“You have what it takes. Don’t let anyone tell you different.”
“I’ll try.” Marcus gave him a tremulous smile. “It’s kind of a weird thing if you think about it. All the energy we spend pretending to be fine or act like the person we think everyone wants us to be when it’s so much easier just to tell the truth. In life and in acting.”
“That’s right. It’s rare to understand that at such a young age.”
“Given everything with my mom, I’m about ten years older than my actual age.”
Jason got up to give his nephew a hug. “You have a great future ahead of you. I can’t wait to watch.”
“Thanks, Uncle Jason.”
They separated, and Marcus, perhaps shy after revealing so much of himself, bounded up the stairs to do homework. Jason remained in the kitchen, watching the second hand on the decorative clock on the wall tick away and thinking about Haland the courageous path he ultimately chose. Was it time for Jason to do the same? And, if so, what did that mean?
Feeling restless,Jason decided to head into town for a workout at Roan’s gym. He had energy that had nowhere to go at the moment. A good workout would fix that.
Roan was finishing up a coaching session with a private client, so Jason stretched out on a mat in the corner. He loved his brother’s gym. The smell of rubber mats, chalk dust, and sweat. Black steel rigs bolted into the floor. Tractor tires stacked near the back wall. Kettlebells lined up by weight in a rack.
When his client left, Roan asked, “What are you up to?” He crossed his arms over his muscular chest. “You want me to work you out?”
“Yeah. Be rough. I need it.”
“You all right?”
“Not really.”
“Want to talk?”
“Not now,” Jason said.
“Got it. Let’s start here.” Roan picked up the ends of thick battle ropes and handed one to Jason.
“Thirty seconds. Hard as you can,” Roan said.
Jason planted his feet shoulder-width apart and started snapping the ropes. Waves rippled down the heavy black cords, slamming against the floor with sharp cracks. Within seconds his shoulders burned.
“Harder,” Roan said.
Jason gritted his teeth and dug deeper. The ropes slapped violently against the rubber flooring, the sound echoing through the empty gym.
“Good. Now alternating waves,” Roan said.
Jason switched rhythm, one arm then the other, sweat already prickling at the back of his neck. But it was a relief to be doing something with his body instead of his mind. He wanted to forget everything for a few minutes and simply focus on the work itself.
“Now slams,” Roan said.
“You’re the worst.” Grinning, Jason lifted both ropes overhead and drove them down with all the force he had. Again. Again. Again. By the end of the set, he was breathless and fatigued. But his brother had no sympathy.
Roan nodded toward a rowing machine. “Five hundred meters. Sprint pace.”
Jason dropped onto the rower and strapped his feet in while Roan programmed the monitor. The flywheel whirred to life as Jason drove back hard with his legs. Roan paced nearby like a drill sergeant who enjoyed his job a little too much.
When the row ended, Jason bent over with his hands on his knees, chest heaving. “I hate you.”
Roan peered at the stats recorded on the machine. “That’s not a great time. You want to try again?”
“Not today,” Jason said, grimacing. “I think I need to lay down.”
“Nah, you’re good,” Roan said. “Now kettlebells.”
