“You know it does.”
Now Gabe grinned. “Sorry. It’ll help in the long run, I promise.”
He explained what he was doing as he worked, suspecting that the steady stream of one-sided conversation would put his dad’s mind at ease. Some clients preferred quiet while they wereworked on, others chatted up a storm to take their mind off the pain, or because they were worried, or lonely.
So Gabe talked, leaving gaps in the flow of words in case his father wanted to respond. And eventually, he did.
“How many hours have you put into this?” Esteban asked.
Gabe blew out a breath as he tried to think of an answer. “Oh, I don’t know. Thousands, probably.”
“¿Verdad?”
Was it his imagination, or did his dad sound impressed?
“At the beginning I was trying to learn everything as fast as I could, to get through my training in record time. I did as many sessions as I could fit into a day, on anyone who would let me.”
“That’s because you know how to work hard,” Esteban said, then added, “Ow. Carajo.”
“Sorry.”
Gabe replayed his father’s words in his head.You know how to work hard.They sounded like praise. Once, Gabe would have taken them as a dig, like he owed his work ethic to his father. But... maybe he did.
All those hours Gabe had put in at the store, stocking shelves, creating displays, prepping the bank deposits, and taking inventory. The endless tasks, on top of homework and baseball practice, had taught Gabe to focus his attention and manage his time, and had prepared him to run his own business when it came to it.
Or maybe Esteban was also just acknowledging that Gabe was a hard worker. He’d worked hard then, and now. Maybe his father did see that, had always seen that.
Back then, Esteban wouldn’t have said it out loud, so perhaps this was progress.
As Gabe worked on the tension his father held in his body, he thought about the responsibility Esteban had carried. And the worry. Now that Gabe worried about his niece and nephew, about his parents and their health, he could recognize how much worry must have been his father’s constant companion in those years.
There was a lot he could blame the man for, but he had to admit, his father had prepared him for adulthood well. He’d forced Gabe to sit beside him and learn how to manage the finances for the store, which had made Gabe feel more than comfortable when he was paying bills and doing payroll for his own business.
Gabe’s mind wandered to those early years of doing PT work, and he had a flash of remembered feeling—the sense of satisfaction he’d gotten after working on a patient, when they told him how much better they felt, as he noted their progress on his chart. He looked down at the light brown skin of his father’s shoulder, just a shade darker than his own hands, and remembered.
This was why he’d started. This was what it had always been about for him.
Doing the hands-on work, helping people one at a time. He opened the gym so he could help more people on his own terms, assisting them in living lives free from pain to be more present and happier in their own bodies.
But somewhere along the way he’d started spending moretime in the office than at the treatment table. The needs of a growing business had distanced him from the physical work. No wonder he’d been so miserable and burned out.
Agility had gotten on the radar of celebrities, leading to more success, but they weren’t who the gym was for. Agility Gym hadn’t been designed with celebrities in mind, but for real people with real bodies and real pain, to help them increase their mobility, decrease pain, and improve the quality of their lives.
Even the location of the gym had been Powell’s idea. Establishing it in Santa Monica meant they’d have a certain kind of clientele. And while Gabe was grateful to celebs like Rocky Lim who’d put Agility on the map, they had access to all kinds of additional body help that regular people didn’t. And once celebs started frequenting a place, it changed.
Fuck.He’dchanged.
Gabe wasn’t some celebrity trainer. He was a physical therapist. A health-care provider. Not a PT to the stars.
Without Agility and what it had become hanging around his neck, Gabe had an opportunity to shift course. He just had to be brave enough to go for it.
As he rotated his father’s arm, noting the range of motion, Esteban turned to Gabe and pinned him with a look.
“Tengo una pregunta,” Esteban said, and Gabe knew which question was coming. “¿Por qué?”
There could only be one thing thatWhy?referred to, but Gabe asked anyway. “Why what?”
“Why didn’t you come back? Until now.”
