“No,” I call back. “But come in anyway.”
He opens the door and takes one look at me, freezing.
His eyes go wide for half a second before his mouth presses into a thin line.
I narrow my eyes. “Don’t.”
That’s all it takes, and he breaks, a wheezing laugh escaping. His shoulders shake as he turns away like I can’t hear his muffled laughter.
“This is your fault,” I tell him, crossing my arms, which just pushes up my pecs and makes me look somehow even sluttier. The sleeves are cutting off circulation around my biceps. “You’re too short.”
“You asshole—” he starts, glancing back before breaking into laughter again. “You’re the one who’s too tall!”
I laugh at that, because you know what? He’s right. Iamtoo tall. My toes are always dangling off the bed at night, and finding shoes that fit is nearly impossible.
It feels good to laugh with Colten, even if it’s at my expense. I knew coming here was the right choice.
“So, where are we doing this?” I ask, adjusting my arms before I lose feeling in them.
“Doing what?” Colten asks, wiping away a tear from his eye.
“PT, obviously,” I say.
His eyebrows knit together. “Right now? You don’t want to rest?”
I do. I really, really do. But I want to hang out with my best friend more, and I don’t want to ruin the good atmosphere. Colten finds comfort in the familiar, and PT is very familiar to both of us by now.
“I came all this way,” I say instead. “Why else would I travel for three days to see my personal PT?”
He exhales slowly, like he knows exactly what I’m doing and is choosing not to call me on it. “Fine. Come on, Farmboy.”
He leads me to the room that used to be his dad’s office. I remember it vaguely, as the door was almost always locked, but I got a glimpse once or twice. There was a big, heavy desk, too many papers, and an old person smell to it.
Now, it’s an exercise room, with no trace of Colten’s dad to be seen.
There’s equipment everywhere—a treadmill, weights, as well as a whole host of other things I hadn’t seen before in the house. There’s no table, though, so Colten unrolls a yoga mat on an empty part of the ground, next to a large mirror I was sure wasn’t there before.
The sun filters in through the open window, making the room light and airy. I take a deep breath, enjoying it.
“Nice setup,” I say.
He snorts as he waves a hand over the mat. “Don’t think compliments will make me go easy on you.”
I grin and drop onto the mat before stretching out my legs. It’s really, really nice to not be cooped up on a bus or bench anymore.
“Go slow,” he warns, hands hovering near my knee. “Don’t rush it.”
“I never rush anything,” I lie.
He gives me a look.
“Okay, maybe I rush some things…” I admit, grinning sheepishly at him. He sighs, but helps guide me through the usual stretches.
We fall into the familiar rhythm of breathing and pain, like nothing has changed. Like I didn’t spend three days losing my mind because he left.
I still don’t exactly understand why, but he’s acting normal now. Maybe I simply over-reacted? Maybe he just missed his mom, and the space he needed was…space with his mom?
Whatever, we’re together now. It’s fine.
