Page 35 of The Scars We Heal

Sweat dripped down my brows, and I was sure my butt was going to be unbearably sore tomorrow, but I wasn’t a quitter. At least I hoped I wasn’t. There were still twenty minutes left in this class, though, and I was convinced I was dying.

“Ramp it up to 120 RPM! The bear is on your heels, and it’s snapping its jaws at you. Go, go, go!” Ashleigh—I was pretty sure that was her name—leaned forward toward the handlebars of her stationary bike as her legs started moving even faster than they were before.

What the actual fuck?

My eyes scanned the room, searching for anyone else who was also struggling, but it seemed like all the other people were fucking Olympic cyclists here. Well, other than my new best friend next to me, who was beginning to lose steam.

The song changed, and Ashleigh started fucking dancing. Her arms moved up and down like a robot, and her damn legs kept cycling at the same pace. I hoped she didn’t expect us to do the same thing, because if I tried that, I’d probably snap my knee cap or something. I didn’t know if that was even possible, but I wasn’t ruling anything out at this point.

“Cocktail calories after a workout class don’t count, right?” I grumbled as I continued to pedal as fast as I could, which was still slower than the pace Ashleigh wanted us to be at.

“Definitely not. At this rate, I’ll be at negative calories, so if anything a cocktail would just balance everything out,” my bike neighbor replied.

“Perfect. Girl math.” After pausing for a moment to catch my breath, I added, “Would you want to come with me? I feel like women who struggle during cycling classes together should stay together, and I need more friends here.”

She nodded. “Count me in.”

“Good job, everybody! We’re gonna slow it down to 60 RPM to finish out,” Ashleigh called out, and a collective sigh of relief filled the room.

“Thank God. The sooner I can get away from the cycling class from hell, the better.”

I coughed out a laugh, my shoulders shaking and cheeks hurting from smiling.

“My name’s Rebecca, by the way.” My cycling neighbor extended a hand out to me once the class was over and we were gathering our belongings. “You can call me Bec, though.”

“Nice to meet you officially, Bec.” I took her hand. “I’m Caitlin, but everyone calls me Cait. Just not Caity.”

“Nice to meet you, too, Caitlin not Caity.” She grinned. “Should we go get those cocktails now?”

“Yes, please.”

“There’s a cute little brunch place just down the road from here. We could walk if that works?” she suggested, hauling her gym tote over her shoulder.

“Sounds good to me.”

We walked out of the cycling building together, and I let Bec take the lead once we got out to the sidewalk.

“So, have you done many cycling classes before?” I asked.

A bright laugh bubbled out of her. “Yes, but I dread it every time. Was that your first one?”

Heat raced into my cheeks. “Was it that obvious?”

Bec’s eyes widened, and she immediately shook her head. “No, no, nothing like that. I’ve just never seen you at a class before.”

“Oh, okay. To answer your question, though, yeah, that was my first. I’m not sure if I’ll go back, though,” I admitted.

“Ashleigh can be intense. I prefer a different instructor, but she’s out on vacation right now. You just happened to choose the wrong week to come to a class for the first time. But don’t let this one scare you away from it. As much as I grumble about them, I totally feel better afterwards.”

I brushed a stray hair out of my face. “Yeah, I don’t know. I really only came because I’m trying out different hobbies for this bucket list thing.” At the accidental admission of Jake’s fuck-it list, my cheeks flushed again.

“Ooh, a bucket list? That’s so fun! What kind of things are on it?” Bec asked, her enthusiasm a little bit overwhelming for the situation.

“It’s just this silly little thing my neighbor…er, he’s one of my younger brother’s friends, put together for me. It’s supposed to help me find myself or whatever.” I put it in quotes. Since I was apparently in the mood for oversharing, I added, “I just got a divorce, and I have a four-year-old, so this is an attempt at me having a life, I guess?” Backtracking, I shook my head. “That came out worse than I intended.”

“No, I get it,” Bec reassured me. “I have a kid, too, so I understand what you mean. When you become a mom, it’s almost like you’re gaining an identity and losing one at the same time.”

Emotion gripped my chest, because very few people understood me in the way that Bec, a practical stranger, just did.