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Page 55 of Gym Bros (Bay Area Bros #2)

“Rachel, listen—I didn’t ask you over here to talk about him…”

“No, I know, I got off on a tangent, but while I’m here, let me just say he doesn’t think too highly of men in general.”

“And?”

“They treated him like a luxury item or something. Like a delicacy. Like he was worthy of worship but not love.”

I wince, inserting my father’s image into this picture she’s painting.

“Or—wait—here’s what I’m trying to say—like he was a break from their real life but not allowed to be a part of it.”

“Why would he want that?” I ask, sucked in to the topic, and also frustrated beyond description.

“Because he was used to being dressed up, used, shown off and then forgotten? I don’t know. I also don’t know what it’s like to look like him. I think there’s probably such a thing as being too beautiful.”

Finally, I shake my head. “I really can’t talk about him anymore, Rachel.”

“Why not?” she asks, feigning innocence.

I glare at her.

“Do you miss him or something?”

“It doesn’t matter. It can’t work.”

“Did you ever really want it to?” she asks .

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, I mean were you actually serious about him, or were you just one of those guys who saw him as a novelty item?”

“That’s an extremely uncool thing to say when you’re sitting on my couch.”

“You’re planning to go pro, right? Like fight in the UFC?”

“Yeah.”

“And you know there are no openly queer pro male fighters. Zero.”

I shrug. “I train with two men who are in a serious relationship with each other. One of them will go pro eventually.”

“Why haven’t they yet?”

“I don’t know,” I say.

“Is it maybe because no one wants to fight them?” she asks.

“I don’t know .”

“Is that one of the reasons you broke up with Calyx?”

“It has fucking nothing to do with it.” Despite my raised voice, she doesn’t flinch.

“Is it one of the reasons you wouldn’t consider getting back together with him?”

“Were you here while I was talking about Thanksgiving? My dad fucked him. His client . And fuck knows how many others there were. And you know what? If the UFC doesn’t want me because I happen to be able to find a man attractive or know how to suck a dick, then fuck them.

They’re the pussies if they can’t wrap their stupid mouths around a cock. They should be so lucky.”

She snorts. “Well said, Sam.”

“I wasn’t saying?—”

“No.” She holds up a hand. “I totally get what you were saying.”

“None of that’s the point, Rachel,” I remind her .

“I guess I’m trying to figure out if you’re mad at him or your dad.”

“Both,” I say.

“I talked to him the night of the birthday party when you were dancing with Pri. I wanted him to tell you about it.”

“You fucking knew ?” I ask because that’s news.

“Yeah,” she says, like she doesn’t give a shit what I think about the fact that she’s also complicit in this.

“But when he explained why he didn’t want to tell you, I saw where he was coming from.

He knew it would hurt you and your family.

And you know what? I ended up agreeing with him.

I mean—I’m all for honesty and openness in a relationship, but when it’s a secret that has a blast zone as big as this one, I also get that sometimes ignorance is bliss. ”

The circle we’re talking in is fucking dizzying. It’s getting me nowhere fast.

“But,” she adds, “If you were looking for a way out, you certainly found it.”

“A way out?” I ask, incredulous.

“Well, for someone who calls himself a fighter, you tapped out pretty quick. Begs the question whether you were actually interested in him or you were just having fun.”

I press my lips together and try not to lose my shit. I may need a moment alone in my closet. My fist is already clenching. My voice comes out low and deadly. “Is that what you think I was doing?”

She looks me dead in the eyes. “Was it? Because he thinks it might have been.”

I have no way of knowing if she’s lying—bluffing to get a reaction out of me—so I don’t give her one. But the way I feel is a different matter entirely. “He’s got a lot of fucking nerve if that’s what he said to you. ”

“I don’t know. I’ve been with a lot of straight guys—obviously. And if there’s one thing I know they like it’s novelty.”

“Are you trying to make me hate you, too?” I ask.

“I’m really asking,” she says, all pretense and bullshit aside.

“He’ll get over you. Obviously. Eventually.

And he might go back to having meaningless flings with married dads.

Or he might even manage to get one of them so wrapped around his finger they can’t help but want to marry him and keep him super comfortable for the rest of his life.

But what he might not do—ever again—is give someone his heart. ”

“You can’t know that.”

“No? Why can’t I? You think I haven’t had enough experiences with men to learn exactly what they think I’m worth?”

“Which men?” I ask, finding the statement ridiculous if not a gross exaggeration.

“ All of them. You’re all the fucking same. You see a shiny new thing, and you can’t wait to have it, and then once you get it and use it a few times, it loses some of its sparkle—especially once you see what it’s actually made of.”

“Rachel,” I say. “That’s not me .”

“How the fuck would you know, Samuel? You turned twenty-one like five minutes ago. You haven’t even had time to see what’s out there yet.”

“Oh, but apparently I have had time to get bored.”

“No, you just got burned, and you blamed the pan.”

“I’m not blaming the goddamn pan,” I say, a lot louder than I mean to.

“I’m blaming the pain . I’m sorry for how you’ve been treated, genuinely, but I loved him.

I was committed to him. All in . And I didn’t fucking tap out.

If anything, the fight got stopped before it was done if you wanna stick with that stupid metaphor.

If he told you he did anything but walk away once I knew what was up, then he’s fucking lying. ”

“What was he supposed to do? ”

“ Nothing ,” I tell her. Yell at her. “There’s nothing he can do.

There’s nothing I can do either. It’s impossible.

It’s unfixable. It’s fucked. I’m pissed.

I’m fucking confused, and I miss my goddamn boyfriend.

