Page 88 of Full Tilt
“Jen, why are you answering your phone all out of breath?” Holt’s cringe-loaded voice replies.
With the treadmill belt now completely stopped, I take the pace up to a slow walk and connect the call to my earbuds, beginning a cooldown while I speak to my brother.
“I promise you I’m not getting it on,” I tell him, earning a side-eye from a woman a couple of treadmills down from me. “I’m at the gym, on the treadmill.”
“Thank Christ,” Holt replies and then pauses. “Wait, you’re working out with a big playoff game tomorrow? Shouldn’t you be keeping things light today?”
A lump sticks in my throat. For my entire life, the only man who has shown up repeatedly and ever given a shit about my welfare is my brother. When I’m this upset, I don’t usually answer his calls, for fear of making him worry. I should’ve checked who was calling before I picked up my phone.
“What’s the matter?” he presses, and I know he isn’t going to let this drop.
Giving up on my cooldown, I pray that the buildup of lactic acid isn’t too bad tomorrow and grab my towel and water bottle from the holder.
“I don’t even know where to begin,” I tell him, pushing into the women’s changing room, which is, mercifully, empty.
“I always find the best place to start is at the beginning.” He chuckles, and I hear a chair scrape along the floor.
“Where are you?” I ask.
“At home.”
I shake my head and take a seat on the bench. “But you don’t have any hard floors at your place.”
“We were talking about you, Jenna.” Holt brushes my observation off, and my mind wanders to last night.
The safest option would be to tell my brother about what happened with Tommy but replace his name with a random guy’s. I’m done with trying to defend Tommy though; he deserves to be ousted for the bullshit he pulled.
Setting my towel, phone, and bottle down on the bench, I begin unlacing my sneakers.
“I need you to promise me that you won’t go crazy when I tell you.”
A deep rumble vibrates down the line. “How about I save you the trouble and go ahead and tell you what I think has been going on?”
Blood drains from my face, and I sit up straight on the bench. “Okay.”
I hear Holt shift and take a sip of a drink before he continues, “If I said the name Tommy Schneider, would I be along the right lines?”
I’m pacing the changing room before I can register what I’m doing.
“Perhaps.”
Another rumble, but this one is louder.
“What’s going on, Jen? I got the impression you were keeping something from me the night you won the shield, but I didn’t push it since, despite being your brother, your love life is none of my business.” He clears his throat, voice turning deathly serious. “But if there’s one thing I can’t fucking stand, it’s men who treat women badly. And judging by the tone in your voice and the fact that you’re kicking the shit out of yourself on the cardio machines, I’m guessing Tommy has been about as good to you as I predicted.”
I drop my head between my shoulders, determined not to cry. Tommy doesn’t deserve my tears.
“We’ve been sleeping together,” I confirm.
Holt blows out a long, hard breath. “Keep going.”
Images of last night—Tommy’s smile and the way he held me as we fell asleep—flash through my mind in a carousel of heartache.
“At first, we were messing around. Hooking up to scratch an itch, you know?” I bite down on my bottom lip.
My brother doesn’t know what I mean because he only sleeps with girls he’s dating.
And right now, that seems like the smartest approach.
