“I haven’t had it tough, Easton.”
He snorts. “I’m glad you feel that way.”
“Look around you. I’m living in a high-rise with a view people salivate over. My education is paid for. I have a degree, I have clients. I recognize my privilege. This pity party is so gross.”
“It’s okay to feel shitty. You don’t need to list all the reasons why you shouldn’t. Quit with the toxic positivity, woman.”
“Don’t worry. I definitely feel shitty.”
He laughs. “Good.”
I sip the wine, smirking.
“So, what now?”
I sit up a little straighter. It hurts to say out loud, but it has to be said. One foot in front of the other. “I need to sell the building. And I think I need a new real estate agent.”
Something shifts in his expression. He looks away, evasive. “Actually—let me handle that part. I already have all the specs. And one of the trainers, Mack, his wife does real estate. I’ll reach out.”
I frown. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to. So, I’ll handle the building. What else?”
I hadn’t expected him to take that on, and he doesn’t really have time to, not right now, not in the middle of the football season. But honestly, the relief of not having to face it myself is too much to turn down. It breaks my heart to let it go. The neighborhood was a little off the beaten path, a little rough around the edges, but there was parking, and the building had good bones—an old mill that had been a lot of things over the years, big enough for everything I needed with room to grow. A small office tucked into the back center of the floor, so I’d be reachable from anywhere in the space. It hurts to lose it.
So, I let Easton take over selling it. I’ll have to sign something at some point, but giving him executive control makes me feel like I can breathe a little easier.
“Next, I need to start looking for work.”
“Devon and the guys keep raving about what you’ve been doing for them. Why not build on that?”
I nod. “Yeah, I think I will. I just have to come up with a plan where I can still do some of what I wanted, just on asmaller scale. I don’t think I can go work at another clinic. It’s too depressing. But I could balance personal clients, do street outreach, link up with the hospital teams. Volunteer.” It won’t be what I had, but it’ll be something. It’ll be enough to keep me from losing my mind.
“And Logan?” he asks hesitantly. His name, it’s like pressing on a bruise. “Are you going to talk to him?”
“I can’t—I’m not there yet.”
“Okay.” He stands, pours the rest of his glass into mine, then disappears and comes back with the bottle. “I can’t get sloppy with you, but I can hold your hair back if you wanna go there. Now scooch,” he says, nudging me onto the couch. I laugh. Then, without warning, my eyes fill with tears. I try to blink them back, but they fall anyway.
Easton doesn’t say anything. He just puts his arm around me, turns on the TV, and I tuck myself against him while some reality show fills the room—people stranded on an island, competing for cash. He’s obsessed with this garbage. I drink, and we bicker about the social merits of reality shows, and somewhere between the takeout and the last glass of wine, I’m asleep. Logan still there, quiet, at the back of my mind.
Chapter 24: Rose
“Alright, thanks, babe!” Wilkes calls back, already turning onto the sidewalk, breaking into a jog.
We’d gone back and forth about using his home gym, but I needed to build a relationship with a studio if I was serious about taking on regular clients. I’d found this one near my old apartment a year ago, then fell off after I moved. It’s small and well-equipped, though—Iyengar wall straps included, which his home gym doesn’t have. When I called the owner about renting outside of class hours, she jumped at it. Yoga studios aren’t exactly lucrative.
The session went well. We worked on opening his hips to offset the tightness from his weight training, and he felt the difference right away. Now he wants to outfit his home gym to match.
I’m still watching his form as he disappears down the block when my dad steps into my line of sight. I’m so surprised, I blurt, “What the fuck are you doing here?”
He winces. “Ah. Easton told me where you’d be.”
Traitor.
I take him in. Just like when I saw him at the wedding, Dad seems older than he should be, new lines framing his face, shadows under his eyes that weren’t there before.
“Okay. Well. What is it?” I ask, stepping back, though not really having anywhere to go. Wilkes was my only client today.
