Page 74 of Playing to Win

Chapter 24

Brooks

Day 10.

When I walk into Studio A, a small group of reporters—two I recognize and two new—are already gathered. Izzy doesn’t meet my eye or speak to me as she loads a salsa video. Once the video is loaded, she leaves the room.

After my workout, I shower. As she said would happen, now that I know the moves, I can build up a sweat doing her routines. I head up to my office and stop in the corridor when I hear her soft, high voice singing to the gentle strum of my guitar. I lean back against the wall and listen. Each strum and each word peels back a layer of my anger and bares my feelings for her. I have to force myself to remember that she’s childish and petty and this whole thing is just one big game to her. A game she is playing to win.

As she sings about feeling alone, I recognize the lyrics. Not because I’ve heard the song before; I haven’t. I recognize the sentiment. That she can feel alone in a crowd of people.

Of course, if you write blog posts claiming the guys you are sleeping with are also sleeping with their daughters, it is a surefire way to make yourself lonely.

I don’t have the energy for this. No more. I seek out Elliot—one of my best trainers—and ask him to cover Izzy’s session for me.

In my office, Izzy is frantically scribbling on a piece of paper. Crossing out words, writing down guitar chords. She stops when she sees me and puts the guitar down, returning to her desk and her blank laptop screen.

“Elliot is going to take your session this afternoon. He’s one of my best and he has your notes.”

She lifts her head but her expression is unreadable. She nods, then stands and walks out of the room.

* * * *

I hold the punch bag that hangs from the ceiling of the boxing room as Drew pummels his fists, knees, and shins into it. Kit is slumped on the floor with his head between his legs, recovering from his session.

“Give me a left-right-left. Nice. Right-right-left. Good hit.”

As I talk Drew through his usual routine, throwing in a few different patterns to keep him sharp, Elliot comes into the room with Izzy following behind. He raises his chin in greeting. Izzy doesn’t look our way at all.

“Give me five knees each side,” I tell Drew, who is now dripping in sweat and grunting through each move.

I watch Elliot strap Izzy’s hands, my entire body tensing when he holds her wrist, his skin on hers. It’s a small touch. I’m mad as hell at the woman. Yet, it riles me. She takes Elliot’s instruction without giving him any grief. I wish the music weren’t playing so loud so I could hear what she is saying. It’s a small comfort that she isn’t laughing or smiling.

“Roundhouse, hook, jab. Five on each side,” I direct Drew.

Izzy starts punching at her bag but her technique is off. Her arms are too straight or too bent at the wrong times. She isn’t punching through the bag. That’s what I’d be telling her right now.

Elliot picks up on it but rather than telling her how to fix it, the bastard moves behind her, his chest to her back. He interlaces his fingers through her right hand and demonstrates technique by moving through the punch with her.

I don’t realize I’m reacting until Drew stops his workout and follows my gaze to Izzy and Elliot. In the same situation, maybe I would be doing the same thing Elliot is now. Would I? Would I hold my client’s hand and move through the punches that way?

My fists ball at my sides. When Elliot is satisfied, he moves back to his position behind the bag. Before she starts up again, Izzy shoots me a glance, her eyes connecting with mine for a second that feels like an hour. Then she’s punching through the bag, her back to me.

I wonder if she’s imagining my face as she pummels her fists into the sand-filled bag.

“I should have told her about Cady,” I mutter.

“You should have. But her reaction was shit, man,” Drew says in my defense.

Oddly, I feel an irrational need to justify Izzy’s insane actions. “She was hurt.”

“She could have spoken to you in private.”

“I know. I think she knows that too. She’s mad at me about Cady. And maybe she’s right. I mean, she wouldn’t have got wasted and posted anything if she had known I have a daughter.”

“How is Cady?” Drew asks.

“I’d love to answer that question, but she won’t answer my calls. Neither of them is speaking to me. How the fuck did I get here? You know what the really fucked up thing is? I don’t wish I hadn’t met her.” It strikes me as I say that, just how similar that reaction is to how I feel about Cady and Alice. My life went to shit because I got my girlfriend pregnant. I spend all my waking hours in this gym to avoid being home, alone with my thoughts. Yet I don’t wish I had never met Alice. I don’t wish we had never had Cady. And, even though she drives me crazy, there’s not even a small part of me that wishes I’d never met Izzy.

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