Morning is full of guys who have a problem. Evening is full of guys who had a day. Four is just whoever is paid to be here and whoever has nothing better to do, and today that is me, Phoenix, Jax, and Grayson, and the bench press and the racks and the cable machines and the mirrors that do not lie.
I am lying anyway.
I am lying to myself in the mirror about why I am here at four PM when my lift day is Wednesday. I am here because the meet is at seven and I do not know what to do with my body until seven. I am here because if I sit in my loft from two to seven, I will put my fist through the drywall again, and the landlord will send another email, and the team will pay for it again, and I do not feel like getting that email today.
I am here to burn off three hours.
I am on the rack behind Phoenix. He is doing squats with more weight than a man his age should put on his back. I am spotting. Jax is on the bench doing a warm-up set at nothing. Grayson is on the cable machine pretending to do face-pullsand actually watching a video on his phone. This is a normal Wednesday four PM.
It is Friday.
It is not Wednesday.
“Creed.” Phoenix racks the bar. Wipes his face with the bottom of his shirt.
“Captain.”
“Spot me one more.”
I glance at the loaded bar. The plates are not lying about their weight.
“You don't need one more.”
“I said spot me one more.”
I step up behind him. He unracks. He drops. The bar bends a little when he comes up, which is the bend of a weight that is not safe on a human spine. He locks out. He racks.
He turns around.
“Okay,” he says. “Now talk.”
“About what.”
“About the thing.”
Jax, on the bench, has not lifted the bar in two minutes. Grayson has put his phone down. I notice both of these things without turning my head.
“There's no thing.”
“Creed.”
He says my name without moving his face.
“Phoenix.”
He strips a forty-five off his side of the rack. I strip a forty-five off mine. The plates click onto the tree. He reracks his belt over his shoulder. He drinks half a water bottle and sets it on the floor between our feet.
“Last night,” he says, “you stood up at Vigil and announced something in front of the team.”
“I'm aware.”
“Yeah.”
He rolls his neck. Something in it pops.
“What do you want me to say?”
“I want you to say if it was a thing or a joke.”
