Page 8 of The Weight Of It All
Reed put his hand on my shoulder and helped me stand upright. He frowned sympathetically. “Henry, will you be okay?”
I blinked once, for yes. Then blinked again, for no.
“Got your phone on you?”
“Yeah.” I slowly fished my phone out of my pocket, withholding the urge to groan as my muscles objected. “Why do you ask?”
He took it out of my hand and proceeded to thumb in some numbers and hit Send. A moment later, his phone buzzed somewhere on his body. “You now have my number,” he said, typing something into my phone. He handed it back to me, and I saw that he’d added his name and number into my Contacts.
Reed Henske.
“Just in case you need to speak to someone,” he said. His usual confident demeanour was gone. Now he seemed unsure. “About things like how sore is normal tomorrow and what pain isn’t normal.”
“I’m pretty sure none of it is normal.”
“And now I have your number, I can make sure you come back to the gym the day after tomorrow.”
“If I haven’t died of extreme muscle fatigue.” Oh Jesus. “Can someone actually die of muscle fatigue?”
Reed chuckled. “You’re not going to die. Come on, I’ll help you through checkout.”
“Have you got everything?” I asked. His shopping basket only had a twelve pack of eggs in it.
“I just need to go to the deli.”
He turned to walk in that direction and I tried to go with him, but the best I could do was a rusted Tin Man impersonation. “Oh, sweet Lord have mercy.”
Reed tried not to laugh. “You poor thing.”
“It’s your fault.”
He scoffed. “You’ll be thanking me in a few weeks.”
“I’d thank you right now if you find that old guy in that motorised scooter.” He refused to toss the old guy out of his scooter for me, but he did smile a lot. We walked?well, he walked and I shuffled?over to the deli where he ordered chicken and fish fillets. I grabbed some meat and fish too, ignoring the cheese and antipasto deliciousness, and then we walked/hobbled to the checkout.
“You live close by?” I asked as we waited in line. “Well, I presume this supermarket is either between work and home or close by.”
“Yep. I live not far from here.”
“Me too,” I admitted. “Do you always work on Sundays?”
“Six till ten.” He started loading my groceries onto the conveyor belt at the checkout. “It’s good. I get to work out, help other people work out, earn money while I’m doing it, and be done by mid-morning. The rest of my day is free.”
He finished putting my items onto the checkout then proceeded to fill the trolley again with the bagged items. He was doing it all for me as he talked about having days off during the week in lieu of working weekends, but if someone couldn’t do a shift, he’d usually do it for them. He obviously loved what he did. I couldn’t deny looking at the muscles in his biceps and triceps flex as he leaned and lifted. I wasn’t actively looking, but I wasn’t fucking dead either.
I paid for my groceries and waited for Reed to pay for his few things, and we walked out together. Well, he walked and I staggered/leaned on the trolley for support, all the way to mycar. I popped the boot. “Nice,” he said, nodding approvingly at my car.
“Thanks.” My Audi TT was nice. I loved it. I worked hard for my salary and splurged on myself to buy the car of my dreams. Then I groaned as I lifted a bag into the boot. “God I’m gonna die trying to go to work tomorrow.”
He gently put his hand on my arm. “You have my number. Call or text me if you need.” Then he started to walk to the edge of the car park. “See you on Tuesday.”
I called out after him. “Are you walking?”
“Yep.”
“Need a lift?”
“Nah, I’m good.”
