Page 129 of Gigi and the Gym Rats

“What do you mean, what’s up? You were supposed to call me yesterday. We were supposed to go shopping.”

“Shoot, it totally slipped my mind. Sorry!”

The culprits—four gorgeous men—are currently peeking at me from the bedroom door. Looks like they’ve been cleaning up. A good idea after all our activities.

And now I’m distracted again and heat seeps into my face.

“Are you okay?” Mom asks.

“Yes. Of course. Absolutely.”

Thing is, I’ve sort of taken leave of my usual life, my carefully constructed routine, my million activities and my strict plans. I’ve eaten like a pig, had sex like a… what animal has a lot of sex? Monkeys? Hyenas? Ducks? Wasn’t there something about ducks having enormous penises?

Why don’t they teach any useful facts like that in biology class?

“Gigi.” Mom is still talking, I realize.

“Yeah?”

“Are you home? I’m close by. I could drop by and have a coffee with you.”

“No, I…” I grapple for a plausible lie, as I don’t feel ready to tell my mom what is going on. I’m still in the process of digesting it. “I’m at a friend’s place.”

Looking at my phone now, I find missed calls and messages from Bee, Sawyer, and the girls. Shit. Everyone is probably having kittens right now, dying to know if we’re okay, and after dragging them into this mess, least I can do is give them an update and a thanks.

And oh, shit, missed calls from work. I skipped work two days in a row with no explanation. Sounds like I’m jobless. Skipping work isn’t the same is skipping class, unfortunately.

“That’s a pity,” Mom is saying now.

And as she prattles on about her friends and her boring office job and a pair of slinky pumps she saw in a shop, another thought strikes me, a thought that got buried under the amazing turn my life took this week.

“Mom,” I interrupt her, “any news from Travis?”

“Oh, honey.” Mom falls quiet for a few beats. “No, he hasn’t contacted me and I’m starting to wonder if I should declare him missing. I told you, maybe if you called him, he?—”

“Travis doesn’t have anything to say to me,” I cut in again, “he never has in the past ten years. He has my number and he’s never used it. And I… I tried calling him, Mom. He never answered.”

Another silence.

“What if you tried again,” she whispers and this time her voice is a little choked. “One last time?”

“But—”

“People change sometimes, sweetie.”

“I don’t believe that.” I’m shaking my head even if she can’t see it.

“They can change if their situation changes. Don’t underestimate the circumstances.”

“What are you saying, Mom?”

“I’m saying… maybe leaving wasn’t a bad thing for him. Maybe he’s in a different headspace now, and he can hear you.”

I chew on the inside of my cheek. My dad was a drunk. Not violent, at least not with me. He was an obnoxious alpha, always in his cups, and Travis seemed to be the only one able to calm him down and keep him happy. I left home the first chance I got.

But Travis… I never told her that he hit me once. That I’m scared of him. Truth is, I’ve barely seen him or talked to him since that incident, and I’m not about to forgive him, but…

What if he needs my help? I remember a time when he hadn’t been like that—moody, perpetually angry. Violent. When he’d been a sweet older brother I’d looked up to, who’d let me pull on his long hair and gave me rides on his back.

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