Chapter Twenty-One
I return to my office from the kitchen, my second cup of dark roast coffee in hand. I’m surprised to see Kenneth sitting at my desk, stirring up papers. Fear bubbles inside me. If he sees the documents I have for Jasmine, he’ll probably squeeze his stress ball until it explodes in his hand. Working on things unrelated to Janks and Lowe is probably grounds for termination. “Hi, Kenneth,” I say with forced calm. “Can I help you find something?”
“I certainly hope so. We have a filing due today on the Rivers case.” He slides papers left and right, like a child who’s frustrated when his finger painting turns brown from all the mixing. He finally looks up, a crazed gleam in his eyes. He’s so busy looking for something specific he didn’t bother reading what else is on my desk. Thank God.
“I sent it Friday morning. You asked me to do it first thing, and I emailed you when I sent it in.”
He crosses his arms and leans back in my chair. “You did?”
“Yes.” Of course I did, I want to yell. I do everything you ask me to do and then some. I walk over to the modular filing system, pull one of the labeled boxes off the shelf, take out a manila folder, and hand it to him. “Here’s my copy of the paperwork. I put your copy in your inbox. I can help you find it if you’d like.”
He flips through the pages, nodding his head and moving his lips like he’s reading aloud. Apparently satisfied, he passes the folder back to me. “Fine. In the future, please send me a text in addition to the email. I need to know you’re staying on top of things.” He shoves past me, and I keep my elbows close to my body so I don’t accidentally check him. It’s not my fault, I reassure myself. He’s a miserable person.
I’m about to leave for a quick sandwich when Kenneth bursts in, and I half expect to see someone chasing him, given the panicked look in his eyes. “Stay where you are, and we’ll order in. Shit’s going down.”
He presses his hands together and begins pacing the tiny space in front of my desk. “This is big, Katie. Hammond’s tour bus crashed en route to a stadium concert for his world tour last night. Seven people were on board, and we’ve signed up four of the victims, including Hammond himself, who broke his hand. No one knows how bad it is. Twitter is blowing up with rumors that he’ll never play guitar again. It’s a shit show, and I need you on it.” He fires off instructions, and I scramble to write everything down on a legal pad.
Just before five, Kenneth reappears in my office. His tie is loose and the sleeves of his shirt are rolled up. “What do you have for me?” he asks, pumping a stress ball.
As frazzled as he is, I’m ready to jump up and dance. Jasmine was granted a temporary restraining order, and the court has set a hearing date for a permanent order. I could hear the relief in her voice when she called to share the news. She’s already filed a copy with the local police, and Ryan will serve Roland in person later today. She just needs someone over eighteen to do it, and he was quick to offer.
Glancing at Kenneth, I say, “I have pictures of the scene from Google Earth, and I’ve marked where the accident occurred. The CHP won’t release the accident report because the NTSB is involved. I’m working on getting the other first responders’ reports. I’ve ordered the driver’s DMV records and have done a search to find any criminal history.”
“Put everything you have in a document and email it to me. This is a PR nightmare. Rumors are circulating about Hammond’s injuries. Some fans were blowing up social media with stories that he’d been killed. Frigging idiots. Every media outlet in the country wants a statement.”
“I wish I had more. It’s taking time to get everything we need.”
A scary smile slides onto his face. “Give me what you have, and I’ll spin it to make it work for us.”
That evening, I stand outside the gym and hoist my bag onto my shoulder. Jasmine rushes from her desk and high-fives me before pulling me into an exuberant hug. “Leave it to the girl who reads the waiver to help me out. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. We still have some hurdles ahead, but we got past a tough one. To get a permanent restraining order, we need to meet a higher burden of proof, but I think we have a good shot.”
She smiles. “I don’t have any doubts.” We step inside, and she heads back to her desk as I set my things by the cubbies. Javier’s students stretch on the mats, readying themselves for his class.
Ryan pads over, looking at me as though he’s seeing me for the first time. “Thank you so much for helping Jazzie.” He scrubs a hand down his face. “She filled me in on everything last night. I feel like a total jackass for not realizing what a huge problem it was.”
