Page 16 of Easy To Lose

“Thanks, Mom, love you.”

“Love you, too, sweetie. Your father and I are so proud of you and happy that you’re home.” I can’t help the tears that fall, and she brings me in for a hug.

“I’m happy I’m home too, Mom.” If only I could convince my brain that being here is the right thing for my heart. Because having Owen this close is messing with my head.

Chapter 13

Owen

It’s been a month since Morgan and I started working out together, making my resolve to keep my hands to myself a lot harder the more time we spend together. When my phone goes off beside me, I pick it up thinking it’s Morgan texting that she can’t make her training tonight, since she’s done that a few times over these last few weeks since her shop’s been so busy, but it’s not. It’s Bailey with yet another essay, explaining why we were so good together and that I should rethink my decision to break up with her. I know I should block her number. It’s what Matt thinks I should do. But for some reason, I feel bad. As if letting her rant at me over text once every week is my punishment for stringing her along for so long when I knew I wasn’t happy. I don’t even read the message before I delete it, setting my phone down on the counter as my eyes scan the front door, waiting for Morgan to arrive.

It only takes a few minutes before the front door opens, and a wave of heat enters the room. Morgan makes her way in, walks right past me without so much as a word, and heads straight for the changing room. Odd. She usually says something to me on her way past, but I just dismiss it and head into the workout space to set up the mats and weights. It only takes her about five minutes to get changed. When she comes back out, she’s dressed in her usual yoga pants and a large t-shirt that shows off her one shoulder and the fact that she’s wearing a fluorescent yellow sports bra underneath. The color accents her tanned skin, making her blond hair somehow brighter, and her blue eyes shine even more as they focus on me.

“You ready?” I ask since she still hasn’t said a word. She shrugs and slowly walks over to the mats. “Hey, you okay?” My voice is soft as I walk toward her. The minute I try to place a hand on her shoulder, she shrinks away.

“I’m fine,” she grunts as she gets on the floor and begins stretching. We go through a few exercises in total silence, and the longer we sit here together, the more I feel the anger, unease, and frustration flowing off her. But she refuses to talk.

Just as we start the last stretch, she finally speaks up.

“Why are we doing so many stretches? This doesn’t help me. I need to run. I need to sweat. I need to feel the fat falling off my body, Owen,” All of these words are said through clenched teeth, and when she won’t meet my gaze, I stop what I’m doing and sit beside her.

“What’s going on?” I ask, hoping I’ll finally figure out what’s really going through her head.

Morgan’s back slumps, and when her eyes meet mine, they are full of unshed tears. “We’ve been doing this for a month, and I’ve only lost five pounds.” Her voice hitches as she tries her hardest to keep those tears from falling, but a few escapes and I use that as an excuse to touch her, trailing my thumbs down her cheeks and wiping away the evidence.

“M, that’s normal. Losing a pound a week is the best way to safely lose weight, and the best scenario for success.” I’m not lying to placate her; I’m not saying these things to make her feel better. I’m actually trying to tell her that what she’s doing is working, even if she doesn’t think it is.

“I don’t give a shit if it’s normal. It’s been thirty days, and I still look the fucking same!” She stands, her voice rising with every word that leaves her mouth. I take a deep breath, wanting nothing more than to go over there and hold her. But right now, the anger that radiates off her body lets me know that is probably the worst idea. I hate the self-loathing I see in her eyes. I hate the way she picks apart every aspect of her body because people in this world can’t get past what the media deems acceptable. It’s a bunch of bullshit, and I’ve tried to build my brand around making women feel good in their skin, no matter what that looks like. But right now, Morgan is angry, and I know nothing the trainer in me can say will change her mind. So, I decide to talk to her not as her trainer, but as the man who’s still in love with her.

“Morgan, there is nothing wrong with you.” She scoffs and turns away, and that’s when everything comes to a head.

“It’s not working! I need it to go faster! I need you to push me harder!” Her voice pitches higher as her arms outstretch, and she waves them around as if that will get her point across better. I’ve seen this before. Many times. And each time is different. Sometimes, my clients just want quick results. Sometimes they want to be exactly who someone else wants them to be and fast. But most of the time, it’s internal. And from the tears continuing to fall from Morgan’s eyes now, I know it’s the latter. I just need to get it out of her.

“Why does it need to go faster, M? What is so time-sensitive that you need to transform yourself so quickly?” She doesn’t answer as her gaze moves to the floor. I tilt up her chin so her eyes meets mine. Everything changes in that instant. Her body goes slack, and all the tension leaves her shoulders as if what she’s been carrying around is more than she can bear. But it’s not until my hand finds her shaking one, our fingers twining, and the pressure of her fingers squeezes mine that it dawns on me how much this girl is hurting.

“I don’t want to hate the person I see in the mirror anymore.” Fucking hell. My heart sinks to the floor as Morgan’s eyes catch mine. My hands move of their own accord and cup the sides of her face.

“Baby, no. Do not hate that woman, because she’s beautiful.” She shuts her eyes, shaking her head vehemently. I wish with every fiber of my being that my words could heal the wounds inside her, but I know they won’t.

“No. No, I’m not.” The tears fall freely now as her eyes stay closed. I wipe away the moisture and lean my forehead against hers.

“Morgan, loving yourself is more important than what anyone thinks of you. I promise it will get easier,” I whisper, hoping some of the words make their way through the wall she’s built around herself.

“Why couldn’t I have been born looking like Bailey?” she mumbles, and I know she means every word. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t take the thought of her comparing herself to Bailey, and I can’t tiptoe around my feelings anymore. I’m done ignoring how my heart starts beating uncontrollably when she walks into a room, and I’m done letting her think that she isn’t better than Bailey just because she’s a different size.

“Morgan, stop. I need you to listen to me. You are not ugly. You are not fat. And you shouldn’t compare yourself to someone like Bailey because she doesn’t hold a candle to you!” My voice growls with every word, and before she can say anything, I pull her face to mine and seal my lips to hers.

Damn.

I didn’t know it would feel like this. The fantasy I had concocted over the years of what it would feel like to kiss Morgan doesn’t even come close to the real thing. Before I have a chance to overthink things, I lift her off the floor, pinning her against the mirrored wall behind us.

“Owen, what are you doing?” She moans as my lips travel down her neck and suck on the skin right under her ear. I smile, chuckling because if she’s questioning what I’m doing right now, I’m not as good as I thought.

“I’d have thought it was pretty obvious…” I murmur as my hands start to wander, slipping under her shirt to grip her hips. Her head falls back against the wall in pleasure. “But if you still don’t understand, maybe I should explain.” My lips attack hers once more, and I bask in the way her body melts against me.

“What the fuck?!” We break apart, Morgan dropping to the floor and fixing her shirt since it seems I hiked it up past her chest. I turn around and face the one person I know could ruin the very thing I want the most.

Bailey.

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