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Page 51 of Gym Bros (Bay Area Bros #2)

“Did you talk to him or something?”

“I saw you at the facility earlier,” he says.

“Are you surprised?” I ask, because I still can’t tell.

“Yes, actually. I’m not thrilled either, so…”

“Why not?” I ask .

“Calyx is…well, you don’t strike me as his type. I don’t want you getting hurt or—labeled.”

“Calyx is what?” I ask. “Out of my league?”

“Sam…”

“What?” I ask. “That’s what you’re thinking right?” I shrug. “That’s fine. For the record, I would totally agree, but I know him a little different than you do, so…”

My father takes a deep breath through his nose. “Okay.”

“You don’t have to like it,” I tell him. “You know I don’t care.”

“No, I know you don’t. But it’s sort of impulsive, even for you, don’t you think?”

“I mean…it’s like you said. He’s special.”

His jaw flexes. “He is. I’ll stay out of it.”

“Do you still want to go to dinner?”

His sigh is heavy and resigned. “Yes, Sam.”

“Is it gonna be awkward?”

“No,” he says. “We can talk about fighting the whole time.”

I force a grin. “Okay. You’re not pissed at me?”

“No. Just be careful with yourself, okay?”

“Yep. Hey, I like oysters now,” I say as we stand.

“You’re trying all kinds of new things in San Francisco, aren’t you?” he asks with a warmer smile.

I laugh, and a weight lifts.

The steakhouse is nice. Very nice. The kind of place only my dad would pick. He orders a dry martini, and I order a beer.

“I can’t believe you can order your own drinks now.”

I flash him a look.

“Legally,” he adds. “Do you go out a lot?”

“We’ve been out a little more lately, but my training schedule is pretty intense, so nothing crazy. My birthday, though, we went to this club in the Mission District. That was nuts.”

“Which club?”

“I don’t remember what it was called, but it was one of those places with bottle service and dancers in cages.”

“Fantasma?” he asks.

“Uh, yeah. I think that was it.”

He lifts his brows before looking down at his menu. “Quite a way to celebrate.”

“It was fun until it wasn’t. Not my thing. Have you been?”

He shrugs a shoulder and asks, “What are you thinking? The prime rib is supposed to be the best in town.”

I’m surprised he’s never had it if that’s the case, and he parties at places like Fantasma. “I honestly just want a burger,” I say.

“Nicest steakhouse in the city, and you want a burger.”

“Look, I’ve been basically starving myself, and it’s wagyu. That’s nice, right?”

He shakes his head and continues to study the menu. His phone rings, and he glances at it. His shoulders drop two inches. I hadn’t realized they were so tense. He hands me the phone. “It’s your mother. Talk to her. I’m going to the men’s room.”

“I—okay.”

I answer his phone. “Hi, Mom.”

“Sam? You’re okay?”

“Unscathed,” I tell her.

“Oh, that’s a relief. Your father said he’d call when it was over, but I guess he got caught up. You’re with him, I’m assuming?”

“Yeah, he’s in the bathroom. We’re at dinner.”

“Wonderful. Well, was it everything you hoped for?”

“It was a little quick, honestly, but a solid win.”

“I’m very relieved. Well, I’ll let you enjoy your dinner, but tell Marcus to call me, will you? I have some questions about his schedule for next week.”

“Will do.”

“Congratulations, bud. I love you. I’ll call soon about Thanksgiving.”

“Okay, and thanks, Mom. Love you, too.” As I end the call, a text appears at the top of the screen. From Calyx.

I click it automatically, not really thinking about whose phone I’m holding, and not remembering it’s my dad’s until the text screen appears in dark mode. I don’t use dark mode.

But I’m already here, and I’ve already read the message.

It’s not much. It’s Thanks, talk to you soon.

And the message before it—from my father says then I’m happy for you, too

It’s a response to Calyx saying, I know this is weird, but I’m really happy.

My dad sits back down, and I hand him his phone with the screen open on the text thread. He looks down at it and swallows hard before looking at me again.

I frown.

He clears his throat. “Let me explain.”

I don’t know what clicks, but it really fucking clicks. Being completely honest, the texts themselves didn’t raise a single red flag, but the look on his face when he noticed I saw them has at least a dozen waving wildly.

Suddenly, it’s like I’ve been waiting for this moment for years, and now that it’s here, I want no part of it. Time slows to a crawl as I stare at my father.

I’ve never seen a look like that on his face, and he’s never ever offered to explain himself to me.

“Are you sleeping with him?” I ask lightly, going for the most unlikely—the most incendiary question first to get it out of the way—to put my jealous and possessive thoughts in the backseat so I can tell him to stop hounding Calyx to get back to work.

“No,” he whispers, the word strangling itself in his throat.

I don’t like the way he says it, so I try again, unsatisfied with the denial.

I need something firmer. More convincing to put my rising paranoia to rest. “I mean, I know you’re not sleeping with him now because I’ve been fucking him almost every night for two months, but were you sleeping with him before that? ”

He looks like he might throw up. His face is definitely paler than it was a second ago.