“Don’t. She told me that she kept downplaying it, because she didn’t really believe it was happening. It’s not uncommon.”
He raises a brow in question.
“I’ve done a lot of research online. In fact, I found a place where I might be able to start volunteering. It’s called the Holden Center, and it’s really close to my office, so it could work out great. Maybe it’ll feel like I’m finally putting my law degree to good use.”
“You’re one tough chick. And you impress the hell out of me. Come here.” He pulls me into a hug, resting his hand on my hair. It’s protective and sweet, and I’d be perfectly fine if we stayed this way for the entire hour.
“Thanks. You impress the hell out of me, too.”
His arms suddenly drop, and he steps back, sliding a hand through his hair. His eyes flash to where Jasmine sits. “We should get rolling.”
In the mirrors that line the wall across the gym, I see a reflection of Jasmine. She’s watching our every move, unsmiling. But maybe she’s not watching us at all and just staring into space. God knows she has a lot on her mind.
Ryan claps his hands together. “We’re going to mix it up today. I’m going to have you start with two minutes of nonstop punching on the bag. Get your wraps on, and we’ll get to it.”
“Okay.” I roll the fabric around and across and through, like a spider making a web. I secure the Velcro and walk over to him.
“You ready?”
“Yeah.”
He clicks the stopwatch and says, “Okay, go!”
I start punching the bag. Left, right, left, right. Ryan stands to my right, but he’s not looking at me. From my peripheral vision, I see he’s focused on the stopwatch as though he’s timing something really important, like the departure of the space shuttle. “You’ve got a minute forty-five left. Keep it up. Move your feet. And don’t forget to breathe.”
A ragged breath escapes me, and I’m back in the yoga class, a bug-eyed iguana, unable to breathe normally. The bag looms in front of me, and I drag my arms up, ready to fight. It’s just the bag and me.
I punch until he tells me to stop. But then it’s roundhouse after roundhouse. It’s almost like he’s avoiding having to talk to me. Did something happen between him and Jasmine last night? But he texted me…
When I can’t lift my leg to do another kick, he lets me take a quick water break. It’s the perfect time for him to say something funny to alleviate the strange tension. Or maybe he’ll ask me if I’ve thought about our kiss. And I’ll say, Yes, I haven’t stopped thinking about it. I dreamed about it last night. Then he’ll push me up against a heavy bag, kissing me hard, right here in the middle of the gym.
But I’ve barely unscrewed the cap to my water when he runs off again. When he returns, he hands me a fifteen-pound kettlebell. “I checked out some cool kettlebell exercises online over the weekend.”
My ears perk up at his mention of the weekend, and I look at him, eager for more, but he simply nods and shows me the first exercise. And all we talk about is the many uses for the stupid kettlebell. I’m ready to chuck the thing through the window.
He’s right next to me, close enough to touch, but he might as well be standing outside. I can’t stop thinking about how desperately I want to drop everything and kiss him. I’m crazy about a guy who I never would’ve picked out of a lineup for me. He is so far from what I thought I needed—so far from the paper version of Brad that looked great to my mother but essentially added up to nothing for me. The way Ryan stares at me makes me feel like I’m the only person in the room. No one has ever looked at me the way he does. The way he did. Something must’ve happened last night. But what?
I finish the kettlebell swings, and he nods toward the battle ropes. “Let’s get three sets in with the ropes. First set is twenty star jumps, second is twenty double waves, and the last is twenty snakes on the floor. Let’s go.”
I hold back a groan. He knows I hate snakes on the floor. They’re exactly what they sound like—making the ropes look like snakes slithering along the ground—and they absolutely kill my shoulders. I’d normally joke and ask if I could lie on the floor for a twenty count instead, but I can’t bring myself to say a word.
A bare bulb clicks on, shining a line of harsh light onto the turf. It must be set to go on at dusk. Ryan steps to the side and shades his eyes as I swirl the ropes. “The cover broke the other day. We need to get a new one. That bulb’s killing my eyes.”
I toss the ropes aside when I reach twenty and heave a breath. “Yeah. It’s bright.”
