“Sure it is. You want to stay alive, great. You want to be healthy to stick around for your boys and for the rest of us, great. But you want to look good for a lady love? Uncle o’ mine, that there is a hell of a powerful motivator to do more than just live…that’s where you get the motivation to get shredded.”
I laughed. “At the moment, I just want to be able to go on a hike with her and not be red-faced and out of breath, huffing and puffing like a tub of lard.”
“That’s where it starts. Then you want to feel comfortable with your shirt off around her. And then you want to be irresistible to her because you’re such a jacked old man.”
I laughed. “I’ll start with not dying.”
“Baby steps, Uncle. Baby steps.” He sidled up to the largest bell thing. “This is a kettlebell. This one weighs seventy-two-point-two pounds, also known as a two pood.”
“A what?”
“A two pood. A pood is a unit of measurement unique to kettlebells.” He pointed at the matching kettlebell beside the one he was standing in front of—his posture was loose, easy, but straight, hands at his sides, feet shoulder width apart. “Stand in front of it, like this.”
I followed his lead as he showed me how to pick it up without hurting my back, how to swing it, clean it, press it…all sorts of evil torture which left me jellied from head to toe, drenched with sweat, and feeling more alive and more accomplished than ever.
For the first time in decades, I felt like just maybe there was a future ahead of me worth seeking.
8
Liv
Work picked up pace over the next few weeks, becoming not just busy but downright hectic. When I moved up here, I’d had the idea of being semiretired, but once I made the move, I realized that even with the nest egg from life insurance plus the sale of our home, I would still need to work. Perhaps not entirely for financial reasons, but for mental and emotional reasons, too. I needed something to do, to keep busy—to keep my mind off the loss of my husband, the worry about my daughters, and just to simply keep looking forward.
So, to that end, I accepted new clients until I was working not just full-time, but overtime. Viewing spaces to be redesigned, coming up with sketches and plans and materials, dealing with the renovations and subsequent inevitable structural and architectural issues, making sure everything went as well as things can go, talking to contractors and resolving disputes…I was barely sleeping and only managed a few brief paddles down the channel with my friends from my standup paddleboarding club, and a short hike now and then.
Two weeks passed in a blur. I was sitting on my balcony sipping coffee one Sunday morning when I realized I hadn’t seen Lucas or even spoken to him since the hike, and I felt a twinge of guilt. As well, I realized that the heavy pit in my stomach, and the ache in my chest were symptoms of missing him, things I’d been ignoring and attributing to being intensely busy.
Had I been too hard on him?
I didn’t think so. I’d only spoken the truth. If he and I were to become closer and he were to, God forbid, have another heart attack I would…honestly, I wasn’t sure I’d survive it emotionally.
But I just missed him. I missed his drawl and even his coarse manners and rough language. I missed his bluff bravado, which mixed so oddly with his self-deprecating humor.
I was supposed to meet a client in twenty minutes to go over some material revisions for her new kitchen, but…I didn’t want to. It was a beautiful day, warm, sunny, peaceful. I wanted to be out on the water, paddling or canoeing. I wanted to be out on a trail with Lucas.
Argh. I shouldn’t just cancel on my client, because she was in the final phases of her remodel, but she’d already changed her mind about the backsplash twice. Maybe if I rescheduled, she’d have more time to think and would end up wanting to stick with our current selection.
I dialed her number, explained that I needed to reschedule; she wasn’t thrilled, but I suggested she stop by the store and look at other options for her backsplash, and we’d reconnect on Monday to discuss what she’d decided.
That taken care of, I felt a weight lift off of my shoulders. I decided that I wanted to be out on the water more than I wanted to hike, so I changed out of work clothes and into paddling gear—skintight knee-length leggings which compressed around the cuffs, a tight sports bra, a tank top, and a zip-up jacket which also compressed around waist and wrists to keep water out in case I ended up in the water. Some grippy shoes, polarized sunglasses, and a big floppy hat to keep the sun off my neck. I loaded my board into the back of my truck and strapped it down, and headed for the pier…
By way of Lucas’s condo.
