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Any impetus, then, to rectify the problem came from a personal desire to get back into shape. Fix the problem before he reached middle age and a soft middle became a spare tire. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Ricky was in excellent shape and in possession of not only a flat stomach but the proverbial six-pack.
That was not what drove him to the gym.
At least it wasn't tonight, because tonight, the very thought of considering how his physique compared to Ricky's was laughable. Rather like worrying that his swimming skills weren't on par with an Olympian's. It wasn't as if he had any chance of joining an Olympic swim team...and at this moment, possibly more chance of that than ever having Olivia see him with his shirt off. He seemed hell-bent on making sure of that.
Which was why he was here tonight--trying to work off the anger and the frustration. If he couldn't focus enough to lose himself in work, he would work himself into physical exhaustion and then perhaps...
Perhaps what? Reach some mental nirvana of clarity? Understand why he seemed determined to sabotage any relationship with Olivia?
It was one thing to not understand what he was doing wrong. In the beginning, he'd had that excuse. When he'd betrayed her, he'd honestly felt--okay, mostly felt--that he'd done nothing wrong. He knew better now, having gained a sufficient grasp of what it meant to hold a person's trust. To betray that trust. To hurt that person.
And yet now he saw the problem...and couldn't stop making it worse. Like watching a freight train barreling downhill and holding up his hands, shouting, "Stop!" only to have it roll right over him.
Olivia wanted to conduct one interview with Ricky, for a very good reason, and the logical part of his brain knew it had nothing to do with him. But it felt like rejection, and his defenses had shot into place.
You won't hurt me.
I won't let you.
I'll hurt you first.
He hefted the barbell over his chest, too much weight, his muscles screaming. He kept lifting, pushing higher and--
His cell phone sounded with a text message. He struggled to get the barbell into the rack and pulled out his phone.
It was Olivia.
Made it to Cainsville. Can come in tomorrow if helps with workload.
Gabriel squeezed his eyes shut and leaned against the machine, feeling as if he still held that barbell, muscles trembling, weight threatening to crush him. He mentally repeated the text and heard the hesitation, so very un-Olivia.
Treading carefully. Walking on eggshells around his mood because she had to. Because he was her boss, and she loved her job, and it was his to take away. Because he had, subtly, threatened that before.
Which was not how a friendship was supposed to work.
Not at all.
You're clearly upset, Gabriel, and I'm afraid of losing my job, so I'll come back early to help out.
He started typing a response.
No, that's fine.
Too curt. She'd think he was angry.
No, you don't need to.
Too ambiguous. She might think he was testing her. Or worse, that he was saying he didn't need her at work. Ever.
Stay home. Rest up! You'll need it after that long ride. See you Monday!
Oh, yes. That was perfect...if he wanted her to think he'd been drugged. Possibly possessed.
There was no message he could send that she wouldn't spend far too much time analyzing. He needed to fix this in person. Immediately. Before he lost his nerve.
Gabriel had lost his nerve.
It started partway through the drive when he began worrying that it would seem odd if he drove out to Cainsville just to talk to Olivia. It would look as if their friendship was important to him, and he worried that he'd lost it. Which was clearly true, but the thought of showing up on her doorstep and proving--
