Page 1 of A Lot Like Adiós
Chapter 1
CALENDAR
One year until NYC
Today at 9:00 AM
Fuck.” Gabriel Aguilar scowled at the reminder on his phone screen before swiping it off with this thumb. He hated calendar alerts—the damned things ruled his life these days—but he especially despised this one. New York was the last thing he wanted to think about, today or ever.
Shoving the phone into his sweatpants pocket, Gabe pulled open the glass double doors leading into Agility Gym and strode inside like he owned the place.
Which, technically, he did.
Cool air and the faint scent of lavender greeted him, a welcome change from the blistering Los Angeles heat. The gym felt like home, more so than Gabe’s minimalist apartment in Venice did. Located near Bergamot Station in Santa Monica, Agility Gym was well ventilated and spacious, with clean lines, high ceilings, and large front windows that let in lotsof sunlight. All around, trainers and physical therapists worked one-on-one with clients on everything from stunt work to knee rehab.
There were ups and downs to being a business owner, but Gabe wouldn’t trade it for anything. He’d built this. It washis.
The lavender scent grew stronger as Gabe neared the front desk where Trung, a former acrobat of Vietnamese descent who managed client scheduling, chatted with Charisse, one of Agility’s best PTs. Trung swore by the soothing effects of the essential oil diffuser, and while Gabe didn’t have strong opinions about aromatherapy, he could appreciate that lavender was an improvement over typical gym smells.
Despite the calendar alert urging him on, Gabe went over to greet them.
Charisse, a tall woman with a small ’fro and dark umber skin, returned Gabe’s fist bump with a wide smile. She and Gabe were gearing up to co-teach a class on hand therapy for the many clients who complained of repetitive strain injury from overusing their phones and computers.
“Lots of new sign-ups,” Charisse said, before turning to Trung. “Can you pull up the list?”
“Sure thing.” Trung’s purple-tipped nails clattered on the keyboard before they spun the screen around, revealing a color-coded spreadsheet. “Here you go.”
“Almost at the stretch goal,” Gabe said with a grin. “We might have to open more spots.”
Scanning the long list of names gave Gabe a rush. It was the kind of thing he missed doing, since most of his time nowwent toward the administrative and managerial tasks of running the gym. Speaking of, he had a shit-ton of such tasks waiting for him.
“I’ll see you two later,” he said, and headed for his office in the back of the building.
As Gabe approached, his business partner, Fabian, Charles stuck his head out of his own office.
“That you, Gabe?”
Gabe started most of his mornings at a gym closer to his apartment, where he could be just another person sweating it out with the weights, and not the face of the business. They’d worked out a schedule where Fabian came in earlier, but Gabe stayed later.
“Yeah, it’s me.” Gabe had met Fabian while playing baseball for UCLA, and all these years later, the guy was still his best friend. Fabian was Haitian by way of Boston, with coppery skin and dark locs pulled back with a rubber band. He was first-generation like Gabe, whose parents had been born in Mexico and Puerto Rico.
Fabian waved him into the office. “Did you see the calendar alert?”
Gabe bit back a frustrated growl. Thinking about New York made him think about his family, a topic that always tanked his mood. “How could I miss it?”
“I figured you’d say that. Come on, I’ve got some updates.”
Gabe followed Fabian into the office, trying to ignore the piles of paper on Fabian’s desk. And floor. And chair.
Fabian claimed having everything out where he could see itcounted as an organizational system, and while it made Gabe twitchy, he couldn’t deny that the guy was a genius at what he did.
They’d started Agility together when they were twenty-six and filled with the fire to build something of their own, a gym focused on physical therapy and rehab. Gabe had gotten interested in sports medicine after blowing out his knee and working on his recovery with the UCLA team doctor. After graduation, Gabe worked as a personal trainer and went back to school for physical therapy. Fabian had followed up undergrad with an MBA. The gym itself was Gabe’s vision, but Fabian had the skills to make it happen. And so, Agility Gym had been born. Five years later, it was now a hot spot for Hollywood stars.
And at thirty-one years old, Gabe was tired as fuck.
But there was no rest for the wicked, and there was still work to be done. He waited for Fabian to move a pile of papers from the guest chair before he sat down. Fabian took his place behind his desk and pulled a few brightly colored sticky notes off his computer monitor. Gabe, who’d gone paperless three years ago, withheld a comment.
“Ah, here we go.” Fabian held up a blue sticky note. “Today marks one year until we have to open an Agility Gym branch in New York City, as per the terms of our investment agreement with Powell.”
