Page 12 of Wingmen

“I’ma prodigy,” Dustin said, before he could stop himself. So fucking stupid:shut up.“I’m sixteen weeks post-op.”

Tom looked up. He had a tiny pair of glasses on his nose, and when he took them off, there were lines in the side of his head. He fixed Dustin with a long, hard look, and Dustin did his best to look fit and vibrant and ready to run an agility ladder – however you did that while standing in a doorway.

“How does the knee feel?” said Tom.

“Good.” Dustin nodded. It really did. The only thing that had bothered him recently was standing around for three hours at that charity thing, and that would makeanyonehurt.

Tom put the glasses back on and went back to the computer. “Three runs.Rehab runs.Not a fucking two-feet-in. Don’t time it. Get Marisol to watch your form.”

Dustin’s heart leapt. As he turned from the door, Tom added, “And if I seeanythingthatremotelylooks like a dick-swing, you are barred from this gym for life.”

He went out to the floor.

Marisol had set Elliot up on the elliptical and come back to roll up the ladder. Dustin stopped her and explained he was going to run it: he was warm, the knee felt good, just a rehab march, nothing crazy, Tom said it was fine.

She stepped back and Dustin didnotglance at the elliptical, where Rodriguez was probably pretending not to watch. He went to the first rung.Don’t make a moment of it. This was for form, not speed. He wasn’t even being timed. He shook out his arms. Took a breath. Went.

It felt really fucking good.

Marisol nodded when he got to the end. “Good. Your left side looked like it flagged?”

Dustin nodded; he’d felt it. It hadn’t been conscious – on the third rung it was like his foot stayed up a half-second longerthan he meant it to. He tried not to think about it and went back to the start of the ladder. “Tom said three. Do you mind watching again?”

Round two was slightly worse. His foot did the same thing, and he swallowed a groan of frustration as he felt it happen and could do nothing about it.

“Left side still flagging a little on the third rung,” Marisol said, kindly. “Was that the side?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s subconscious. You think you’re pushing but your body is protecting itself.”

He went back to the start. He took a moment longer to set up and fixed his gaze on the end, blew out a breath and said, “Okay, ready.” And then added, casually, “Hey, can you time it? Just so I have a baseline.”

Marisol gave him a look like she was sure that hadn’t been authorized, but said, with a small smile, “Fine.”

He put his gaze back on the end, trying not to think of the numbertwo point three nine. That was ten years ago. He was four months post-op. Anything around eight would be good for what he was doing. What hewantedto do was four, but he suspected Tom might hack his literal nuts off if he caught him trying that.

He heard Rodriguez stop the elliptical, and could feel the weight of his eyes. Dustin didn’t make a thing of it. He shook out his arms. Did the breath. Went.

Marisol clicked the watch. “Ten nine six.”

Dustin almost said, “What?”

Ten nine six was unbelievably slow. But fighting your trainer was exactly what Rodriguez had done, and it was tacky and not what you did. He swallowed the number and nodded.

“Alright.”

Marisol smiled brightly and tucked away the watch. “Not bad for a first run. Form looked good! Seems like you workedout that kink on the last one.” She moved to roll up the ladder, and Dustin put out his arm.

“Just – ah… You know what? Lemme do one more.”

Marisol tilted her head. “Didn’t he say three…”

“Oh, was that three?” Dustin made his face look surprised.

“Maybe you should clear it with Tom,” she said, obviously not buying that. Dustin took a moment to weigh it, and decided that talking to Tom wasn’t the route.

He stepped back up to the ladder. “I don’t think we need to bug him. He’s busy, I’m sure he’d say it was fine.”