“You enjoyed that, didn’t you?” He motions to the ropes, lifeless on the ground.
“Hated every minute.”
He laughs, and I feel lighter and brighter. The power he has over me is scary. “Great job tonight.”
“Thanks.” I don’t even try to hide my smile.
He shoves a hand through his hair. “There’s something I want to run by you.” His tone is different—just slightly—but it draws me in, making my head buzz with butterflies.
“Sure.”
“I think it’d be cool for you to try some sessions with Javier.”
The smile drops from my face. “Why?”
He looks at the ground, at the wall, anywhere but at my eyes. “It’s good to mix it up so you can develop your own style and not become too dependent on one trainer.”
My heart pounds against my chest. It’s trapped and needs to escape. Too dependent on one trainer? It doesn’t make sense.
Oh God. Unless it does.
Their constant banter.
His concern.
They had the entire night to talk after he texted me. Maybe they didn’t just talk… My stomach aches with the thought. He’s moving me aside so he can have the one he’s always wanted but just couldn’t see. That time when she was watching Claire’s little dog and said, Fuck you, Brincatt, and he said, Keep dreaming of the day, I thought he meant you keep dreaming, when the truth is, he meant I keep dreaming of the day.
“But I—” The look on his face makes me shudder to a stop.
“Javier is awesome.” He smiles like everything’s okay. “Is it cool if I give him your number so he can set something up with you?”
Humiliation and sadness battle for real estate on my chest and face, both threatening to display their red stain. I tug at my wraps and begin to unravel them from my hands. “Sure. Pass my number to him.”
“Cool. I’ll do that.”
I’m too flustered to respond. And now my wraps are a tangled disaster piled at my feet. With a sigh, he picks up the slack and begins rolling it into a tight ball. Does he see my heart down there, breaking on the ground? He places the neat rolls into my palms and presses them shut. It feels final, like he’s folding my heart into my hands and asking me to leave. “There you go. You’re set.”
Won’t he miss me? Even a little bit? “Thanks. I’ll see you around, I guess.”
He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Hang on a sec. I have something for you.”
He jogs inside, and I consider leaving before he returns. What does he have for me? A copy of Javier’s bio so I know how lucky I am? His sister was right. He has issues.
He returns before I’ve succeeded in making my legs work, a flat paper bag the size of a piece of copy paper in hand. He stands in front of me, sturdy and stable, and I feel like sand streaming through an hourglass. My time with him is up. But the nervous smile on his face tells me to wait. “I, uh, I’m not sure I was supposed to do what I did, but I couldn’t resist.” He carefully pulls a single sheet of thick paper from the bag. “I took a photo of one of your dad’s pictures, and I painted this for you.”
I take the paper from his hands and stare into my own beaming face. It’s the picture of me running to my dad in Central Park. The one that matters the most. Thoughts are rose petals in my head, drifting and floating, but words stick like thorns in my throat.
“Do you like it?” He shifts on his feet.
My eyes meet his, and I bite my lip, afraid I might accidentally tell him I love him for doing this. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”
“You should always look this happy.” He gestures to the picture. “It reminds me of how you looked after getting off my bike.” He bites back a grin. “Happy looks good on you.”
I want to scream at him. Doesn’t he know he can’t do nice things like this for female friends he’s accidentally kissed? They’ll all fall for him. God, he’s probably left a trail of broken hearts across every gym and tae kwon do studio he’s ever set foot in. “Thanks. This means a lot to me. More than you’ll ever know. I, um—”
The door clatters, and we turn. Javier steps onto the turf along with a trail of his students. “Okay, guys, the medicine balls are on the racks. Grab one to share with your partner. Make sure it’s not too heavy.”
Ryan presses a hand to his forehead. “God, I can’t even get a minute,” he mutters. “I need to get to my next client, but I’ll have Javier get in touch with you.”
My chest tightens as my mouth goes dry. He said happy looks good on me. A lump forms in my throat. I want to ask if he thinks this makes me happy, but my voice is trapped. And I’m left with yet another reminder that all endings aren’t happy ones.