Page 6 of For Your Heart
Heading for the staff lockers, I drop to the bench and slip into my gym shoes. Then I try to concentrate on my breathing and reach for my brother inside my chest. In my mind. He’s like one of those weird wolf mate bonds that you see in movies.
I feel him snort in response.Mate. You stupid fuck.
It makes me grin for just a second.
“Whitaker.”
I look up to find the golden retriever walking in. He’s a big guy, filled with muscles for days and a pretty nice bulk. He wears compression shorts under his looser ones, but they cup his junk in such a way that I know it’d be nice to choke on. Big. But is he thick too? Does he grow?
His hair is golden, just like his personality. He’s an excitable dog. Loves praise and smiles. Even his eyes are a golden brown, just like the dog I’m mentally comparing him to.
Once again, Declan snorts in my head.
“Hello, Rossi,” I say. I’m not sure why the locker room last name thing is a thing here, but whatever. I’m used to being called Whitaker. When you can’t tell twins apart, you at least get their identity correct when you only use a last name.
“Your first client’s here. Did you know?” he asks, standing beside me and grinning. His eyes are wide, reflecting his smile back at me.
“Yeah. I know. I’m going.”
“Oh, I’m not rushing you,” he says, raising his hands. His face is so expressive that I’m almost amused at the alarm there. “It’s not even eight. You can take your time. I just wasn’t sure if you knew.”
Once again, I feel Declan laugh a little. I appreciate his fuller presence inside me today. Maybe we can both get through the day easier if we’re mentally holding hands. Fuck, I need his hand for real.
It brings a frown to my face before I feel the warmth of his affection surge through me. I’m nearly chuckling at his response, except that Rossi is still staring at me. “Thanks for letting me know.”
His smile is beaming again. Like a fucking star. I blink a couple times, trying to adjust my eyes. Chuckling, I walk by him.
At least it’s Friday.
Three
SAGE
The only reasonI answer the phone without looking at the screen is because I’m running out the door. I’m not late, exactly. The gym is twenty-one minutes from my house. But I’m leaving forty-two minutes before I’m supposed to begin, as opposed to my usual forty-five minutes. I blame the bananas. They were giving me a hard time this morning.
“Good morning,” I say into the phone as I open my car door.
“Hello, baby.”
I flinch at my mother’s voice. She’s got a nice voice, but I certainly don’t want to hear it at 7:18 on a Monday morning. This is going to set a bad tone for the entire week. I can already feel it.
“Hi, Mom,” I say, trying to keep my voice chipper.
“Where are you off to this morning?”
“Same place I go every morning, Mom. Work.”
“At that gym?” I can hear the disapproval in her tone. She’s hated nearly every aspect of my life for as long as I can remember. My high school grades, though an A- average, weren’t good enough. My college GPA of 3.89 wasn’t good enough. My decision to go into exercise medicine, training, and nutrition wasn’t a good career choice. Moving 18 miles from her was too far for her to see into my windows when there was a perfectly good vacant lot right next to hers.
“Yes. I still work at the gym,” I say. And I make a good fudging living. I don’t say that. Money is only to brag about if you make it in a respectable way. Like my cousins the lawyer, the doctor, and the actor. Apparently, acting is more respectable than helping someone achieve good health. He’s the one hiring people like me.
My mother gives me a labored sigh. It’s cut off when my Bluetooth momentarily pauses before connecting to the speaker. But then I get the pleasure of hearing her surround me in the car. Taking a sip of my morning shake, I put my car in reverse and head out. Nope. Not late at all. Not letting my mother put me in a mood.
“So, I’ve been thinking about your little predicament.” I tense immediately and it causes me to nearly slam my foot on the gas instead of stopping at the stop sign. “I recently met a woman whose son had the same affliction, and she says that he went to a church psychologist, and they prayed it right out of him.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to remind her that sexuality isn’t an affliction. And there’s no amount of praying (to a God she doesn’t believe exists, mind you) that’s going to make it go away. I don’t tell her that this woman’s son is still gay, but now keeps that part of his life from his mother. I could be like him. Is that what she’d prefer?
But I don’t say it. Most of it would be a repeat of many previous discussions.
