Shay lay on his back, a fine layer of sweat covering his torso.
“If I move, I’m going to be sick.”
I prodded him with my foot. “You’re the doctor. What do you advise?”
He groaned and moved onto his side, putting himself into the recovery position. “Let me die.”
I prodded him again and left him to it, deciding that weights were probably a good idea. We’d only played for forty-five minutes, three fifteen-minute sessions, giving us time to hydrate because we knew there’d be a lot of beer consumed, and shots. A handful more guests were arriving later, staying in the village after the meal at the pub and the band that Vic didn’t know about, but Max had booked.
The groom was on a leg day, loading up a bar with an impossible amount of weights, or maybe not impossible.
“You need a spotter?”
He nodded. “Probably two once I’ve warmed up.”
He was taking his anxiety out on lifting iron.
“You know she’ll be walking down the aisle in a few hours. She’s not going to change her mind.” I checked his foot positioning, knowing that was where he’d fuck up because he’d forget his feet.
Going to the gym together in the morning was something we did, especially since Jackson had to change his training routine after Teddy was born. I knew that in a few months, Max’s routine would change, when his baby was born and yet again, life would change. We were all moving forward, or nearly all of us.
“I know she’ll be there. She was mad enough to move in with me and agree to marry me, so I’m pretty sure she isn’t going to change her mind. I just want everything to be right for her, you know?” He lifted the bar and started squatting, repping it out.
“Decent form. Want me to film it?” It wasn’t vanity, but a training technique. Max could watch and see if he needed to improve on any aspects.
“Next set. Grab K to spot too.”
I yelled Killian to come over when he was done with the leg press. Clearly, legs were the thing of the day to train, unless you were Shay and still lying on the floor.
He cleared ten and racked the bar, breathing heavily.
“You going for a PB?” Killian came over.
Max shook his head. “Won’t manage it today because of the sprint work you had us do, but I should get close. Can you grab a couple of twenties?”
Killian and I searched the gym for four twenty kilo weight plates, loading them onto the bar.
This was therapy, a way to distract himself, because we all knew he was shitting it. Not at the prospect at marrying Vic, but at the prospect of not.
“Were you nervous before you married Claire?” I looked at Killian. I’d been a kid when he was hanging round our house between years at university. He was eight years older than me, so I was barely in secondary school and he was a full grown adult.
“Have you met your sister? Course I was fucking nervous. I wake up every morning nervous.”
Max laughed, stretching out his legs.
“Seriously?”
Killian shook his head. “No. I was nervous before the wedding because it’s unknown – you have no idea what it’s going to be like to be the groom and the centre of attention. But I’m not scared of your sister.”
“You’re the only one in the world who isn’t.” Max grinned
It was a fair comment from Max. Claire had tried her best to murder him and Jackson when they were younger, just kid pranks, but they almost did some damage.
Killian just laughed and barked something at Max about form as he got ready to squat again.
A minute later and he’d smashed what he was trying to achieve, then pointed the bar to me.
“Let’s see what you can do, little brother.”
