Page 10 of Reluctantly You

I sure fucking hope so. I don’t know how much more disappointment I can take.

Changing into my gym clothes in the locker room—my eyes avoiding the open shower and the naked men washing there—I walk out to the free weights, not meeting my gaze in the mirror. I know I won’t like what I see staring back at me. It won’t be a pretty sight.

Grabbing the dumbbells, I start with something lighter, my reps short, testing myself. When I realize a week off didn’t completely ruin me, my spirits lift slightly and I up my weightlimit. Twenty minutes later, I end up on the bench press, straining under the amount I placed on each end.

Part of me wants to give up entirely, but I carry on.

I push through it, liking the way my body aches and strains as I work.

Really, what’s getting me through it is the red, molten anger boiling up inside of me. I’m so fucking mad. Everything’s been taken from me. It’s all gone.

I’m nothing. Just a sad man in the gym after working a job that will never amount to anything.

I’ll never amount to anything.

And because of that, I’ll never be important to anyone.

With one last heave, I sit up and wipe at my face, swiping the tears away as I go. Shit, no one better have seen that. Tears are a weakness. Real men don’t cry.

“Oh! Hi,” a voice says to my right, and I turn my gaze. I see a guy slightly younger than myself, probably late twenties, with tattoos covering his entire body. He’s wearing athletic shorts and a tank top, his hair pulled back with a hot-pink sweatband.

And in his mouth is a lollipop.

What the fuck is this? Is this a cosmic joke?

“I couldn’t help but admire how strong you are,” the guy says with a grin, his lips cherry red from the candy. “I was wondering if you could give me some pointers. I’m Emery, by the way.”

I continue to stare at him. I don’t speak to people in the gym. And I sure as fuck don’t speak to anyone when I’m feeling this bad.

He obviously can’t read the room, and instead of taking in my angry countenance and walking away, he just leans a little closer, his eyes twinkling slightly.

“I’m trying to get in shape for my man. He’s so hot, like a supermodel, and I’m like…well, I could use some work.” Heglances around and then lifts up his shirt, showing me his nipples. He points at them, and I arch an eyebrow.

“I have moobs.”

I stare at him blankly as I run a towel over my face once more, inhaling deeply.

“I’m not giving you fucking pointers,” I bite out.

He sighs and his shirt falls down. “I mean, fair. It was a long shot. Anyways…if you change your mind, I’ll be over there, trying not to die.”

He grins at me, pops the lollipop back in his mouth and wanders off, a skip in his step.

I watch him go, flustered and slightly intrigued. That guy was awash in a rainbow of colors, so much so I couldn’t even make them out in their entirety.

God, I need to get a fucking grip, I think as I shake my head with a scoff.

Gyms these days just let anyone in. Fuck. Next time, I’ll bring my earphones. That way if someone tries to speak to me again, I’ll have an excuse not to listen.

I finish up my workout on the treadmill, my entire body heaving by the time I get off. On shaking legs, I make my way back to the locker room where I shower before changing and heading home. As I exit the building, I see Emery standing face forward on the hack squat machine—a machine you’re meant to use facing outward. He starts to bend down, his ass out, his arms flailing at the sides.

“I’m gonna die,” he grunts, and I shake my head at the sounds he’s making.

Fuck. It doesn’t matter.

It’s really not my business. The kid will figure it out eventually. Either from someone else or from a ride to the hospital.

I really don’t have time for anyone’s shit.

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