You think I wanna be talking about whether to break this to my mom or not with you ?

I want him . No offense, but he’s really the only person I’ve truly given a shit about outside my family—ever. ”

“Then why can’t you talk about this with him?” she asks, not giving up.

I’ve gotta hand it to her. I’d have been long gone by now if I were in her position. I’m not making this easy, but that’s because it isn’t.

“Because he’s part of it,” I say, though she shouldn’t need the reminder.

“Does your mom really need to know that , though?”

“ What? ”

“Like if you were to tell her what your dad’s been doing—because believe me—if she doesn’t know, she deserves to—then what would be the point letting her know Calyx was one of the people he screwed around with?”

“Because Calyx would know.”

“ Calyx can make his own decisions. But only if he’s given a choice.”

I exhale shakily. “So fix the lie with more lies?”

“It’s an option. Is it ideal? No. But if you actually do want to be with him, then it’s a way .”

I sit back on the couch, and Beauty climbs up to put her head on my lap.

I think about what Rachel’s saying. Specifically, the part about how my mom deserves to know.

And I think she’s probably right about the fact that the identities of the people my father’s cheated on her with matter less than the infidelity itself—or the multiple violations of his vows to her .

But would I be able to look her in the eye knowing I knew something she didn’t? I can’t even return her calls.

Rachel takes advantage of my silence. “I don’t know if anyone’s ever given you this particular talk, Samuel, so if I sound patronizing or whatever, just deal with it.

But there comes a time in all of our lives where we have to stop worrying about impressing our parents.

We have to live our lives for us. Not them.

We have to find what makes us happy, not what we think would make them happy for us.

We have to grow up. We have to raise ourselves the rest of the way. ”

I glance at her and her tough love face.

I like strong women, and I credit my own mother with raising me to appreciate constructive criticism, no matter the source.

What I don’t like is whatever happened to Rachel to make her lose trust in “all” men.

I have no interest in being one of the guys who reinforces her point.

“Is there anything else I need to know about him that you know, and I don’t?” I ask.

“Just that he’s leaving for London after Thanksgiving to work, but I think you know that. And I think Marcus is going with him.”

I let out a long, low, oooohhhh filled with a lot of things. Disappointment, hurt, betrayal. Loss. “Are you fucking with me right now?”

She shakes her head.

“Is he—are they?—?”

“No. Oh my God, no. It’s just work.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he would never do that.”

“He’s already done that.”

“Calyx doesn’t love Marcus, Samuel. He loves you.”

“But he’s going back to work with my dad,” I argue .

“This is where the whole grow up thing comes into play,” she says.

Ouch. I give her another glare for that.

“Look, he barely wants to model anymore. He’s certainly not about to go shopping for another manager to do something he doesn’t want to do in the first place.

I glare at her. “Are you sure they’re not fucking again?”

She nods, sincerely. “He would never do that.”

Honestly, I don’t think my dad would either. I don’t think much of him right now, but I do think he’s got this one boundary. Still—the idea of them together at all, even sitting next to each other on a plane, makes me want to hit something. Specifically, my dad.

“I did know he was going, but I thought after this he’d go alone.”

Rachel doesn’t say anything to that, and I’m secretly grateful. I need to let Calyx live his life, and I need to get on with my own. But then Rachel says, “Will you think about what I said?”

“Which part?” She said a lot worth thinking about. I also need to think about some of the things I said, too.

“Just that it’s going to be okay, and it’s not actually an impossible situation. Not if you go by the strict definition of impossible.”

I nod. “Okay.”

“Then I’ll leave you to it.”

I walk her down to the street, and she gives me a hug that I wish I were getting from someone else. Afterward, I sit on the front steps in the cold for a while. Thinking.

I guess Calyx and I broke up, which might sound stupid for that to be occurring to me ten days after the fact, but maybe I haven’t been thinking about it as a breakup.

Maybe I thought I was taking some space to figure shit out.

Impossible shit like I told Rachel, but sometimes it takes a week or so of trying to solve the same puzzle to realize it’s a lost cause.

I’m incredibly disappointed about Calyx sticking it out with my father. It feels like another betrayal, despite how Rachel explained it. Like he still gets to have a relationship with my dad while I no longer can—because of him.

Which is pretty fucked up when you think about it, but I guess I do need to grow up and take this one on the chin.

Calyx is an adult with a career that existed long before I came around, and as much as I don’t want him discouraging me from pursuing my dream, it’s not my place to stick my nose in his business. Dude’s gotta make a living.

It’s the message I want to send to my father that has me concerned for my own sanity. Keep your fucking hands off him.

Not exactly the way an ex -boyfriend should be thinking. But also—are they exes too? Should I be concerned? Do I have any right to be?

I feel like I do, and that makes me think I’m not quite done yet.

Do I want to see him, though? Talk to him?

Rachel reminding me how beautiful he is was a double-edged sword.

It’s easy to get distracted by what he looks like because he does shine.

He glows. But he also listens and knows when to hug instead of kiss, when to tickle instead of talk.

He was my boyfriend, but he was also just—a great person to be around. He was a friend. The best one I’ve ever had. The benefits weren’t too bad either. Shit, I can’t think about the benefits right now.

I don’t know if I can separate the issues I’m having with him from the sense of impending doom when it comes to my family. But from what Rachel says, it sounds like she thinks it’s possible—or that I should.

I fucking hate my father. I hate him for being weak and disloyal. I hate him for lying. I hate him for leaving me to figure out how to clean up this mess. His mess.

But I hate him the very most for not being the kind of man he and my mom raised me to be.

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