He doesn’t even have to say it, but he does, declining to make eye contact with me. “It only happened a handful of times.”

I know I asked the question—that I was the one to bring it up and put it out there, but I’m in no way prepared for what his admission does to me. The corrosive effect it has. The rage it stokes. The self-righteousness surging inside me. I fucking knew it. Lying, cheating son of a bitch.

“Jesus Christ,” I breathe, pushing myself away from the table. From him. “Does Mom know?”

He shakes his head minutely, the same way Calyx shook his head at him at the arena.

Calyx.

Calyx and my dad.

My father cheating on my mother. My amazing supportive mother who adores this suave, sophisticated man who’s rarely in town and always, always generous. Too generous once he knew I was onto him.

I stand up.

“Samuel, sit.”

The laugh that barks out of me is loud enough to turn heads. “Make me.” I need to get the fuck away from him. Now.

He follows me out. Of course he does. He should know better than to put his hands on me, but he doesn’t. We’re on the sidewalk when he grabs my shoulder to stop me. A second later, I’ve slammed him against the brick building. We’re chest to chest, my face in his face. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

“Samuel!” he says in the most fatherly tone of all time.

I let go of him but stay in his space. My hands are shaking, and I’m shouting. “What the fuck did you do?”

“I—it didn’t mean anything.”

“Does Mom know?” I ask again.

“No,” he says in that same choked whisper.

“It wasn’t just him though was it? And it wasn’t just a fucking handful of times. You’ve been doing this for years .”

He drops his gaze, unable to meet my eyes again, and I can’t blame him. I probably look like I want to kill him. But if I don’t walk away, I can’t guarantee he’ll stay so fucking handsome.

“How many are there?” I ask, because I deserve a fucking answer. “Are they all your clients? Are you that big of a cliché? You piece of shit?”

He throws his head back, and it slams the wall again. It’s an expression of guilt. The shame of being caught. “I never claimed to be perfect?—”

“Oh yes you fucking did. You lied to my face. How many are there?”

His gaze is watery when it meets mine.

“You don’t even know, do you? Are they all men?”

He shakes his head.

“Was Calyx—” my own voice threatens to give out. “Is he the only man?”

“Yes.”

I don’t know why, but that makes it so much worse. It’s something he and I have in common that I never would have known, but I’ll never be able to forget.

“Divorce her,” I say.

“No. Samuel—that’s not what I want. I love your?— ”

“The fuck you do. What is wrong with you? You don’t think she deserves to know what she’s married to? You can’t even give her enough respect to tell her that ?”

For the first time in my life, I think I’m about to see him cry. “I can’t lose her.”

The pain in his words is palpable. They hit the center of my heart and resonate. Lifting my hand, I drive my fist into the brick beside his head. I feel my knuckles split. A trickle of blood runs between my fingers.

He flinches and grabs my wrist. “Sam?—”

I yank away, stepping back. I bump into someone passing on the sidewalk, and I’m knocked off balance.

“She deserves to know,” I say.

And so did I.

Calyx should have said something. Why the fuck didn’t he? He wanted me to back off so bad in the beginning? This would have done it. I would have never touched him.

Never.

But he must have known that.

And once we started—I don’t think he ever would have told me.

I think the two of them would have gone to their graves with this while I stupidly sat next to Calyx at Thanksgiving dinner in front of my mother and this disgusting excuse for a husband and father.

As I’m turning in the direction of my condo since my father drove us here, he calls after me—saying the worst thing he could say. “Please don’t tell her.”

I shake my head without looking back.

He fucking wishes.

The walk home is mostly uphill. My phone is blowing up in my pocket, but I don’t check it. Worst case scenario it’s my father and Calyx .

They’ve probably talked. They probably have a whole game plan about how to deal with the problem of my knowing. How to manage me. Contain me.

But maybe both of them have underestimated me—again.

Maybe they think I’ll calm down. What’s past is past. My parents’ marriage is none of my business.

But that’s not the way I think. I’m not some huge stickler for loyalty, nor am I some momma’s boy, but what I can’t stand—what I’ve never been able to tolerate is watching someone get hurt who doesn’t deserve it—who did nothing to provoke it.

I can’t claim to be an expert on my parents’ marriage, but I know the vows they took—that everyone takes.

Forsaking all others. Rage at my father on behalf of my mother powers most of my walk home, but as my condo comes into view, my mind switches gears to Calyx who’s spent so much time here—so many nights in my bed. Knowing. Lying.

Deliberately keeping me in the dark. I fucking trusted him. I trusted them both.

I am so, so goddamned stupid.

I’m almost afraid to go in. Afraid to be anywhere near Beauty. I would never deliberately hurt her, but what if I’m too rough? What if she gets caught in the crossfire of my need to destroy something. I cross the street, heading for the gym instead.

It’s dark inside, empty. I have spare clothes in my locker, but I need to hit something more than I need to preserve my wardrobe.

I take off my shirt once I approach the punching bags and toss it to the side. With no gloves and bare feet, I go after a bag with everything I’ve got, bloody knuckles and so much fucking betrayal powering my limbs, I can’t believe the chain doesn’t give out.

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