“Oh?” I scoot forward in my chair. “What’s the story there?”
“No idea.” She shrugs. “She’s giving me whiplash. Things were cool when I stayed at her place, but I’ve barely heard from her since.”
She stands and tosses her spoon into the sink, signaling that the conversation is over, and heads to her room to work.
I stay in for the rest of the day, taking breaks from writing to help Millie practice her audio recordings for the LULU app. I play the male role opposite her and do my best impression of a man climaxing, but we end up in hysterics, and I nearly crack arib falling off my chair. It’s safe to say she will not be asking for my assistance again.
Spin with Claire on Wednesday is a blast. Our instructor, Paul, reminds me of Ted Lasso. While he doesn’t have the infamous mustache, he has the motivational speeches down to a T.
“I want you to turn up that resistance! And while you’re at it, turn up that love for yourself!” Then, “Time to sprint! But this time, we’re sprinting for our dreams!” and “Life’s a lot like riding a bike. As long as you keep pedaling, you’ll keep moving forward!”
I tend to prefer instructors with more of a Roy Kent vibe—the kind who grunt and yell controversial things like “Pain’s just weakness leaving the body!” and “Turn up the resistance. Life’s full of fucking hills. You either climb ’em or get left at the bloody bottom!”
Although it’s farther from my house than the place I normally work out, the studio’s atmosphere is incredible. The locker rooms are cleaner and the staff is friendlier too. Plus, Claire is a member, and I really like her. She doesn’t have much time before her shift at the hospital, but we grab a couple of açaí bowls in the gym’s café and chat.
The second we sit down, her mouth split into a wicked grin. “My brother really likes you.”
Heat creeps up my neck and into my cheeks, and I duck my head, at a loss for what to say. I’ve never been friends with the siblings of any man I’ve dated.
“I’m not trying to embarrass you,” she says, giving me a real smile this time. “It’s just, I haven’t seen him this happy in a really long time.”
That gets my attention. “What do you mean?”
She sets her spoon on a napkin next to her bowl and clears her throat. “Has he told you much about our…”
“Chloe?” I ask. “Yes. I’m so sorry. That must have been so awful.”
“Honestly, I don’t remember much other than following my big brother around like he was the coolest guy in the world. He always made sure I was safe and happy.” She presses her lips together, and her eyes go glassy. “That’s backfired a little now that I’m older, because I don’t know how to sit with some of my emotions, but I’d never tell him that. We were so young, and he did what he thought he was supposed to do—care for me.”
I nod, envisioning a little Cam taking on a huge role at such a young age.
“My brother likes to care for people. It’s in his nature. I just wish someone would take care of him.”
It’s Friday, my kinda-sorta-but-not-really-move-in day. Cam is coming to “help” me carry my bags to his apartment. It’s evidence of the truth of Claire’s comment. He’s always caring for others. I hope I can find a way to reciprocate. I say I’m a feminist, andfuck the patriarchyand all that jazz, but if someone offers to carry my bags, I’m going to pack extra shoes and shout, “Here you go!”
“Ms. Beckham, it’s so lovely to see you again.” Hector greets us at the door to his building.
“You too.” I match the intensity of his smile.
“Staying a while, are we?” He nods to my small rolling suitcase, then looks to Cam, who’s carrying my duffel.
Cam’s eyes crease at the sides when he grins. “Yes. She’s staying here while I’m in Austin.”
“Delightful!” Hector sings, corralling us into the elevator.
“You ran this by Ezra, yeah?” I’m suddenly nervous that he “forgot” to mention to his roommate that I’d be crashing here for the next couple of weeks.
He unlocks the door to his apartment and holds an arm out. As I step through, I’m hit with a reminder of the last time I was here. It was the day he called me out for being chickenshit. The day I left him hanging. Crossing the threshold now feels like a new beginning.
“Yes,” he chuckles. “Of course I ran it by him.”
“And he doesn’t mind?” I ask, kicking off my shoes.
Ezra pops his head out of the kitchen doorway. “Mind what?”
“Mind sharing whatever it is you’re cooking!” It smells delicious: garlic and onion, with hints of rosemary.
The hairs on my neck stand when Cam whispers against my ear. “Don’t worry, baby. I promise you’re welcome here.”
