Page 5 of Unraveling with You

“Yeah? Good to know.”

A heavy silence stretches between us, but I’m left to bite my swollen lips, trying not to laugh again. Unfortunately, my muscles feel like goo, and I’ve only rolled out my thighs for one minute.

I stop rolling, instead rubbing my burning arms. Remington said he’d help me if I needed it, but do I really want a strange man rolling out my muscles? A deep, rising warmth in my belly tells me I do.

When we meet eyes, Remington’s eyebrows soften with his lips. “Do you need help?”

My shoulders rise. “Um– If that’s okay.”

“Of course. As long as you’re comfortable with me doing it for you?”

I laugh. “I-I mean, I don’t really have a choice.”

Remington pulls back. “Yes, you do. You always do, with the right people.”

My heart flips. He’s starkly serious, but I feel safer than I have all day.

“T-thank you. But I’d actually like some help still, so I’m okay with it.”

With my permission, Remington gets to work rolling out my legs. “Okay. But it’s your body, okay? You can be honest with me or that other trainer. Has he treated you harshly before?”

I shrink into myself. Remington’s scowl is tense, but he’s intensely gentle with my sore thighs. His soft rolling over them feels startlingly intimate, but I don’t want him to stop.

And I don’t think he’ll like the truth. My heart throbs into my throat. “I’ve never been here before.”

“To this gym?”

“Um— to a-any gym.”

Remington stops rolling, arching his tense eyebrows in sorrow. “Fuck, and this is your first day? God, I’msosorry it turned out like this. There’s no need for you to be yelled at or shamed at the gym.”

Oh, God. Here comes my ugly crying face in the mirror. I press my chin to my chest to hide myself, begging my tears to evaporate, but Remington softens his voice.

“Hey, it’s okay to cry. You’re doing so great letting it out. That was traumatizing.”

Fluttery nerves swirl in my stomach, tempting me to duck my head again. But a pull in my heart towards Remington wins over my senses, and the truth comes pouring out.

“I need to carry my mom,” I say.

I clear my throat, startled by my confession. I haven’t voiced it aloud a single time in my life. Remington stares, brows furrowed. He opens his mouth to speak, but judging by how confused he looks, I sputter as many explanations as possible before he asks too much.

“Sorry, just— I said that wrong. It was traumatizing, probably, but I’m more upset that I couldn’t finish my lunges either. I need to be stronger to carry a lot of things, like at work.”

Remington hums, returning his focus to my legs. “I don’t really agree that you couldn’t do the exercise. More like he was pressuring you past your limits. But what do you mean by ‘a lot of things?’ Does your job involve manual labor, or is it something back at home?”

My heart flips. I blink a few times, wishing I kept my mouth shut as usual about Mom. “I can't carry the big bags of flour or heavy pots of soup as easily as everyone else at work, and it’s really embarrassing. I've always wanted to go to the gym, but I– I'm embarrassed by how I look, and how weak I am–” My heart stings, and Remington’s eyebrows draw together. I laugh. “Sorry, you didn't ask to hear all this.”

Remington shrugs. “I didn't ask for an apology either.”

His straightforward, flat tone takes me back. Is this his version of being snappy with me? But looking into his eyes, I’m confused; his expression hasn’t changed. He looks genuinely concerned.

“If you’re apologizing because you're feeling emotional, or because you're believing that dickhead trainer that you’re weak, then I can’t accept your apology. You coming to the gym to work out despite everything you told me, and still not giving up on your workout goals now, even when faced with confrontation, was not weak. That’s fucking badass, to be honest.”

My stomach flips. “O-oh. Thank you. I mean– It’s just, either way, I really am sorry. I've been a mess since the second we met. I feel pretty weak and embarrassed.”

But Remington softens his voice. “Do you mean then that you think crying is weak?”

“I don’t know. Not when I see other people cry. But with me, it feels like everyone else thinks I’m weak, so I’ll only seem weaker if I cry.”

---