Chapter 2: “Inhale the future; exhale the past.”

Slayde

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Rook Callahan was not what I expected to meet at my job interview at the Jungle Gym Friday afternoon. He was a head taller than me and built like a mountain. Black tattoos showed faintly on his ripped arms, which rested in front of him on the desk as he studied my resume. A heavy, stainless watch was on his wrist.

I’d spent two days poring over the Help Wanted section, looking for anything that didn’t require a lot of background information—restaurants, garages, cranberry bogs. Most places wanted references, and I was lucky to have Doc, even if he wasn’t always available to take phone calls.

“You say you’ve never worked at a health club before?” His black eyes cut to me.

“No.” I held his stare a moment before I looked down at my hands, running my thumb over the bold 21 inked on the back of my right one. A blue, red, and green network of vines and a skull covered my forearm above it, and I was glad he had ink as well. That was one additional bit of prejudice I didn’t need. “I’ve used gyms quite a bit, but I’ve never worked at one.”

“You’ve got one reference listed. This somebody related to you?”

“No.” Looking up again, I met his gaze head-on. “References are difficult. If I can speak for myself, I’m a hard worker, and I’m only looking for honest work. Nothing more.”

He chewed the inside of his bottom lip as he looked back to the sheet in front of him. Then he leaned back in his chair and ran a large hand over his close-cropped hair.

“You used to be a fighter?”

My insides clenched, and I wanted to push us quickly through this part of the conversation. “Years ago. I had to... I was forced to quit.”

For whatever reason, that admission changed him. The hard intimidation softened, and he leaned forward to stand, circling the desk so that he was in front of it, facing me.

“When I played ball, I knew a lot of guys forced to quit for whatever reason.” He paused and looked at the door as if reliving it. “They’d get mixed up in some shit or the other. Couldn’t let it go.”

His words were probably meant to build a bridge, but I could feel the heat rising in my chest, that old anger sparking to life. I tightened my jaw, searching my brain for one of Doc’s mantras, hoping to head off whatever he might say next.

“I just need a job.” My voice was flat.

Bridge unbuilt, intimidation back. I was far more comfortable with that arrangement. “Any of your shit going to come to my gym?”

“No, sir,” I answered fast. “It’s in the past. Over.”

He nodded once. “I’ll give you a shot, a probationary period. You show me we need you up here, that you won’t cause any problems, and I’ll see about making it permanent.”

“Fair enough.” I stood and held out my hand.

He stared at it before pushing off the desk and going to his office door. “I’ll give you the tour.”

I put my unshook hand in my pocket and followed him down the short hall. He paused at a set of double-glass doors to the right. “Through here are racquetball courts and on the other side is the group fitness center. The women’s lockers are behind that. You’ll take care of them after hours—mornings, evenings, you decide. Not when the women are present.”

I nodded. “Understood.”

He continued a few steps, and we were near the center entrance, where a large juice bar was situated.

“Mariska works the bar. She’s off Fridays, but we can usually handle the traffic. Keep the floors mopped and the trash emptied back here. She can handle wiping down the counters.”

I nodded, and a very blonde, very stacked female stepped into the center of the bar area. She had the kind of body that made any guy’s dick twitch, and by the way she moved, I could tell she knew it.

“This is my wife Tammy.”

She was also officially off-limits, not that I was interested in romance of any kind. I did a quick nod before looking down.

“Nice to meet you.” Her voice was smooth and friendly. “You our new maintenance guy?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Rook lingered, and when he spoke again, his voice was low. “Where’s Kenny?”

“Left early. Said she wasn’t feeling well.” The way she answered, it seemed they were communicating something else. I glanced up at them and noticed my new boss’s frown.

“She’ll be in on Monday?”

“Yeah, I talked to her. She’ll be okay.”

I couldn’t tell what was going on, but Rook started moving, resuming my tour.

“What’s your name, maintenance guy?” Tammy called out.

“Slayde,” I answered.

“Good to have you, Slayde.” She gave me a friendly smile, but I stuck with a nod in response. I wasn’t looking for friends either.

The Jungle Gym was bigger than it looked on the outside. Rook led me through an enormous, open room filled with free weights and machines on one end and treadmills and stair climbers on the other. The men’s locker room was off the back of it.

“You can get in here and clean whenever it’s slow. Our busiest time is after work hours during the week.” He stopped and looked around the empty room. “I don’t care when you clean it, so long as you hit it once a day.”

“Yes, sir.” I followed him back out and around a corner to a room that stopped me in my tracks. It was a small boxing area. A strike bag hung from the ceiling in one corner, and in the center was a speed bag. A smaller strike bag was on a pole weighted to the floor.

“What’s this for?” I instinctively reached out to touch it, but the onslaught of memories was almost too much—the sound of the whistle, the barked orders of my coach, the hours upon hours I’d spent working, chasing, dreaming. I’d gotten so close, and I’d lost it all.

“Cardio strike bag.” Rook answered, oblivious to my discomfort. “Kenny’s working up a routine for group fitness. I like to keep things fresh.”

It was the second time this Kenny person had come up, but I was less interested in her than in getting out of here. Clearing my throat, I nodded down.

“You still keep your chin tucked.” A grin was in his voice.

I didn’t even realize I was doing it. “I guess. It’s good protection.”

“Old habits. I know.” He chuckled. “Come on.”

As I followed him back toward the front, we met a guy who looked about my age. He had light brown hair and was dressed in nylon pants and a thick brown tee with a Nike swoosh on the shoulder.

“Slayde, this is Pete. He’s one of the trainers here.”

I nodded as per usual, but he stopped me. “Hey, nice ink. What’s that?”

The short-sleeved shirt I wore didn’t quite cover the pair of boxing gloves on my right biceps. I didn’t want to talk about it, but I didn’t see a way out.

“Just something I did a while back.” Briefly pulling up the fabric, I allowed him to read it before I dropped the curtain again.

“Never stop fighting. Cool. You a fighter?”

Rook interrupted. “That your three o’clock walking in?”

He glanced over his shoulder before turning back. “Yeah, okay. Take it easy, man.”

We were back at the front, and Rook faced me. “I’ve got a few forms you have to fill out, then you want to start today?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

He handed me the paperwork, and I folded it lengthwise, putting it in my back pocket.

“The supply closet is here.” I followed him to a small door, which he opened to show shelves of cleaning supplies. A heavy, plastic bucket on wheels was inside holding a mop. “The cubbies on the wall have a master key for everyone. When you’re in the club keep it around your neck. When you leave, put it in your slot. That’s how we know who’s here.”

“Got it.”

I reached forward and rolled the bucket out. This was my life now. Cleaning up other people’s shit. Keeping my chin tucked, guarding my vulnerable spots. It wasn’t about my dreams or what I’d lost. It was about taking the first step. Then taking the next step. Before long, I would have walked away from the past and found my new normal.