Page 17 of Reconciling With the Rival

My alarm wakes meup at the usual time—four in the morning—and I immediately get up and throw my gym gear on. As I grab my already-made protein shake from the fridge, I relish in the fact that I have the same morning routine I did back home. Amidst all the change, at least I still have a slice of home.

Having a set routine has helped me stay sane over the past few years. I wake up early, head to the gym for a workout, head back home, shower, prepare for the workday, and then I go to work. I do weights every other day, but I always make sure to hit cardio.

My night routine is usually different, depending on what I have going on. Sometimes, I go out and get a few pints with the lads. Occasionally, I’ll meet a beautiful woman, and sometimes, my night ends with her coming back to mine, which is my ideal conclusion.

Lately, that hasn't happened, but I’m blaming that on the move and the adjustment period that comes with it. Now that I’m back in the States, I should call Holt—Liam Holt, my best friend and former hockey captain at Grand Mountain—and see if he wants to grab a drink or something.

As I get into my car, I ring my parents, hoping to catch them at a good time. “Darling! How are you this morning? Is it your first day?”

My mum’s shining voice comes through my car. “It is. I’m up bright and early for a workout, and then I’ll head straight there.” I pause, afraid to ask my next question. “How’s Dad?”

“He’s fine. You both need to stop worrying about him.”

“I’m afraid Alissa and I will never stop, so you’ll have to deal with us asking about him twenty-four seven, at least while we’re over here.”

“I know, my love. Now, go enjoy your day and stop worrying. You need to be focused for your first day. You’ve got this.”

“Thanks. We’ll chat soon.” I smile as I end the call. The past few years have been tough for Alissa and me; our father has a heart condition and had a really bad heart attack about a year ago. He was in the hospital for a while and had to have major surgery. It was tough at the start. When I got the call he was in the hospital, I thought he was going to die. When I arrived and he was already in surgery, I panicked. I had no clue what happened because nobody would tell me anything, so I had to grin and bear it through fifteen hours of surgery.

Hypertrophic cardiomyopathy—HCM. It’s a genetic condition that makes the walls of the heart thick and stiff so it’s difficult to pump blood throughout his body.

It was horrible—the heart attack. Alissa had to get back to the States for work, so I stayed in England to help my parents out and take a bit of pressure off Mum. It was fine, of course. I was happy to do it, but leaving was one of the hardest decisions I’d ever made.

I was scared that if I left and he had another heart attack, I’d miss my chance to say goodbye. Or what if my parents needed something and I was an ocean away? I had endless concerns, lots of feelings about how terrible of a son I would be if I left. Both of them told me to take this job; now, I call them a thousand times a week to check in—as does Alissa—and it helps alleviate the pain of being so far away.Sort of.

Ever since Dad had his scare, I’ve started to up my cardio workouts to make sure my heart stays healthy. I’ve made it part of my morning routine, and I find I feel a little calmer after—all those endorphins or whatever the fuck they’re called.

Today, I have lots of pent up stress to work out, thanks to a fiery fucking girl who pushes all my bloody buttons. Seeing her yesterday made all the muscles in my body tense, and even though I worked out for three hours last night, it’s still there. I’m glad I won’t see her today; I can’t start my first day already pissed off as hell.

That's tomorrow’s problem.

Two hours and afew miles on the treadmill later, I step out of the shower and change into my work clothes—a cream-colored polo, brown trousers, and loafers, with my usual watch. My curly brown hair falls just before my eyebrows, and it looks as it usually does—fucking fantastic. I grab my bag with my lunch and all the papers Imogen needed me to sign and return and head for the office.

My short term rental is a bit of a commute at half an hour, so I make sure to leave early enough to beat the Richmond traffic I’ve heard about from my sister. My actual apartment will be ready in a few months. It’s in a brand new building, so they’re working on plumbing, electrical, and all that shit before I can officially move in. It’s a beautiful spot, a lot closer to work than this place. I’m itching for it to be done so I can finally settle in, but until then, I’m stuck in this place, with all my crap mostly in boxes.

I take a deep breath before I drive off to my first official day at work.

When I finally get in, I’m a bit nervous. I assume it’s going to be pretty chill since Ella isn't here, and I’m glad I at least have one day before she comes and annoys the hell out of me.

I get into my office, flip the light on, and a weird sense of something washes over me. It’s a feeling I don’t recognize, like I’m finally meant to be here after all the shit that has happened.

For once, I feel like I belong.

But this won’t last long. As soon as Ella shows up, it’ll fade, but for today, I’m going to embrace it.

This isn't just another job to get me by in life. This is all I’ve been looking forward to since I left university. Now that I’m here, it feels good. It feels right.

I head over to my desk and set down the small box I brought in. This office is so dull and bland, and Imogen told me I could spruce it up a bit—make it my own and such. So, I grab the picture of my parents I recently framed and set it on my desk next to my screen.

Then, I take out the massive plant my sister got me and set it in the corner against the wall. Alissa fucking loves plants. I swear, she used to have a hundred different ones back home. Sometimes, I could barely see her actual room for the sheer number of plants. In her place with Ella, she has a few too. Not as many as she did at home, but still enough to make her place mostly green.

As I’m taking my favorite pens out of my bag to shove into a drawer, someone knocks on my door.

“Happy first day, new guy,” a tall blond man says to me. “I see you're already making my old office your own. That’s good.” He sits down in one of the chairs in front of my desk.

This must be Brody—the guy whose job I took because he got promoted.

“Leo Zimmerman,” I say to him, holding my hand out. “Nice to meet you.”

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