by Vesper Young
I hadn’t been to a gym just to work out since college. Once I’d started working, I’d been to exhausted to. That, and I couldn’t afford a membership.
Shortly after, I surmised that working out after half a decade of not working out was a sweaty, unenjoyable ordeal. Every night I saw clear evidence Deacon made regular use of this room in the form of his biceps, triceps, and whatever other ’ceps formed the defined muscles in his arms and back.
Given that I was heaving using a five-pound dumbbell, I figured I’d leave the weights to him and went over to the treadmill.
Eventually, I got tired, ate, and wandered around aimlessly. Five o’clock came, but Deacon wasn’t the type to come home at five so I continued to pick through activities. I debated sewing now that I had space but opted against it. I hadn’t had a TV since I’d lived at home, but it turned out there was still plenty of mindless shows to zone out to, which was how I spent my evening.
Six came, went, then seven, eight, and nine. I kept glancing at my phone, on the odd chance he would send word. Nothing.
It was almost ten by the time Deacon walked in. I glanced at the clock on the wall and did some quick math. He had easily worked sixteen hours.
He seemed to carry himself into the room through sheer determination. His tie was loosened around his kneck as if he’d been pulling at it constantly. His hair was mostly in place, save a single spot jutting out where I knew he pulled at when irritated.
He didn’t say a word as he passed me. By the time I got to the bedroom, he was asleep on top of the covers.
I stood in the doorway. Asleep, the tension had eased out of his shoulders and jaw. I hadn’t spoken to anyone all day, had been half-desperate to hear his voice, even just a hello. Despite what I wanted, it would be cruel to wake him up just for a hello, so I grabbed a blanket from the closet and laid it on top of him, then went under myself.
Hopefully, I’d wake up early and catch him in the morning.
***
I don’t think I said a single word to Deacon until Friday. I hadn’t seen him the next morning, nor the one after. Thursday, I set an alarm, but it was too late. Friday, I moved the alarm back two hours, and it was still too late. The closest we came to contact was Wednesday when he finally replied a simple “Thanks” to my earlier text.
He had to be getting up around four, if not earlier. Deacon had always worked long hours—I’d worked them with him!—but this was insane. Every night he stumbled in and collapsed on the covers, not even bothering to take his shoes off.
My days, in turn, were less exhausting. Twice I invited Kara over, and both time I’d shamelessly asked her to bring Ryan who I used as a ward against particularly pointed questions. In the meanwhile, I managed longer runs on the treadmill, though my converse weren’t handling my jogs well. I’d need to search the apartment for some duct tape. That killed an hour. Deacon, as it turned out, owned three colors of duct tape, white, silver, and black, which I used to reattach the sides of my shoes.
It gave them personality. I named them Joe and Zipper, because I was losing my mind. My shoes were poor companions. I shouldn’t have felt Deacon’s absence as clearly as I did. The few days we’d spent together hadn’t been fireworks like my romance novels. There wasn’t even a romance. But I’d liked the quick smile he gave when I made a joke. The soft graze of his fingers in passing. The excited way he’d talk about his plans for the company.
Joe was a poor substitute and Zipper was worse.
Friday, I figured I could play at being a good housewife. Someone kept the kitchen stocked, though I had yet to see anyone come in the apartment, so I attempted a simple pasta dinner.
I figured I was smart, starting my cooking at nine. He was usually home between ten and eleven. This time he came in at quarter past midnight. I’d fallen asleep at the table, waiting.
To my surprise, he didn’t look too bad. His tie was on straight, his gaze steady.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hi,” I said, stifling a yawn. “You look… perky.”
“Oh, I left the office early. Rose came by with dinner so we could discuss the contract. Apparently Elias will be back in ten days, so she wanted to lay some groundwork.”
So he came home, worked half to death every night for a week, unable to spare so much as a good morning or goodnight, but all of a sudden Rose came by and he stopped everything to eat with her.
I was startled by the bitterness of my thought. Rose was business. Hell, I was business. I had no right to be jealous of Deacon.
Whatever. I began to pack up the food, which got his attention.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“Just a snack I made. Goodnight.”
I set the leftovers in the fridge and left the room. This time, I was the one passed out before he ever came to bed.
Deacon 21
I woke up sore the next morning. That was the price I’d paid from going a week without working out. My home gym was my sanctuary. Last night, there had been that vaguely citrusy and earthy scent as I entered, as if Mindy had been there.
It was possible. I expected to feel annoyed at the idea of having my sanctuary violated, yet my feelings didn’t match my expectations.
Of course, I was so tired it could all have been in my head.
I’d hoped to hit the ground running as CEO. I’d gone in early the first day as I always did. What I hadn’t expected was how much of my day would be filled with meetings. I’d never had to head so many dreadful, nonproductive hours, full of people who could’ve all been much more productive elsewhere, in my life.
It didn’t help my new secretary set them at random intervals. Mindy, as my secretary, had always consolidated meetings on a single day each week and put them back to back. There was no such forethought in my scheduling anymore.
