He looks around, sniffing, those veinous hands on his hips. “No pressure on me, then. Suppose if I fail, everyone loses.”
I hadn’t thought of it like that and cringe at how I didn’t even consider him. I can’t win with this guy.
“Shit, I’m sorry, Ryder. I know that doesn’t help anything. Look, it’s mostly a petty thing by now. Just focus on yourself. I’ll figure this shit out. I don’t want you to feel like you came into a shit-show. I mean, to be transparent, you sort of did, but I won’t let this spill over onto you,” I explain, looking away to choke down a flood of pain. “I’m competitive, and I will do what it takes to help youf win. I mean that. I was a gymnast in college, so I can check this crap at the door when necessary.”
He looks down at me, his chest continuing to rise and fall, his eyes brightening when I mentioned I was a gymnast. But whatever truly flashed in his mind never reaches his lips. “It’s good of you to look out for your brother’s name, you know.”
I… I think that might have actually been an earnest comment. Standing, I feel like I’m a loser in a race who got complimented on her piddly efforts; it’s sort of pathetic how eager I am to hear those words. I nod, not wanting to wallow in self-pity. Ryder probably feels like he is at the most dramatic gym in all of Pittsburgh.
That’s not what Jeremy would want him to see.
I sniff, wishing I had a tissue. “Thanks. It’s nice to hear someone say something positive about it for once... Why’d you stop by, anyway? Something about the massage later?”
“Yeah. Andrew fucked up my schedule, so we’ll have to do it tomorrow. Got some new competition, and need to watch videos of him fighting.”
“At least hit the sauna later. You were really tight last time, and it’s been a week. We’ll definitely rub you down tomorrow, though.”
He sucks in a deep breath, and I swear some different gears are turning in his head, like he wants to make a joke out of it, but the only ones he can come up with would be inappropriate. I find it curious that he pauses for consideration. Maybe he’s actually trying to be nice.
Or maybe it’s the opposite, and he’s just stingy about breaking his rule on being anything other than professional with me.
I don’t like the silence and say, “Anyway, I should get back to it.”
Awkwardly turning away, I head inside with slightly burning cheeks, wiping desperately at them in hopes of cleaning up any streaks of mascara. I glance around the space and spot Luke, who is focusing on legs today, his back to me. I want to talk to him about the gym and maybe ask for his advice, but that just feels cruel. He’d want to console me, and I don’t want to feel guilty aboutthaton top of everything else.
Maybe it’s time I admit that I don’t seem to know what I want anymore.
* * *
Getting this cookout over with is the priority, as I plan to head over to Dolores’s house for scones and tea right after.
Of course, I decided to bring another baked angel food cake, per a request from Andrew, although I cheated this time and bought it at a bakery. When I park on the street at Andrew’s home, I turn the car off and sit in silence, not ready to don a cheerful face for everyone.
My life, at best, is confusing right now. In one hand, I hold the very dream of my deceased brother. In the other hand, I hold all the drama of living in a shitty place with a backyard that is probably a damn sinkhole waiting to happen, I still have loans to pay off, Ryder hates me, and Andrew is trying to steal Jeremy’s gym name.
I feel too guilty talking to Dad, who’s lost hisson.Perspective trivializes my issues, yet my struggles are just as tiring.
It’sallgetting tiring.
Listlessly looking out my window, I see that there are at least twenty cars parked in Andrew’s driveway, his neighbor’s, or on the street. I eye the fence surrounding his half-acre backyard, which is full of trees and trimmed grass. Smoke curls into the air, probably from a fire pit. No families or friends are attending today, which means hanging around a bunch of men with whom I don’t have much in common.
Shooting the shit with them at the gym is always fun, but I’m just... guess this is a part of my funk.
I huff and get out with my dessert in hand, breathing in the smoke. Wearing jeans, sandals, and a nice, loose green shirt with my hair down, I top it off with sunglasses pulled through my hair. I figure it’s neutral enough.
That’s what Jeremy would recommend. Just be neutral and don’t force anything.
I walk through the open gate in the back to see nearly twenty men drinking beer and laughing, a large oak tree towering over the group. Some reenact fight moves as they tell their stories. I scan the scene and spot Ryder sitting by the fire pit wearing worn-down jeans and a tight gray shirt, his form already filling out.
Ryder surveys the cookout with a bored expression, like a teenager attending a family event when they would rather be anywhere else.That’s my mood right now.
I set the cake down on the food table, eyeing the chips, fruit, veggies, burger, and brat buns ready to be filled with meat, all sitting next to a grill.
Someone gently slaps me on the back. My tension relaxes when I see Luke’s freshly shaven face grinning at me.
He looks at the cake and says, “Oh hey, wasn’t that Jeremy’s favorite? I remember him talking about it. I think that was at the last one of these that he came to.”
My lips widen into a grin, stemming from a genuine place in my heart.He remembers. “Yup, and apparently Andrew’s too. He asked for it.”
