Page 2 of Giovanni
“I believe I can too.”
Her words stoke the already burning fire in my belly. I’m not just building a body. I’m sculpting a legacy. Every drop of sweat, every weight I push, pull, or lift, every meal measured down to the last macro—it’s all for that moment under the bright lights.
“So, what did you do for New Year’s Eve?” Jenna asks, beginning her workout ritual.
Marco pipes up about his wild night on 20thStreet and falling off the swings at McIntyre’s. He’s sporting a cut above his eye because of it, and she awws at him like he’s a damn baby. Heis a big fucking drunk baby and not the cute ones that coo and shit their pants.
I stay silent for a beat. With Paolo and Taylor attending a hotel party downtown and Seb taking Chloe to New York to see the ball drop, I was left in my own company on the last night of the year. Not that I’d admit this to her, but I got too fucked up over her last month. Getting trashed and Seb taking care of me on more than one occasion was stupid and not something I want to repeat. The hand on the clock hitting a new year was just what I needed to reset my life.
“I was here,” I admit, the echo of the empty gym still vivid in my mind. “Just me, the weights, and a midnight toast of my protein drink.” And a decision to compete in Mr. Olympia.
Jenna pauses, the dumbbells in her hands forgotten for a moment.
“You weren’t lonely?”
I duck my head behind the squat rack, grab a forty-five-pound plate, and put on my poker face. She hit the nail right on the head, and I feel a twinge in my gut that I’m not keen to divulge to her.
“Loneliness is for people who don’t have goals,” I deflect with a half-smile as I slide the plate onto the bar with a clang that I hope sounds more confident than I feel. “Wasn’t lonely, just focused.”
She’s watching me, her gaze kind of piercing in a way that says she’s not buying it, but she lets it go when her eyes flash to Marco.
“Focused is good,” Jenna concedes, resuming her reps. “Especially with a goal like Mr. Olympia on the line.”
There’s a beat where I just watch the smooth control of her movements, the determination in each lift that mirrors my own. It’s clear she understands the grind, the sacrifice, the tunnelvision I need to have if I’m going to make it to the top of anything.
I step under the squat rack, feeling the familiar weight settle across my shoulders.
“What about you?” I ask, pushing up the weight in a steady rhythm. “Your New Year’s was good?”
She nods, setting down the dumbbells and taking a sip of water.
“It was quiet. Just family and some reflection on the past year. Made some resolutions, too.”
“Resolutions, huh?” I grunt out another rep. “Like what?”
Jenna laughs a sound that makes the gym feel less empty. “Not telling. It’s bad luck to share them too early.”
I rack the weight, turning to face her, curious despite myself.
“Since when?”
“Since I decided it’s a new rule,” she teases, picking up her towel. I can’t help but laugh, the tension from her loneliness question fading.
“Fair enough. I’ll just have to wait and see then.”
She gives me that smile again, the one that’s too knowing, too warm. The twinge in my gut turns into a stabbing of my heart. This is why I like the girl. She’s nice and friendly and always has this sweet side about her.
“Guess you will.”
I glance down at her left hand, the ringless ring finger without so much an indent or tan line indicating she’s taken. Fucking mixed signals.
As she moves to the next part of her workout, I find myself watching her again. Jenna’s got this way about her, an open honesty that makes me want to spill all my secrets and plans. But I’ve learned the hard way that the less people know about my inner battles, the better. My family being some of them.
I turn back to the mirror, to the weights, to the silent promise of a new year and a new start. I’ve got a title to win, a physique to perfect, and a heart to protect—getting fucked up over anyone or anything isn’t part of the plan. Not this year.
This year is about discipline, about reclaiming every piece of myself that I let slip away last year. As I lift, I can almost feel the burden of past poor decisions being eliminated with each rep. I sink into another squat, muscles burning with the sweet agony of growth and determination.
“You’re really gunning for it, huh?” Jenna’s teasing voice cuts through my concentration.
