Page 2 of A Lot Like Adiós
Gabe crossed his arms and waited for Fabian to get to the point. Richard Powell, their first investor, had insisted they open a location in New York City within six years, mainly so Powell could use it while he was on the East Coast for work. They’d met Powell through an investment competition for recentgrads, and he’d been the first one to give them a chance. At the time, they’d been thrilled that Powell had taken such an interest in the gym. But lately, his involvement left Gabe wondering who was actually in charge here.
“I know you don’t want to, but you’ve gotta get started on this, dude,” Fabian said, a note of apology in his voice. “I can hold down the fort here, but I can’t travel back and forth like we’d planned.”
Resentment simmered in Gabe’s gut. When they’d made the agreement, Fabian had assured Gabe he’d handle it when the time came. He was the one with the vision for the New York location, and the drive to get it done. But Fabian’s life had expanded in ways they never could have foreseen. Since then, Fabian had gotten married and bought a house. His wife, Iris, an entertainment lawyer, was pregnant with twins, and their home renovation project had turned into a beast. On top of all that, Fabian’s parents had moved in with him in advance of his father’s open-heart surgery, which was scheduled to take place in a few weeks.
Gabe was happy for him. He really was. Fabian had always wanted to be a dad, and even though Gabe didn’t feel the same impulse, he could still be happy for his friend.
But Gabewasn’thappy about what it meant for him.
For all his messiness, Fabian was a great business partner, and an even better friend. He knew about Gabe’s issues with his family, and he’d never have stuck Gabe with this task if there’d been another choice. Gabe hadn’t been back to New York since his sister’s wedding nine years ago, where he and his parents had made a scene and his father had yelled “Don’t come back!” at his retreating form.
“I know I have to do it,” Gabe said, shaking off the memory. Managing the New York launch was something he’d resigned himself to once he’d realized the one-year mark was coming up and Fabian was in no position to go anywhere.
“I’ll help how I can from afar,” Fabian offered. He held up his other hand, which had three pink sticky notes stuck to his fingers. “That’s what I wanted to update you on. I’ve made some inquiries.”
Gabe shifted in the chair, getting comfortable. “Let’s hear it.”
Fabian peeled a note off his finger and squinted at whatever he’d written there. His notes looked like they were written by a two-year-old who’d decided to try writing upside down.
“I’ve reached out to a real estate agent to help us find a space, a contractor to give us a renovation quote, and...” Fabian wiggled his middle finger, which held the final pink sticky note. “I found the mastermind behind the Victory Fitness rebrand.”
At that last bit, Gabe leaned forward. “Really? You found them?”
Victory Fitness was a bicoastal gym chain whose clout had skyrocketed three years earlier thanks to an ad campaign that went viral. At the time, Fabian had tacked up the magazine ads on his office corkboard, and they’d kicked around the idea of hiring whoever had come up with the concept. There were already a lot of gyms in New York, but if they could bring that person on board, it could be exactly what they needed to make the expansion a success.
As much as Gabe didn’t want to return to New York, if he had to do it, he wanted to blow it out of the water, to havethe name of his gym—a take on his own last name, Aguilar—splashed everywhere.
Especially where his father could see it.
“It took a little work to track her down, because she’s freelance now. But I got someone at her old firm to give me her contact info. Her name’s...” Fabian peered at the sticky note. “Michelle... Amato.”
Gabe’s heart leaped into his throat and his skin prickled like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over his head. “What did you say?”
“Michelle Amato. She used to work for a marketing and advertising firm—”
“Oh shit.” Gabe put a hand on his forehead and fell back into the chair, the strength draining out of him. Even though they’d been out of touch all these years, the last thing Gabe had heard about Michelle was that she’d gotten a job in marketing. “It’s Michelle. It has to be. Goddamn.”
It was a small fucking world after all.
“What is it, dude?” Fabian tossed the sticky notes onto the desk and got up. “You look pale.”
“Michelle’s my...” What were they? “We used to be friends. Best friends. She—”
“Wait, this isthatgirl?Thegirl? The one who you—oh damn.” Fabian pulled out his phone while Gabe stared into space, swamped by memories.
Of playing in their adjoining backyards. Of dinner with her family. Of her keeping him company during his shifts at his father’s stationery store.
Of her taste on his lips the last time he’d seen her.
“This is the one you wrote that sci-fi fanfiction for?”
Gabe narrowed his eyes at Fabian’s question. “I wrote itwithher, notforher. We were fifteen. And I told you never to bring that up again, pendejo.”
“Not my fault you spill your deepest, darkest secrets when you’re drunk.” Fabian’s eyebrows rose. “Daaaamn. She’s smoking hot, dude.”
“What?” That snapped Gabe out of his reverie. “How do you know?”
Fabian turned the phone to face him. “Her Instagram.”
