“You seem happy,” my dad says and smiles at me. “And I don’t just mean at work.”
“I am, Dad,” I say, leaning back, satisfied like the king of the jungle. “Things couldn’t be better. I’m falling in love. Aspen’s happy. I love the work here. I’m juiced!” I tease, but I’m also serious.
“Now I just have to convince her to marry me.”
He smiles, happy to see me so happy, but then his smile flattens. “But you haven’t told her yet?”
I shrug, confident. “No. I’m going to soon, but I’m not worried about it.”
He raises his eyebrows and tilts his head. I see his neck strain. “If you say so. But can I give you some unsolicited advice?”
“Absolutely. I rely on you for advice, Dad.”
“Have a plan. Think through how you’ll tell her, and possibly some different scenarios for how she might respond. Women don’t like to being lied to.”
“I know. And it’s not really a lie. I just withheld information. Things were different back then.”
He eyes me skeptically. “I dunno, Ryker. I’m just saying to think through all the angles. Like a good litigator, be ready for anything. And tell her soon.”
I walk into the room at the gym with the kettlebells, thinking about what Dad said. My latest plan is to tell Aspen straight up, matter-of-factly, like a normal conversation. The idea being, if I act like it’s no big deal, maybe she won’t either.
I meant it when I told Dad that I was falling in love with her. Maybe I should start with that? Tell her I love her, and then casually drop in the fact that I helped with the investment she needed. She just didn’t think she wanted it from me, at the time. But, like I told Dad, things are different now.
We’re a couple.
He’s right though, I should think about how she might respond.
I start with some Russian kettlebell swings and focus on my form. Kettlebells can be dangerous if you throw them around like a jackass. But with the race coming up, I need to amp up my workouts with extra effort.
After a set, I put down the kettlebell to rest and go back to thinking about Aspen. I admit that I don’t know how she’ll respond when I tell her, but I’m a persuasive person, and although she’s stubborn, she’s told me that she’s the happiest she’s ever been in her life. And I know that’s because of her accomplishments… and because we’re together.
I walk back over to the kettlebell rack. I need to bust through this workout, so I can get home. To get more bang for my buck, I do American kettlebell swings instead of Russian. The American style lifts the weight much higher, and is controversial—it’s riskier—but I need to get this workout done, and I know what I’m doing. I bust out a set with no problem, and I like the strain in my muscles. I sit down for a rest before my next set.
My phone buzzes with a text message from Aspen.
Aspen: When are you coming home?
Me: I’ll be there in about an hour.
Aspen: Since tomorrow is Saturday, and Jessica will work at the bistro, I don’t need to be there. I plan to spend most of the day working at The Rose. I want to finish painting the trim.
Me: Sounds good. I’ll come help.
Aspen: You’re the best. Hey, what do you say about us sleeping at your house tonight?
Ryker: Hell yeah, baby. I’ve been wanting to fuck you in my bed ever since we christened the rug in the hallway.
Aspen: You sure know how to make a girl blush. And wet.
Me: That’s my job. What about Dagny?
Aspen: I’ll make sure she has food and water.
Me: OK, I’ll see you at my place in an hour.
Aspen: I can’t wait.
Me: You have no idea. ;)
I stand up and grab the kettlebell to finish my last set. And as I’m letting the momentum of the kettlebell swing from behind my legs, out in front of me, and up over my head, an image of Aspen lying naked in my king-size bed flashes in my mind, and I lose my focus. I release the tension in my core, and my shoulder loses stability. “Ow! Fuck!” I bellow as my shoulder feels like it’s tearing, and I bring the kettlebell down too fast, dropping it, and grabbing onto my right shoulder with my left hand.
Buck runs into the room when he hears me scream. “Ryker, are you OK? What happened?”
“I tweaked the fuck outta my shoulder.” I turn to face him, and I realize my back also hurts. “My back, too.”
“Shit, man,” he says as he runs over to me. He puts my good arm around his shoulder, and he helps me get to a bench to sit down. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” He runs into the other room, and a moment later, he returns with a bag of ice and puts it on my shoulder.
“Do you have any motion? What were you doing when it happened?”
“Kettlebell swings. American.”
“Goddammit, Ryker, you dumbass. You know better! I’ve told people over and over not to do those goddamn things!” he yells.
“I know! I know! I was going for more intensity because the race is coming up.”
“Shit, man. Why do I have to keep telling people? If you want to push yourself, just go heavier with the Russian swing!”
Fuck.
I’m an idiot.
Buck looks at me and says, “Can you walk? Do you want
