Page 46 of I Blame the Alcohol

Once he’s satisfied that I am coherent enough to follow him, Mo turns and marches out of my room.

I fall in step beside him, doing my best to stifle a yawn. My eyes are bleary and probably bloodshot, but Mo’s are as bright and clear as the icicles dripping outside.

It’s annoying to say the least.

We pass the weight room Stella showed me last night, the “smaller” one of their two gyms she’d said. Her definition of small has some serious misconceptions because the glistening dumbbell racks lining the tasteful navy walls easily put Taber’s weight room to shame. The pristine black benches and rubber mats look clean enough to eat food off of, and don’t get me started on the row of mirrors lining the far wall.

It’s every gym bro’s wet dream.

We round another corner, successfully exceeding the mental map I’d made from Stella’s tour. At this point in the corridor, Stella and I had gone right, into the East Wing, but Mo takes a sharp left turn and jogs down the set stairs that open up before us.

I quicken my pace to keep up, sneaking curious glances at the two other floors we pass.

“For someone who slept for seven hours, you aren’t moving too fast this morning.”

Mo’s voice is laced with humour, his condescending tone exactly as it was when I was a freshman. I open my mouth to correct him then shut it. I still don’t know what time it is but it’s probably too early to deal with the fallout of going on a midnight tour with his younger sister.

We approach a beautiful crystal sliding door, the design indecipherable but breathtaking, nonetheless.

“Here we are.” Pulling the door open, Mo beckons me inside.

I take one step forward before coming to an abrupt halt when I spy what’s inside.

A stadium-sized scoreboard blinking 5:17AM.

And Stella dangling upside down, midair, in the middle of the room.

Mo chuckles, brushing past me, “Close your mouth, Ellsworth. It takes away from the jawline.”

I snap my mouth shut, mind struggling to process what is being laid out in front of me. Stella wasn’t kidding when she said the other gym was small, this gym could easily fit four of those inside and still have room leftover.

“What is she doing?” My eyes haven’t strayed from the small frame hanging wrong-side-up off one of the many ropes dangling from the ceiling.

That’s right, I said ropes plural. An entire section of the O’Brien’s fitness arena is allocated for ropes and rings. There’s another section that seems to be made completely of trampolines.

It’s like the freaking Olympics.

“She’s rope climbing. Without using her legs.” Mo shrugs casually, “She’s still working on mastering the L-sit rope climb. Going upside down helps keep the pressure on your arms and less on your core.”

I watch in amazement as Stella inches her way up the rope. Her platinum topknot remains stubbornly intact in the precarious position.

“Shouldn’t someone spot her?” Pressure builds in my chest as I realize just how far off the ground she is. A fall from that high could be fatal.

Mo shakes his head, “That’s what the crash mats are for.”

I squint, just barely making out the outline of a thick, black mat covering the otherwise spotless hardwood.

Movement hits my peripheral and I glance over to see none other than Jonathan O’Brien in one of the many squat rack sections. I watch in amazement as he loads up a barbell with more weight than I’ve ever lifted, but before I can watch the execution, Mo claps my shoulder and leads me the other way.

“Alright Ellsworth, time to put your recovery to the test.”

We wander closer to Stella, who finally reached the top, and is making her way back down the rope. I breathe a sigh of relief when her feet finally reach the ground, her bright red face throwing me a smile as we walk by.

“What do you have in mind?”

I’m not one to back away from a challenge, but I’ll admit there’s some trepidation in my voice. Mo might not be a cardio nut like his sister, but that doesn’t mean his workouts are any less brutal. They just hurt in a different way.

He shoots me a grin and I bite back a groan.

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