I buzzed his unit, and within a few seconds, got a buzz on the intercom in return. “Hello? Who’s it?” He sounded sleepy, groggy.
“Wake up, sleepyhead,” I sang. “Time to go paddleboarding!”
“Huh?”
“It’s Liv,” I said, laughing. “Can I come in?”
“Mmm. Yeah. C’mon up,” he grumbled, and the door buzzed and clicked.
I trotted up the steps and into the building, and then to his unit, where he was standing in the doorway, looking bleary-eyed and groggy.
And shirtless.
He had lost weight—visibly, noticeably. His shoulders were more rounded with muscle, his arms were tighter, his belly was smaller, and his face was thinner.
“Liv,” he murmured. “It’s fuckin’ early, babe.”
I laughed. “It’s nine o’clock, Lucas. I wouldn’t call that early.”
“Yeah, well, I’m retired, and I’m not working this morning, so it’s early.”
I felt a tremor in my stomach as he stretched, arms lifting over his head—his torso flattened and his arms bulged, and I got a sense of what he might look like in another few months of doing whatever he was doing.
Darren had never been very fit, let alone muscular. I’d loved him with all of my heart, mind, body, and soul, and always would, but in the deep, secret places in my soul, I knew I’d always felt a little twinge of desire for him to be…physically fitter. And seeing Lucas having made an obvious effort to change himself, I knew I was on the losing side of a battle to not like him even more.
Was I shallow?
“Just because you’re retired doesn’t mean you’re allowed to lay in bed all morning. It’s a beautiful day outside and I thought maybe you would like to go out on the water with me.”
“What, like swimming?”
I giggled, shaking my head. “No, silly. Paddling.”
“A boat?” He was obviously groggy, still.
I sighed, and headed for his kitchen, found his coffee maker and coffee supplies, and set about making coffee for him.
He plopped down at his kitchen table, and rested his chin in his hand, watching me. “Sorry, I ain’t exactly a morning person,” he said.
“It’s okay,” I said, leaning back against the counter near the coffee maker. “I am, and some people have found me to be a little much in the mornings.”
He rumbled a laugh. “Naw, it ain’t that. You’re all chipper and shit, and it’s cute. I’m just kind of a grumpy bear in the mornings.”
“As opposed to the sweet, easygoing darling you are the rest of the day?” I teased.
He snorted. “Yeah, well, we can’t all be happy little angels all the time.”
I felt a need to do something with my hands, something to occupy my attention. “Are you hungry?”
It was hard to tell under the beard, but he seemed to be blushing. “I, um. I’m actually not eating till lunch.”
“Oh?”
He shrugged a heavy shoulder. “Part of my whole plan to quit bein’ a fat walrus. I don’t eat until lunch, then I eat lean, healthy food, and then I kick my ass with exercise at least three days a week.”
“Well, it’s definitely working,” I said, meeting his eyes. “You look really good.”
He seemed like he was trying to hide a grin. “You think so? It’s a start.”
“It’s more than a start
, Lucas. You really look great.”
“It’s not easy, but…I feel like it’ll be worth it.” He made a face, tipping his head to one side. “Hell, it already is. I feel better than I’ve felt in a long time.”
I hesitated. “Lucas, about the hike…”
He held up his hands to stop me. “Liv, I needed that. I can’t say I liked hearing it, but I needed it. Sometimes, you just need a good kick in the ass to get yourself motivated.”
“I just…I don’t want you to think I don’t like you for who you are, or that you have to be someone else in order to be my friend.”
He sighed. “To be totally honest, I am doing this in part for you. I like you, Liv. I like you a lot. And I want to be a man you…” He shrugged, trailing off and restarting. “I want to be better.”
“But you don’t have to be anything different to be my friend, and I’m worried I made you feel like you do.”
He shook his head. “You didn’t know I was doing anything different these last couple weeks, yet here you are.”
The coffee was mostly done brewing by then, so I hunted down a couple of mugs, poured us each a cup, and took one of the seats kitty-corner to his.
