Trey, though, knows this world. The rhythm. The hum of the machines and bodies moving to the beat. It’s like the placehas a pulse. While he keeps the floor running, I breathe, meet members, and actually enjoy the buzz of the place.
When we pause mid-morning, I pounce with questions. He laughs, shakes his head, and tells me to save them for lunch. Which, thankfully, is now.
“Okay, teach me everything,” I say, flipping open my notebook.
Trey snorts, brushing a crumb from his t-shirt. “Straight to it, huh?” He takes a slow bite of his sandwich. “One step at a time, when do we close?“
“Eight.” My own lunch sits forgotten in its box.
“So, twelve-hour days?”
“For now. We’re closed on Sundays, at least.”
“Right,” he says, taking another bite. “You’ll burn out in a week if you try to do that solo.”
I arch a brow. “You telling your new boss how to run her business on day one?”
He grins, unbothered. “Just saying, I’ve seen it happen. You don’t want to hate this place before it even takes off.” He chews a bit more. “Plus, I haven’t accepted the job yet. This was a trial.”
I exhale, half-laughing, half-embarrassed. “Fair point. I’ll take all the help I can get.”
“Cool, then one more thing.” He leans back, crumples up the wrapper from his sandwich, and tosses it expertly into the trash can. “Most gyms open early or stay late. People like to train before work or after they’ve survived it.”
“You really have opinions on everything, don’t you?”
He shrugs. “Occupational hazard. We can walk through some ideas later if you like?”
I hesitate, then nod. “Okay. After work, we grab a drink and talk strategy.”
“Deal.” He reaches across to shake my hand. “Let’s make Bex’s worthy of the name.” The words land heavy. Sharper than heintended. I smile back, but something stabs in my chest. “Now, eat your lunch. I’m going back out on the floor.”
***
Six months later, the gym buzzes from open to close. The early birds blend into the after-work rush, and Trey and I run the floor like clockwork. Two new instructors handle the classes now, freeing me up to focus on the business side, the numbers and marketing that keep the lights on and the loan payments made.
I’m finishing up one night when my phone beeps. A message from Terry.
Late one again. Kathy called in sick. Don’t wait up.
I stare at the screen, thumb hovering, disappointment weighted in my stomach.
Same here. Long day. You okay?
Three dots appear, then vanish. Nothing appears on the screen. I slip my phone in my pocket and finish stacking the mats.
He used to ask how my day went. How I was feeling. But now, whenever we talk, it’s just the basics. What bills need to be paid, and whose turn it is to clean the bathroom. When I invited him to try a new boxing class last week, he laughed and said, “Men in spandex aren’t my scene.”
I told him it wasn’t like that. He changed the subject.
The truth is, I miss him. But every time I try to bridge the gap, it feels like he’s already somewhere else.
Chapter six
Amy
It's a rare Sunday morning together. Neither of us has work. That means a whole twenty-four hours with my husband and no interruptions. No alarms, no gym, no customers. Just each other. Utter bliss.
Terry’s leg hooks over mine as we watch crappy morning TV wrapped in blankets. A man in a crisp white shirt is stirring chicken curry in a pot. “If that was me,” Terry says, “that sauce would be splattered down my shirt already.” I giggle because it’s so true.
