-show?
But that doesn’t seem all that bad. Ross can do the awards and the announcement about the expansion without Jeffrey, if need be. So there’s got to be something else.
I look around again but don’t see anything odd or out of place. The news crew’s getting good video, nothing hinky there, the DJ is spinning good tunes, the food and smoothies are going briskly . . .
Where’s the fucking bomb?
Wait . . . where’s Missy? I haven’t seen her in a while. A long while.
I find Ross, who’s talking with the reporter about the next announcements, and join him. We’ve known each long enough that we can communicate completely through our eyes, and with one look and a twitch of his brow, I know he’s getting antsy too.
Luckily, the last event delivers. Over the pulsing beat of the bass-heavy rap music, the strongmen go head to head, lifting their respective cars up and down for the most reps in one minute. Guys are turning beet red, veins standing out, pure effort and hard work for them as they compete not for cash, not for fame . . . they’re doing this out of love for their sport.
The crowd eats it up, cheering and screaming for every single one of the guys. Even the guys in ninth and tenth get love from the crowd, and when the final pair finishes, the roar is legit. The winner’s howl of victory is almost just as loud, and the joy on his face as he stabs both hands in the air makes all the hard work for today worth it.
I look to Ross. “On your own? Be careful, man. Something’s up.”
Before he speaks, a twinkle of bright white catches my eye, and I see a stretch limo pull into the parking lot, the sun glinting off the windshield. “Never mind.”
Ross follows my eyes, and we both watch as Jeffrey gets out looking like a man who hasn’t had a single problem cross his schedule since the millennium started. In fact, he looks like he’s showing up right when he wanted to, despite not being dressed appropriately, wearing his standard thousand-dollar suit. Missy runs over, talking as they walk, with her showing him her iPad. If I had to guess, she’s probably taking credit for everything again.
“Plan?” I whisper to Ross, knowing he can smell the stink just as much as I can.
But we both know the truth as well. We’re in this, hell or highwater, and will deal with anything that comes up. Together.
We split the difference, meeting Jeffrey and Missy in the middle. Jeffrey holds out his hand, shaking each of ours. “Looks like a great day, gentlemen. Let’s make this announcement, shall we?”
We nod, a ticking starting in my head.
Missy shoulders up to me, head down on her iPad as she says dismissively, “Kaede, can you gather up the emp
loyees for the thank yous? I’ll want them on stage for their moment too.”
Uhm, excuse me, but . . . what? Who the fuck elected her Boss? And even if someone did, she’s certainly not the boss of me.
Ross clears his throat, and I hear him loud and clear. Go along with it, man. Please, for us, just do it.
“Sure, no problem, Missy.” That’s actually really nice of her, which damn near kills me to say, even to myself. It was the dismissive tone that I didn’t like.
Ross, Jeffrey, and Missy make their way to the stage as I speak to AJ, Kayla, and Stacylynne. When I get them over to the stage steps, Missy directs us up, staying in the backstage area. “Dad,” she explains with an eyeroll.
That seems weird to me since she’s been talking to the press all day, but I haven’t actually heard her interviews. Is it possible she’s stayed off-camera and truly only been directing? Actually, that sounds exactly like something she’d do—boss people around and play the beleaguered and unappreciated princess.
We give everyone a few minutes to cool off, wipe down, and gather around at the main stage again, where Jeffrey looks like the most out of place person in the entire parking lot. After all, he’s the only person wearing a suit. Even the reporter has on a polo to go with the sporty atmosphere.
But as Ross takes the microphone, Jeffrey looks as cool as a cucumber. Ross gives his best presentation smile and starts. He announces the winners, who come on stage and are awarded medals. They wave and step down, congratulated by their friends. And he does the raffle giveaway for one of the cars, Courtney’s great idea which was quickly accepted by the dealership.
“What an amazing day! Thank you to everyone for coming and being a part of One Life. Whether you run, dance, throw axes, or lift heavy things, without you, there’d be no us. I’d like to give each and every one of you a round of applause too.” The crowd claps. “And of course, the people who keep you coming back . . . AJ . . . Stacylynne . . . Kayla.” Each gets another cheer as they step forward for their name and then back again.
“Behind those faces, the ones who push you to be better with each workout, there are many people working behind the scenes. Along with me and my partner Kaede, I’d like to introduce a new member of the One Life family. It was with his help that we were able to have today’s celebration. Ladies and gentlemen, Jeffrey Sanders.”
My Big Fat Fake Engagement Page 29