We sipped coffee in companionable silence for a few minutes, until it was broken by Lucas. “So, you wanna do what, now?”
“Paddleboard.”
“What the hell is that?”
I laughed. “It’s…it’s kind of like a cross between canoeing and surfing.”
He frowned, brow wrinkling. “Sounds hard.”
I shrugged and tipped my head to one side. “Maybe a little at first. Basically, you have a big flat board like a surfboard, only thicker, longer, and wider, with a long paddle. You stand on the board and paddle around.”
“Why?”
I couldn’t help a cackle. “Ohhh, Lucas. Why? Because it’s fun. It's challenging. It’s great exercise, and it’s peaceful, being out there on the water.”
“When I called myself a walrus, it was in reference to my size and shape, not my affinity for water. That don’t sound like somethin’ I’d be too great at. I’d probably sink the damn board.”
“They make them with varying capacities.” I smiled at him with what I hoped was reassurance. “I wouldn’t ask you to do anything I didn’t think you were capable of.”
He scoffed. “Now you sound like Bax.”
“Who?”
“My nephew, Baxter Badd. He’s been acting as my personal trainer. Kickin’ my fat ass into shape.”
I paused, trying to formulate how to say what I wanted to say. “Lucas, has anyone ever mentioned positive self-talk to you?”
He laughed with a derisive smirk. “No, I can say with complete certainty no one ever has, ’cause I ain’t got a damn clue what the hell that’s supposed to mean.”
“It’s exactly what it sounds like—positive self-talk.”
He sipped his coffee. “Right. Sounds like frou-frou self-help mumbo jumbo for gullible sissies.”
“Perhaps, but it’s not. Some of the most successful people in the world—men included—use it.”
“So? Break it down for me, then. What is it and why the hell would I want to try it?”
I topped off our coffee, and then sat again, considering. “It just means, at the very least, not speaking of yourself or to yourself in derogatory terms.”
He nodded, comprehension dawning. “Ahhh. I see. Not calling myself a fat walrus, you mean.”
“Well, that’s one way to look at it. But flip it, okay? Instead of thinking in terms of just not being insulting to yourself, go further. Reverse the impulse. You catch yourself saying something derogatory about yourself, and say something positive instead. That’s where it starts.”
“Where does it end?”
I laughed. “Oh, it doesn’t, I suppose. But positive self-talk feeds into positive affirmations.”
“More frou-frou self-help mumbo jumbo for sissies.”
“Yes. This time, it’s about naming what you want—claiming it as real, as yours.”
“Now that just sounds idiotic.”
“It feels odd, at first, sure. But it does help.”
“For example?”
“When I moved up here, I felt lonely. I felt isolated. I felt like I would never fit in, like I would never have friends, like even though I was drowning in grief I couldn’t escape my life back East. I thought I would have been better off staying there where at least I had a life and friends, and even belonged.”
“Sounds familiar.”
“I bet it does. So, I saw a therapist up here and she recommended self-affirmations. I would wake up every morning and I would look in the mirror and tell myself that I belonged here. That I was okay. That I was healing. That I didn’t need to mourn anymore. That I would make friends, and find a life—make a life for myself without Darren… one in which I would eventually find my own happiness.”
“Did it work?” he asked.
I smiled, sighed. “To some degree. It helped me focus on what I could do rather than what was done and had already happened. It helped me remind myself that I had to keep going, that I would be okay even if I didn’t always feel like it.”
“Bax is always talking about how I need to formulate a specific goal for myself. I’ve been telling him I just want to be healthy and in better shape, and he’s always telling me that’s not enough. I need a bigger goal, a more specific one to focus on. Sounds similar.”
I nodded. “It is similar. What I’m talking about isn’t so much about goals, though, as it is changing the way you interact with yourself.”
He snorted. “Talk plain, Liv.”
I sipped, and thought. “Okay, here. Plain talk. You’re just reinforcing that you’re a fat walrus by calling yourself that all the time. It’s like negative reinforcement for dogs, or kids. If you tell a kid he’s stupid frequently enough, what will happen?”