To make up for the time lost, I stayed later and later. Taking a week off, in addition to making up for my father’s absence, meant there was an unending amount of work to do. The thought alone exhausted me.
Mindy was still asleep. For the past week, I’d carefully maneuvered a pillow in the place of my torso. This morning, her copper-colored hair was splayed over my chest, her hands pulled in against her body. Her breathing was even, the soft air of her exhales tickling my stomach.
I glanced at the wall clock. Now would be a good time to catch up on the week’s news I’d missed. Unfortunately, I didn’t keep a television in this room.
I could probably do what I’d done for the past week and maneuver a pillow to substitute my stomach for Mindy, but that might wake her. If I reached for my phone on the nightstand, that movement could also disturb her.
Instead, I lay on the pillow and scanned the room. There wasn’t much to look at, except for the half-naked woman clinging to me, so that was where I focused. My arms were crossed behind my head, allowing me to settle into an almost zen state, unlike the boredom I expected from not being able to work.
It was hard to say how much time had passed until Mindy began to stir. It was easy to tell when she woke up. Her whole body vibrated slightly, fingers flexing, back straightening.
“Hello, sleepyhead.”
“Oh.” The world blended with a yawn. “You’re here.”
The words came out cool, but it stood to reason she was just groggy. Normally, there was some morning banter I looked forward to. Today, Mindy simply disentangled herself from both the sheets and my body and left the room.
I changed and headed to the living room with my laptop. I hadn’t taken much time off before, in fact, almost none outside this past month, and being CEO meant I couldn’t afford to lose much more time.
I sensed Mindy moving around the apartment. The bathroom, the kitchen, and, yes, the gym. Yet she avoided where I was. Or maybe it was a coincidence. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she seemed piqued.
By the time I felt mostly caught up on the week, it was half-past five. Perfect. I went off to find Mindy. I found her in the gym and announced we’d be going to
out dinner shortly.
“Huh?”
“The contract stipulated public, weekly outings, barring extenuating circumstances. A dinner each week should suffice,” I said, only half paying attention to my words. Her hair was pulled back in a high ponytail. She was clad in the eccentric colors she liked, a bright pink sports bra and neon green runner’s shorts.
She paused the treadmill, wiped the sweat off her brow, and took a step off, stumbling.
I looked down. Rounding off her look were converse tied together with… duct tape. She’d actually done it.
“What?” she said.
She moved to the bench and rubbed her foot.
“You put tape on them,” I remarked.
“Yup.”
I went over. Converse were not running shoes, and from the pained expression on her face, I knew she was paying the price.
“Let me see.” I walked over to the bench.
She snapped her foot in. “I’m fine.”
“If you were fine, you wouldn’t have limped over to the bench to take the pressure off your feet,” I told her. “Don’t give me that look. You’re many things, Mindy, but subtle is not one of them.”
“I can be subtle.”
“Sure thing, babe. Let me see,” I repeated.
She took off the shoe and it was predictably covered in blisters. I sucked in a breath. Why was she willingly running in these?
“You need new shoes,” I told her.
“I’m fine with Joe and Zipper.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Look, Deacon, I appreciate your concern but I’m fine.”
“You are not. If you want to run, fine, but let’s get new shoes before then.”
“Just drop it. They’re fine.”
She was definitely irritated with me. Alright then, I would drop it. For now.
“Bandages are in the left cabinet. Meet me in the living room in a half-hour,” I told her as I left the room.
***
An hour later, I handed the keys to the valet and led Mindy into the restaurant. Even now, she stepped gingerly, so I kept my pace slow.
The venue for tonight was a place downtown with a reputation of a staff filled with loose lips. Not a place for private conversations, but the ideal location if you wanted people to know you were out with your wife.
We sat and ordered. I brought up the goings-on I’d heard about the economy, mentioned the fact the cleaning crew would be in on Monday and tried to get a sense if there was anything missing from the apartment she wanted. Really, any of the topics should’ve brought out some critique or wry remark.
Mindy, instead, stared at her plate and made only the minimum number of mumbles to pass for the most disinterested wife ever.
“What’s wrong?” I finally asked her when the plates were cleared away.
“Not a thing, darling,” she said. There was a hint of snark in her response, but no playfulness.
Fine. If that’s how she wanted it, I’d wait for her to tell me. I let her words hang between us. Any moment, she’d fill the silence and say what was on her mind.
Maybe she’d changed her mind about the shoes. Or maybe hell froze over and she was worried about climate change.
She confirmed neither of those things. It seemed that when she wanted, my wife possessed an enormous capacity for silence.
I folded first, pride be damned.
“Tell me what the issue is so I can fix it.”
Her eyes flickered up to meet mine.
“You know what? There actually is something I want.”
Anything, if it would set her back to normal. “What?”
“A key.”
“To the apartment?” It was a stupid question that warranted a response of something dry, like No, the city, Deacon.
“Yes.”
“Easy enough. What brought this on?” I asked. Was she really in such a snit because of a key? I’d had a copy made days ago, but with work, I’d forgotten to give it to her.
“Nothing. Nowhere in our agreement did it say I would be a prisoner of your home. After a week, I’m going a bit stir crazy.”
