Page 67

My hand shaking, I scroll through my contacts, my finger trembling above Marcus’s name.
Chapter 28
Marcus
“Eight…nine…ten…come on, come on! One more!”
My entire upper body is quivering, muscles screaming, teeth clenched, breath locked, as I channel all my remaining strength into that final push.
Mike’s encouragement spurs me on, my eyes fixed firmly on the silver of the bar hovering above me.
“Eleven!” Mike yells as I slam the bar back onto the rack with a loudclang,my chest burning as I let go of my breath.He jumps back, fists up in the air as though I’ve just won a title fight. “Fuck yes, mate!”
I sit up on the bench, my head dropping down as I attempt to catch my breath. Endorphins surge through me like lightning, momentarily making me feel superhuman.
I know I’m going to pay for it later butfuck that felt good!
“Mate, you’ve just set a new bloody record,” Mike says, his eyes bright with a complimentary glow of admiration and jealousy.
“Yea, well, after last night, let’s just say, I’ve got a renewed strength.” I push to my feet and wipe the sweat from my brow.
Mike smirks. “That good, huh?”
A grin tugs at my lips as the image of Lila on her knees, looking up at me, flares to life in my mind.
“You wouldn’t believe it,” I say, heading toward the dumbbells.
Mike laughs, a playful grin on his face. “And how old did you say she is?”
“Twenty-five.”
“Twenty-five, man. Fuck.” He shakes his head with a disbelieving smile. “Some of us really are God’s favourites, huh?”
He laughs and I shake my head, grinning as I grab a pair of twenty-five kilo weights off the rack, launching into a set of alternating curls.
Mike steps beside me, picking up a set of twenties as he matches my rhythm rep-for-rep.
We stay on curls for ten sets, our conversation drifting to the usual topics of protein shakes, politics and complaints about the modern music playing over the gym speakers.
Biceps fully burning, I start to make my way over to the squat rack when a buzz in my pocket startles me.
I reach for it, my eyebrows already furrowing with annoyance as I expect it to be a telemarketer or some other irritation, but it quickly dissipates when I see Lila’s name on the screen.
“Lila! Hey!” I answer.
“Marcus!”
Her voice sounds shaky.
It could just be distorted against the background noise of clanging metal, but it hits me in the chest anyway.
“It’s good to hear from you. You alright?”
A silence lingers on the other end of the phone, stretching just long enough for dread to pool in my stomach.
“Uh, no, not really,” she says.
My pulse quickens, and my back tenses as I hear the panic in her words.