Lucas sighed, nodding. “He’ll believe it.”
“Even if it isn’t true.”
“Yeah, I guess that makes sense.”
I rolled my hand. “Follow the logic, then. Adults are no different. We are just as susceptible to negative reinforcement as kids. So, if you refer to yourself as fat, or a useless old bear or whatever else, and you do so frequently, your mindset, then, is going to be one of believing that to be true.”
“Because it is true.”
I held up a finger. “But you’re working to change that, yes?”
He nodded. “Sure.”
“So you’re working to change your body, which is amazing and wonderful. But you also have to work to change your mind. You have to believe you are what you want to become, or that you can be that. If you keep telling yourself you are what you have been, that’s all you’ll ever be.”
He clutched his head in both hands. “You sound like a Buddhist or some shit. It’s makin’ my head hurt.”
“This is basic positive reinforcement psychology, Lucas. Not Buddhism.”
“I didn’t even graduate high school, Liv. I barely went to elementary school, for fuck’s sake. I learned how to read, write, and do basic math from my grandpa. Psychology is just a buncha nonsense to me.”
“It’s not nonsense, Lucas, it’s just understanding how the mind works.”
“You make it sound easy.”
“You’re not stupid, Lucas. You are perfectly capable of understanding what I’m talking about. You may not have a lot of formal education, but you have plenty of intelligence and street smarts. Don’t act dumber than you are.”
He growled. “So you’re saying I’m telling myself I’m a fat useless old walrus with a bad leg, and if I keep telling myself that, I’ll never stop believing it’s true.”
“Yes, exactly!”
“And the answer to that is to tell myself…what? That I’m handsome and buff and my leg ain’t fucked up?”
I felt my stomach flip. “You’re already handsome, Lucas. And fitness isn’t about being buff, it’s about being strong and having end
urance, eating healthy, and feeling good. It’s about leading a healthy life, and protecting your body, so you can be there for your kids, your family, and yourself. And as you gain physical strength, you gain mental and emotional strength—it’s a cliché but you become the best version of yourself. As for your leg, I don’t know if it will ever stop hurting, because I’m not a physical therapist or a doctor. But I do know you seem to have done a lot of work toward strengthening it since we went hiking, and I also know you don’t have to let it stop you from doing the things you want.”
Silence, then. “Paddleboarding, huh?”
I grinned. “Paddleboarding. You’ll enjoy it.”
“I dunno about that, but I suppose I can try. Worst that can happen is I’ll get wet and cold, right?”
My grin spread until my cheeks hurt. “Exactly!” I waved both hands at him in a shooing motion. “Go get dressed!”
“What should I wear?” he asked, eyeing me. “I ain’t exactly got anything like what you’re wearing.”
I laughed. “I have an outfit for everything, Lucas. Just put on a shirt and shoes.”
He nodded, and came back out wearing an Oklahoma Rodeo shirt which was huge on him, a ragged old Kansas City Chiefs hat, and beat-up old running shoes.
We headed out for my truck, and as I descended the three steps down to the sidewalk from his building, I felt his gaze on me.
My leggings were a little tight, I realized.
Actually, very tight.
I usually paddled with other women and ignored the attention of men, so I’d never thought about how tight these leggings really were. Or that my shirt and jacket didn’t exactly cover my backside.
His gaze followed me down the steps and as I walked to the truck; I turned to catch his eyes, and he looked away, embarrassedly scratching his jaw—he knew I’d caught him.
Did I mind?
I don’t think I did, even though what we had was simply friendship.
He’d said he liked me, though. A lot.
I tried to push that train of thought aside as we climbed into my truck and headed for my usual launch spot.
We parked, and I took him to the SUP—standup paddleboarding— outfitter, where he was fitted with a board suitable for his height and weight, a paddle, and a PFD—portable flotation device, which resembled a fanny pack but which could be inflated in case of emergency to keep him afloat, should he fall in.
Badd Daddy (The Badd Brothers Book 12) Page 11