Page 72 of Giovanni
“You’re still not helping.”
The chair squeaks when he moves it closer, his elbow sprawling out on the desk as he leans closer.
“Okay, here’s what you got to do. Nothing. Let them both go and find a new woman.”
I groan, leaning back in my chair and glaring at him.
“Just go if you’re not going to help me.”
“I am helping. Chicks aren’t worth all this mental mess. Look around this place.”
His gaze sweeps the busy floor, and mine follows, curious about what I’m looking at.
“At least a dozen women would go out with you. Probably a dozen more that wouldn’t mind a go at that dick of yours. It is still unfair that you got that along with your height and hair.”
I death stare at him now, having heard his complaints many times before as he’s average, according to him, bald andunder six feet tall. All the things that bother him are common complaints from the women he dates.
“Forget it. I got to get back to work.”
I stand, done with his nonsense, when he rises, walking next to me as I make my way to the free weights area to tidy up.
“Alright, I got it. Do some big thing. You know all that shit they do in the movies.”
The back of his hand hits my shoulder as if his words weren’t enough to get my attention.
“Like, uh, uh, Vision sacrificing himself for Wanda. Something like that.”
“You want me to die to show Kacie how I feel about her?”
I can’t hide the skepticism in my voice as I nod to Frank, who’s walking in, ready to start our session.
“Yeah, not literally. Oh, oh, I got a better one. Like in the sappy movie where the dude paints the house for the chick, and then she comes back to him but doesn’t remember him when they are old.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I pick up some forgotten barbells and place them on the rack, rearranging others to have them in weight order while he trails behind me.
“You want me to paint my loft for her? I’m not sure if my landlord will allow that, plus the exposed brick and?—”
He hits me upside my head, causing me to whirl around on him. He takes a few steps back, otherwise holding his position.
“No, dumbass, do something big, something that lets her know how sorry you are. Win her back.”
“I already plan on that,” I say flatly when Frank joins us by shaking our hands with his greeting. “Alright, Marco, thanks for the advice. Frank, how are you doing today?”
Marco frowns when dismissed, shooting me the middle finger behind my client’s back and wandering away. The hourspent with Frank is helpful, allowing me to temporarily forget my immediate problems as we talk about the competition from this weekend and how he did. It isn’t until he’s covered in sweat, smiling and shaking my hand, that they come rushing back to me. They linger in the front of my mind through the rest of my clients until dusk sets in and the gym empties with people going home to their families.
On his way out, my boss thanks me for yesterday and asks about my friend. My responses are clipped with how guilty and terrible I feel. He claps me on the back, saying he’ll see me in the morning. I hum an acknowledgment and return to racking my brain, wondering what grand gesture I can do with her in the hospital. Drumming my fingertips on my desk while staring at the darkening sky, it hits me out of nowhere.
I swiftly rise from my seat, snatch up my keys, and bolt out the door, heading straight for my truck. The urgency propels me forward, each step quick and decisive as I jump in, peel out of the parking lot, and head straight to the grocery store to pick up everything I need. For the first time since I left the hospital, a seedling of hope takes hold in my mind and I find myself humming to the tune in the store as I shop.
Once done with the groceries loaded in my truck, I rush home and dash inside to shower. My hair is still wet, the curls almost ringlets when I change into a suit, grab a box from my closet, and drop her gift inside. I rummage through to find some leftover ribbon from Christmas to tie around it and then run the truck. I spritz some cologne on and steal a look in the mirror, feeling confident about what I’m about to do.
With the clock ticking down on visiting hours, I rush to the hospital, steering my truck into a parking spot in a manner reminiscent of the previous night’s haste. I quickly gather my bags and stride toward the hospital entrance, keenly aware of the limited time left to see Kacie.
The hospital’s fluorescent lights and sterile corridors contrast sharply with my racing heart and hopeful excitement. I navigate the halls with a single-minded focus, reaching her room.
When I reach her closed door, I pause, take a deep breath, and murmur an encouraging word to myself. This is that grand gesture they always discuss in the movies. I hope it works. Blowing out a long breath, I slowly open the door, ready to lay my heart and tell her how much she truly means to me. My footsteps are light, a slight trepidation in them as I peek around the pulled curtain to find her eyes closed and resting.
