Homecoming: A Secret Baby Romance

by Landish, Lauren

  I stormed out of my place and to Metroflex for a workout, needing to work off some rage. Randy, the manager on duty, was normally one of the guys I like to hang out and chat with, but that day I was just too pissed off. Thankfully that day was back day, which meant being pissed was good. Pissed off rage combined with a dose of Nano Vapor for my pre-workout meant I tore into my deadlifts like a demon. Even some of the pro lifters, a couple of IFBB juice monkeys and a powerlifter who had more tattoos than me stopped to admire my work and even cheered me on.

  I like Metroflex. For one, it's one of the few places in the entire Los Angeles area where nobody gave a shit what my last name was. To the regular crew, I was JC. Sure, a couple would mention when I got my face in the paper or on TMZ, but they didn't give me any drama. They would bust my ass over my lifts, or when my diet was off and I came in looking like a fatass, but there was respect, and there was the unspoken acknowledgement that I could bust their chops just as much. Hell, when one of the IFBB guys offered to hook me up for a cycle of steroids, he took no offense when I turned him down. In fact, the next day he was cheering me on and cussing me out during squats just like everyone else. The regular guys at Metroflex, they were almost like my family.

  Finishing up my deadlifts, I went straight into my normal secondary lifts, finishing with a killer set for my shoulders that left me gasping and my rear delts on fire. As I set my mind aside to not focus on the pain, I thought about what I could do to really fuck up my father's wedding. Showing up drunk? Nah, too trite and easily dismissed. Causing a scene and going on a rant would probably do the same thing. He'd just look at me with those blue eyes of his, boredom and dismissal competing for first place, and then go back to the ceremony.

  On the other hand, I could always go for the throat. It was a trait I'd inherited from him after all. In business, nobody could be as ruthless as Johnathan Castelbon if you crossed him. Well, my father had been crossing me for nearly twenty years, ever since he threw Mom out on her ass. But how to go for the throat?

  Suddenly it came to me, while at the same time my left shoulder muscle said no more, and the chains I'd been using dropped to the ground. Krystal! The way my father had spoken about her, the tone of voice, he was smitten with the girl. He'd told me many times growing up that he wished he could have had another child, a daughter. "Looks like you're going to get your wish, Dad."

  At the counter, Randy called out my name. I came over, and he held out his hand. "Great job out there today man! Listen, one of the members, they're a freelance photographer who's done some work for Men's Fitness, and wanted to know if you wouldn't mind letting him take some photos next couple of workouts. He was impressed, and you could use the good ink, he said. I dunno what the fuck that means, but he said you'd know."

  I laughed and nodded. "Yeah, it means something to put me in TMZ without it being attached to the words police, scandal, or starlet. You get his name?"

  "Yeah, he dropped off a card. You want it?"

  I thought about it for a moment, then nodded. "Sure, why not? Gotta look at least somewhat respectable half the time."

  Randy got the card, and handed it over to me. "So is everything cool now? You came in ready to tear the fucking doors out of their hinges."

  I thought about it, and the word Krystal flashed in my mind again. "Yeah, it's cool. Everything is Krystal clear."