“You know the doormen know to let you come and go as you wish?”
“How charitable.”
“If that’s how you want it,” I said. “I was simply telling you.”
“That is so good of you.”
I crumbled my napkin in my hand. This was definitely not about a key, and I said as much.
“It is about a key. There is no reason for me to be trapped, waiting for whatever time you traipse home while you have dinners with Rose.”
“Rose?” I exclaimed. “I was working, not fooling around.”
“Of course not. After all, you did say in our contract we couldn’t see other people.”
Her nonchalant tone irritated me. “This isn’t about the contract at all. What is it, you want to date around while I’m fighting to keep my father’s company?”
“No, I don’t, but I wouldn’t call working with Rose a grueling hardship.”
“God, you sound jealous,” I told her, incredulous. As if someone like her should be worried over the Dukas princess.
I expected an immediate denial, but the words seemed caught inside. She chewed on her lip and looked away.
Could she actually feel jealous? Mindy, who allowed nothing and no one to bother her?
I should’ve looked down on the weakness. Or filed it away for exploitation. But she was there, emotions raw, jealous over me. If there was a man alive who could resist that, I didn’t want to meet him.
“You are,” I told her, a grin spreading over my face. For whatever reason, this thought elated me. “Mindy Killip, do you actually have a crush on your husband?”
She turned almost white when I said that. “It’s Blake now,” she said softly.
“Is that the only part of my statement disagree with?”
She took a swig of her wine. “I disagree with the premise. I thought we were friends, Deacon, in some weird way, and maybe that’s stupid. Maybe it’s just business. But you’ve been working, what, eighty hours a week? We’ve said more words to each other in the past two hours than the last five days combined. I’ve been locked away, like a good little doll to take out when convenient, and I feel like I’m losing it.”
Okay, maybe her mood wasn’t entirely jealous, but her speech was a clear deflection.
“I apologize we haven’t gotten to talk much,” I told her. “And I do consider us friends, in a way, as you said. But you’ve worked with me for a year. You know how I operate.”
“I do. I do know that. Look, can we just go?”
“If that’s what you really want.” I signaled for the waiter and gave him my card. We’d been seen enough tonight, and I suspected our facade was close to crumbling.
Mindy 22
The next morning, the bed was once again empty and cold. The covers were pulled up to my shoulders, my head placed on a pillow once again without me waking.
I went to the closet to change and saw, in the center, a shoebox with a shiny key on top of it and a note.
It’s a very basic pair of running shoes that compensate for under-pronation. Don’t make a fuss. Just think of it as an apology for me being an ass last night.
I took out a shoe to examine it. They were my size. The coloring was neon orange with odd bedazzling sprinkled throughout. Gaudy, expensive, and in bad taste.
I hated how much I liked them, because what did that say about me?
I checked the box for a store name. Nothing. No gift receipt so I could return them.
Did I dare wear them? He could lead a girl to new shoes, but he couldn’t make her wear them. That would be all me, accepting his high-handed gift.
Deep down, I liked gifts. My happiest memories were my mother, giving me some new bauble. But once I’d learned more, they’d become tainted by the truth. The gifts were not happy little things anymore, but a thousand stones drowning me.
Deacon was not my mother.
I knew that. To him, these shoes were hardly anything.
I felt the inside. Unlike my converse, the supple padding probably wouldn’t hurt to run on. My latest blisters had mostly healed over the past night, but it would stink to reinjure myself over and over.
Of course, now that a key I could get my own shoes. Not that I had much money for them.
I weighed the shoe in my hand. It stung to accept the gift, but if this was his apology for being an ass, the least I could do was accept it after the way I’d acted last night. Besides, some of our meals had probably cost more than the shoes, I thought with a grimace.
I slipped them on. They were, admittedly, the comfiest shoes I’d ever worn. Even the way I walked in them felt different. Running in them would be divine. Inspired, I changed into workout gear and headed to the gym.
Which is where Deacon was. He was laid back against the bench, a massive bar with weights in his hands as he lifted and lowered it, over and over. Over and over, the muscles in his arms bulged, the definition highlighted with a thin layer of sweat. My eyes roved his body, rationalizing he couldn’t see me from the doorway. Deacon, it happened, worked out shirtless. A drop of sweat traveled from his neck down his chest. With every push of his body, his muscles flexed in a way that made me clench my legs. Finally, he’d had enough of the bar and set it on his hooks. He sat up and seemed surprised to see me.
“Hi,” I said, hoping it seemed like I’d just come by instead of been staring at him for the last two minutes like a creep. “Just, um, came to workout. A quick run.” His gaze dropped to my footwear. “Thank you for the shoes.”
“You’re welcome.” His chest heaved from the exertion he’d gone through.
I headed over to the treadmill and set it to a slow jog. Already, the run felt totally different, like I could go for miles instead of minutes.
I watched Deacon move over to another heavy-looking piece of equipment. He moved from dumbells back to the bar and stretched in between. Despite the good airflow of the room, it was hard to remember to keep breathing.