Page 22 of Winter Break Up

I feel strong, stronger than I ever have, and my mind is in the exact place it needs to be. Sports are as mental as they are physical, and I’ve been doing everything possible to up my game going into the league season.

The shrill ring of my phone cuts through the rock music in my headphones, and I hit receive before thinking about it.

“You lifting right now?”

My trainer’s voice comes through the phone, and I chuckle because this is such a Tim thing to do. Leave it to my private strength and conditioning coach to not care that it’s five in the morning, and some people might not be awake enough for a call. The dude does his first workout, meditates, and answers all his client emails by four thirty or some shit. He’s insane to most people, but he’s taken my fitness to the next level, so clearly, his method of madness works.

“How’d you know? Did you develop telekinetic abilities and not tell me?” I really wouldn’t be surprised if he had.

“Working on that one.” Tim chuckles, and I picture him downing a glass of green juice. “But no, I need to know you’re serious while at home, and this answers my question. You’re doing your every other day cold plunges, right?”

I grumble, knowing I’ve slacked on those. “I work my ass off on a frigid tree farm nearly five days a week, doesn’t that count?”

“No, although that’s so small-town cute.” He mocks me, and all I imagine is his perfectly tanned self standing on his million-dollar balcony overlooking South Beach.

“Come through and see how small town it is after you lift your first seven-foot Douglas fir.” The boast is a half-joking challenge.

“Honestly, not a bad way to get some more exercise and endurance in. But you need to be doing those cold plunges. They’ll help your recovery and are great for the tissue in your knee. Even though you’ve said you feel fully rehabbed, in my professional examination of athletes I’ve worked with, there is still weakness there months after. You’ve got a huge season ahead.”

Tim is a pretty intense guy, but like I said, his methods work. It was a risk going with a private coach instead of using someone the university offered, but if I want to go pro, I’ll need all the help I can get. Not only does Tim know how to kick my ass, but just the mention that I’m working with him tells pro clubs that I’m taking this seriously.

“Couldn’t ask for anything more. Don’t worry, I’m following your plan. I’ll be back in Miami in about a month, and then we’ll start workouts again?”

“You bet. This time, I’m going to get your meditation up to one-hour increments.” His voice is all business.

I shudder. “My mind goes nuts at five minutes, Tim, but sure.”

I haven’t mastered the art of meditation at all, despite how much he wants me to try.

“All right, kid. Finish up, then get a good breakfast in. Try to add some green juice into your diet, yeah? You won’t always be a young buck.”

Tim is constantly on me about my nutrition, but I like junk food a little too much. If I work it off in the gym, I give myself permission to go a little crazy in the kitchen.

“Have a good holiday, man. Talk soon.”

I hang up with him and power through the rest of my sets, my mind waking up as my body burns through the exercises.

An hour later, and still at the crack of dawn, I’m at Palmer Tree Farm, working my ass off in the cold.

“Did you get any of Mom’s apple streusel?” Charlie asks as he lugs a tree up onto the platform.

Together, we shove it through the netting apparatus, and he cuts it off with a box cutter and then ties the bottom.

“No, I didn’t realize it was in the break room. That’s one of my favorite things she makes.” My stomach rumbles just thinking about it.

“She’s testing a new recipe for our Christmas dinner, and I’m more than happy to try every variation.” He grins.

My heart aches, for a second, for the mother I never had. Grandpa tried hard through the years to create our own traditions. We decorated the tree together, went to church on Christmas Eve, and made the seven fishes dinner like his mother used to. But our holiday was always small, and even if I had love in my life, there was something about good old Saint Nick coming down the chimney that made me feel lacking.

It’s times like this that I realize Charlie and I are just different and always will be; he knows nothing but warm pies and a mother’s love during Christmas. And well, I don’t.

I also know what it’s like to kiss his sister in secret and not tell him whatsoever, but I can still lie to myself and say it’s for his own good. Last time everything blew up with Emily and me, my friendship with Charlie caught some of the shrapnel. I don’t want to tell him anything in case this isn’t going anywhere, or worse, goes south.

Still hasn’t stopped me from looking around every damn pine tree for Em this morning. We left the bar separately last night after flirting our faces off after that kiss. It was self-preservation that had me going home alone, but it doesn’t mean I liked it.

“Honey, you have to stop trying to climb the trees.”

A frustrated voice groans through the branches a few rows back, and I go in search of it. I’ve worked here long enough to recognize the frustration of a customer. As special as a lot of families want this outing to be, picking a tree is often difficult and a hassle. It’s why the people who work here try to make it as seamless as possible.

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