I just tower above his lean frame.
“Down, boy,” I quip.
The corners of his lips rise in a fraction of a smile. It’s barely detectable, barely noticeable, and maybe I haven’t seen beneath all of Ryke Meadows’ layers, but I do know one thing: we’re good friends. I’d do just about anything for him, and I’m certain he’d do the same for me.
Lo relaxes after one last sit-up, stretching his hands behind him. I step off his shoes but remain standing. I watch his smile fade to a more guilt-ridden expression, his brows pinched.
“What is it?” I ask.
He looks up with even worse remorse. He carries more than necessary, beating himself up before I will ever even think to harm him.
I arch a brow. “You couldn’t have possibly replaced me with a more intelligent, witty, and handsome human being—since none exist—so whatever you did won’t upset me.”
He lets out a heavy sigh. “I’ve been talking to my dad again. Just on the phone,” he admits. “I’m so fucking conflicted because I feel like if I even think about him, I’m taking his side over yours. And it’s not like that—what he did was wrong, but he’s just messed up…”
Ryke stops mid-push-up and shifts to a sitting position. He’s quiet, his breathing heavier but I assume it’s less from working out and more from the sudden change in topic.
“I don’t mind,” I answer truthfully. “Jonathan won’t ever be my favorite person, but it’s hard for me to hold a grudge against a man who made an idiotic mistake out of haste and out of fear and love.” Malicious intent would give me pause, but I don’t feel any from him. “So please,” I tell Lo, “don’t guilt yourself on my account.”
Lo nods a couple times, processing this. He looks to his brother, who hasn’t said anything.
“He needs to learn, Lo,” Ryke reminds him. “You said that, remember? You can’t fucking run back to him this easily. It gives him the idea that he can do more shit like this to us in the future. Do you want Moffy around that? You have a fucking kid—”
“Okay,” Lo cuts him off. “I get it.” He lets out another deep sigh, his hands splayed flat behind him, and his gaze returns to me. “Get back on my feet, love.”
“This isn’t quite my favorite position, but I’ll make an exception for you, darling.”
I’m about to stand on his feet when a forty-something man at the weight rack coughs beneath his breath, “Homo.”
If glares could kill, Loren Hale has just massacred the gym in point-two seconds. “What was that?” he snaps, not needing to shout since the man is literally ten feet from us.
The guy picks up a forty-pound dumbbell and simmers silently.
I have no guilt about my decision to tell the truth. That I slept with men in my past. I am proud of the choices I’ve made in life, and I won’t let other people dig beneath my skin and make me feel ashamed of who I am.
There isn’t a single bone in my body that cowers. I will always stand six-feet-and-four-inches tall.
“I can’t stand people,” Ryke mutters under his breath.
“Next time we’ll go to the dog park,” I banter.
“Fucking hil—”
Out of nowhere, the man just drops the forty-pound dumbbell on Loren’s hand, the one splayed flat on the concrete. Lo lets out a choked, pained noise, and Ryke springs to his feet.
I crouch down to Lo on instinct, to check the damage to his hand
“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Ryke yells at the guy, who huffs with deep-seated rage.
“I’m okay,” Lo tells me, clenching his teeth and favoring his right hand. Three of his knuckles are clearly crushed, and I suspect his other bones fair about the same.
“No one here wants to see that!” The man gestures between Lo and me with disgust.
I’ve stood on Lo’s feet for sit-ups in this exact gym before. We’ve joked without anyone complaining. It’s still all changed based on what I’ve admitted, and I won’t ever take it back. But I would’ve rather the man thrown the fucking weight at me than hurt my friend.
“Speak for yourself!” This doesn’t come from Ryke. Or from me. Or Loren. It’s a random guy on a weight bench.
“Yeah!” someone else across the room pipes in.
“We don’t want you here, man!” The exclamation is directed at the dumbbell guy. Gym employees in red-collared shirts begin to make their way towards us.
“Are you serious?” the guy sneers. “They were flirting!”
“Booooo!” The noise comes from the treadmills.
Ryke cools down at the support from over half the gym, and he squats in front of his little brother, inspecting his quickly swelling hand. Lo looks up at me like, can you believe this? He’s not talking about his injury. There is more surprise and awe in his eyes than pain.
I think I share some of that awe—proud that intolerance can be met with reactions like these. The gym employees speak quietly to the man.
“You’re not kicking me out. I’m leaving,” he sneers. “And I’m telling everyone I fucking know not to come to this faggot gym.”
As soon as he heads to the door, almost everyone stops their workout and starts clapping at his departure, happy to see him go as much as we all are.
“I’d join, but…” Lo winces as he tries to close his hand.
“You need a fucking cast.”
“I need a drink.”
Ryke shoots him a glare.
Lo’s brows rise. “Joking.” He adds, “I promise.”
Ryke nods, believing him, and I reach out for Lo’s left hand and help him to his feet.
Lo winces again. “I want to go home first and ice it—”
“This isn’t a fucking sprain,” Ryke retorts.
I frown at Lo. “Usually it’s your brother avoiding hospitals, not you.”
“It’ll be on the news the minute we park near the ER, and I’d rather go home, ice my hand for an hour and tell Lily. That way, she’ll find out from me.”
If I had to choose who has the highest pain tolerance of all of us, it’d be Loren Hale, without question.
* * *
“Please, Lil. I’m okay. It’s okay…” Lo tries to calm his wife with a hug, and she wipes her tears repeatedly, trying to be composed for him. He favors his right hand, all of us joined together in the kitchen.
“I know—I just…I can tell it’s hurting you.” She rubs her splotchy cheeks, guilt-ridden that she’s crying in the face of his injury.
I search the kitchen cabinets for any painkillers with Rose. And Daisy zips a plastic baggie with ice, passing it to Lily, who hands it to Lo.
I knock shoulders with Ryke as he heads to the fridge, and we both exchange a look that says you were in my way first before returning to our natural course.
“My hand barely hurts,” Lo tells her and he tries to close his fingers into a fist, but he struggles to move his joints.
“Don’t do that!” Lily holds his arm still, her eyes big and wide. “You don’t have to prove anything to me, Lo.”
Lo nods once.
I really want to drive him to the hospital now. The logical part of me—which is almost all of me—combats with his decision to linger at the house.
Rose and I end up at the same lower cabinet, crouched and digging through plastic containers for anything that’ll help him.