Page 37 of Captured Love

I finish the rest of my sandwich and use a napkin to wipe my mouth. “But not before we take a photo to send to Mom.”

Willow rolls her eyes but smiles. “Yes, let’s do that.”

Once our server has come back and handed us our bill, I give him my credit card and ask if he can take a picture of us when he comes back. Willow and I slide out of the booth and stand near the entrance, where a large mural of Crestwood’s skyline serves as a backdrop. We cross our arms so that they are slung over each other’s shoulders because we can’t give our mother everything she wants. However, we both decide to give genuine smiles to the camera. The server holds up her phone and counts to three; on the last count, Willow uncrosses her arms and makes a peace sign.

“Got it,” the server says, handing the phone back to her. I look over and watch Willow quickly swipe to find the photo and send it to Mom with the caption, “Sibling lunch! ”

“Ugh, I look terrible in that, but it’ll make her happy.”

“Oh be quiet. You look fine. Now let’s get out of here,” I say as I walk toward the door to hold it open for her.

We walk back to my car and silence fills up most of the ride back to campus. I steal a glance at Willow. She’s staring out the window, lost in her own thoughts. Probably thinking about New York and the big, scary future that awaits her. She’s grown up so much, yet in moments like these, I can still see the little girl who used to follow me around with a notebook, trying to interview me or write stories.

We pull up to her dorm and she hesitates before getting out. “Thanks for lunch, bro, and remember what I said about Selene.”

I shake my head. “Get out of my car.”

That makes her laugh as she slams the door behind her. I wait until she’s swiped her ID against the card reader before driving away.

And once again, I hate to admit that she’s right.

15

SELENE

Istep into the main area of Crestwood’s gym, happy to be back after taking a couple of days off to rest. The familiar sounds of weights clinking and treadmills humming create a rhythm that feels oddly comforting now. I never thought I would say this in a million years. Working out used to feel like a chore—a punishment, even—but now, a few weeks into my “new life,” it’s become something I actually look forward to doing.

The treadmill is calling my name. It’s safe, predictable, my go-to when I just need to move. But today, I’m trying something different. I force myself to ignore it and walk over to grab a mat instead. I’ve been reading about the importance of stretching and how warm-ups and cool-downs can make a big difference. So, here I am, determined to do this right.

Hell, I should get a high five just for being here even though I forgot my headphones.

As I unroll the mat, I settle into some stretches. They’re basic—nothing fancy—but even as I reach for my toes and hold a lunge, I feel a subtle sense of accomplishment. My body feels stiff but alive, like it’s waking up. I try a few halfhearted yogaposes, my balance wobbly, and can’t help but laugh at myself. It’s not perfect, but it’s something.

I let my mind wander as I stretch. Thoughts of my to-do list, random snippets of conversations from the last couple of days, and flashes of self-doubt all swirl in my head. But then I catch sight of the free weights area out of the corner of my eye. My movements slow. The people over there look so confident, like they belong in a world I’ve always been too afraid to step into. My gaze lingers over there, and I know it’s because I’m both curious and intimidated. The thought of trying it myself feels both exhilarating and impossible.

For a moment, I sit back on the mat and watch. I shake my head, trying to brush off the feeling, but the idea stays with me. Maybe, just maybe, it’s time to stop staying in my comfort zone.

I roll up the mat slowly, buying myself time. The treadmill is still there, and I could just do a quick jog, tell myself I’ll tackle the weights another day. No one would blame me; it’s not like I have a personal trainer breathing down my neck. This is all on me.

I take a deep breath and stuff the mat back into the rack. The free weights area is still a steady fixture in my mind. But right now I feel comfortable on the treadmill, so that’s where I go. It’s like my body is on autopilot, choosing the path of least resistance. I swipe my finger across the screen of my favorite machine, setting it to a walking pace, and step on.

As the belt starts to move, I let out a sigh of relief. Maybe I’m not as ready as I thought. The view from the treadmills is perfect for people-watching, and my eyes drift back to the free weights area. I’ll make it there eventually. I crank up the speed on the treadmill, transitioning into a light jog. Sweat starts to bead on my forehead, and my ponytail swishes in time with my steps. Running has become a sort of meditation for me, a way to clearout the mental cobwebs. Today, though, it's just adding fuel to my anxiety.

Why am I so scared? It's just a bunch of dumbbells and benches. Maybe it’s the thought of doing something wrong or looking stupid in front of people who know what they're doing. The image of me dropping a weight on my foot or fumbling through an exercise I don’t understand flashes through my mind, and I wince.

My speed slows as I consider my options. There’s a part of me that knows the fear is irrational, that everyone has to start somewhere. But then there's the louder part, the one that remembers every failed attempt at getting fit in the past. It's not just the free weights I’m afraid of; it’s failing again.

I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand and slow to a walk. My heart is pounding, but it’s not just from the running. I need a plan. Something to make the idea of venturing into uncharted territory less terrifying.

What if I just go over there and look around? No commitment, no pressure. I could see what equipment they have, maybe watch how other people do it. After all, knowledge is power, right?

I step off the treadmill, my legs slightly rubbery from the sudden stop. The logical thing would be to stretch again, to cool down properly like I’d planned. However, something else at the free weights area gets my attention.

Or should I say someone?

I’m starting to become convinced that Knox is following me around campus. First the library and now the gym? Well him being at the gym makes more sense given that he’s a hockey player and probably has to do strength training and cardio related to that. However, I didn’t expect to see him. Plus, I haven’t answered him about his apology and going out on what I assume is a…non-date?

It’s not like I’m avoiding him—I just need time to figure out what I want. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

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