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Alec
Pain.
After a whoosh of air, like I’m in one of those wind tunnels at the children’s museum in Denver, that’s all I feel. Pain throughout my arms and legs.
Somehow, I’m aware of the echo of an unearthly bang that must have been the sound of my body hitting the treadmill’s belt.
I’m on the ground, thankful that my older brother, Sebastian, made sure the designers of the resort gave the gym equipment plenty of space. If there hadn’t been as much clearance behind the treadmills, I probably would have knocked a hole in the sheetrock or been mangled around a weight set.
As it is, I think my pride is the biggest thing that’s broken right now, followed closely by the skin of my forearms.
I roll onto my side, intending to rest a second before I pop up and pretend I’m fine. Except my forearms sting, so I can’t stay in that position for very long.
Which means I’m sitting up sooner than I should.
In the meantime, the gorgeous woman who saw what I’m hoping is the most embarrassing moment of my life—it would be good to get that out of the way—has stopped her run and is now by my side. She eases onto her knees and puts a hand on my bicep.
“You took quite the fall.”
I expect to see her trying to cover a smile because, frankly, I totally would have been trying not to laugh had I seen what happened. But as far as I can tell, there’s only concern in her large, green eyes. She’s out of breath, her dark hair sticking to her forehead and she’s staring at me. And there’s something about her that’s familiar.
I blink rapidly, getting my bearings. I scoff out a laugh, and the shame of it all comes rushing over me in one swift gut punch. “What can I say? I guess I shouldn’t try to race someone who’s a better runner than I am.”
She brushes her hair from her forehead with the back of her hand. A flash of something mischievous rolls over her face. “Thatwaspretty idiotic of you.” A smile plays about her lips. “Do you always try to race women at resort gyms?” Before I can answer, she scrambles to standing, grabs a couple of white towels from a neat stack on a table near the door, and hands me one.
I clear my throat as I finally get to my feet and take the towel. “Thanks. That would be my first and last time trying to do that.” Now I’m feeling the fall in more places than just my bruised ego and treadmill belt-burned forearms. Most concerning is my left knee, the one I completely destroyed during a preseason game a few months ago. It’s throbbing with every heartbeat. If I re-injured something, I’ll…be madder than I already am about it twenty-four-seven? That’s not possible.
What came over me? I haven’t been running much lately. Sometimes I take a careful jog on Longdale Lake’s beach. But with the way my knee is throbbing, no running of any kind will be happening for the foreseeable future.
She’s right. I am an idiot.
She’s finished wiping down her neck and she runs the towel across the inch of skin that’s showing between her white workout tank and dark blue shorts. She tugs her brown-with-blonde highlighted hair out of her ponytail as I take a couple of cautionary steps forward.
She sighs. “Did you injure more than your arms? You’re limping.” Staring at my gait with hawk-like eyes, she clicks her tongue. “May I?” She gestures towards my knee. “I’m an athletic trainer.” As she’s bending down to inspect me, I get all kinds of self-conscious.
Athletic trainer? Oh. Right. Now I recognize her. She works for the San Antonio Wolves. She never worked on me specifically, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t notice her. I hope she doesn’t recognize me.
“Nope.” I take a step back and I’m happy to see that my knee doesn’t hurt as much as it did minutes before. Maybe it just needs to be loosened up. If I just walk backwards… “I’m fine, really.”
She points to my arm. “What about the belt burns?” She winces as I twist my arm around so I can better see the damage.
“I’ll go get a couple of bandages from the front desk. I’m good.”And I’ll leave before she realizes who I am.
Something crosses over her features, but she just presses her lips together.
“Sorry for the…immaturity,” I say. “And thanks for the help.”
I pick up my water bottle, fully intending to not even look back as I leave. The whole thing is playing on repeat in my mind and I’m dying of embarrassment. This is what I get for trying to be active today for a change, instead of sitting around, helping my brothers with random tasks at the resort that they don’t want to do, and feeling like a loser.
I’m halfway out the door when I correct my own line of thinking. No, this is not what I get for exercising. This is what I get for trying to show off in front of a woman. And I might have entertained the idea of having her fuss over me. She seemed like she genuinely wanted to help.
But now that I know who she works for? A cruel chill comes over me. Physical therapy, trainers, and PT assistants. Hushed whispers and looks of pity.
It was the place where my life imploded for the second time.
And I want nothing to do with anyone or anything that reminds me of that.
The little Band-aids the front desk employee handed me are not doing a very good job and I’m tempted to take them off before reaching Sebastian’s office, which is where I should have gone directly when he texted me. Instead, I tried to run and look where that got me?
