by Katie Cross
You’ll Never Know
Chick Lit
Text copyright © 2018 by Katie Cross
This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, events, or incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity or resemblance to events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover designed by Jenny Zemanek with Seedlings Online
E-book production by Kella Campbell with E-books Done Right
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the US Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the author. For information regarding permission, send a query to the author at [email protected]
Published by THHS Publishing.
KOBO EDITION • ISBN 978-1-946508-12-6 • VERSION 1.2
Visit the author at katiecrosschicklit.com to learn more about The Health and Happiness Society.
For Nancy, Ginger, and Jennifer. You’ll never know what you’ve given me.
Chapter 1
Shattered Euphoria
The lemony tinge of cleaner embraced me the moment I walked into the gym. Home. My castle. The place where I escaped all my troubles.
The cardio room beckoned like a siren song. Come, it said. Start your day by running all your cares away. Matt Damon would await me on screen. No, if I was lucky … Gerard Butler. My calories burn would skyrocket as I jogged on one of many treadmills sprawled in front of the big-screen TV. Something about losing myself in the pump and burn and flickering lights drew me in.
Ah, euphoria.
Kellie, a girl with bright freckles and gobs of curly auburn hair, smiled when my best friend Lexie and I approached the main desk.
"Hey Rachelle,” Kellie called. “How’s marathon training?”
“Did my first twelve-miler last night.” I held up a fist and shoved through the metallic turnstile. “Nailed it.”
“So jealous. Hey Lexie!”
Lexie beamed. “Hey!” Her expression brightened. “It’s not free pizza day, is it?”
“Nope.”
“Bad idea anyway,” Lexie muttered as she pushed into the gym. “Seriously. Who serves pizza at the gym?”
“You love it,” I quipped.
Lexie tilted her head back with a sigh. “I know. I know.”
“Wedding go okay?” Kellie asked.
“Yes,” Lexie said. “It was awesome. But I can’t lie—it feels good to be back. I’m sad this will be the last time I work out here.”
Kellie’s lips turned down. “That sucks!”
“I know!”
My throat tightened. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
After a quick wave, Lexie and I strode past lines of ellipticals and weight-lifting machines, headed for the changing room. “So?” I drawled, nudging her in the ribs with an elbow. “Tell me everything. We haven’t gotten to talk since Bradley whisked you away. How was the honeymoon?”
Her pale cheeks bloomed. “Fine!”
“Fine. Sure.”
“I never imagined myself a sit-in-a-cabin-in-the-middle-of-the-forest-for-a-week kind of gal, but it was pretty great. I can see why Megan's obsessed with mountains. I mean, I could never live there. Access to life was severely limited. Still. The quiet was nice.”
"Did you even leave the cabin?"
"Yes!" she cried a tad too high. "Just … not as much as I would have under … you know. Other circumstances. In my defense, it rained. A lot.”
“I’m sure Bradley was disappointed.”
“Not in the least.”
I cast her a sidelong glance, but she had her eyes trained ahead with unusual alacrity. Sweet, innocent Lexie had always been the frosting to my brownies. While I had flaunted my extreme obesity and obsession with food while growing up, she hid hers. In her basement. Away from her perfect sister. To have her even talk about sex in public was a miracle. I pushed inside the locker room.
“Aaaand?” I asked.
“And what?”
“Were you as terrified for him to see you naked as you expected?”
The blush on her cheeks deepened. “Oh, that. Ha … well…” She tilted her head with a sly smile. “Let’s just say my, ah, fears of Bradley not finding me that attractive while naked were deeply unfounded. I may have been insecure about the size of my thighs and boobs, but he sure wasn’t.“
“I told you!”
“I know. I know. Now that I think about it, I shouldn’t have put so much energy into stressing over it. We’ve been dating for almost two years. You’d think I would have learned that he loves me the way I am. Anyway.” Lexie sighed. “In the interest of full disclosure, I ate way too many Oreo cupcakes.“
A laugh bubbled out of me. "Oreo cupcakes? Seriously? How did you find those out in the middle of nowhere?"
"Bradley made them as a wedding present. They didn't taste the same as the cupcake bakery, but whatever. He tried. You really can't go wrong with sugar, butter, flour, and Oreos, right?"
"Right.”
She stopped at the second-to-last locker, where we always hung our bags. She already wore her workout pants and shirt. After all the times we’d worked out together, she still hated changing in a public space. I flung my bag into the locker.
“When do you leave for your in-laws’ house?“ I asked while peeling off my shirt and tossing it into the locker.
“Tomorrow. After I clean the basement and finish packing. We'll probably drive all day Friday.”
Thanks to her recent marriage, Lexie had transferred colleges, sold her car, and started to pack up the basement. Peeling posters of Gerard Butler and glow-in-the-dark stars off the walls had given me physical pain. Still, I couldn’t help but be happy for her. She adored Bradley, and he adored her. I pulled on a shirt and rooted around for my running pants.
“I can’t believe you’re going to live somewhere else,” I said. “It’s so weird that we won’t be in the same town.”
“Tell me about it. How am I supposed to leave my little niece behind? My sister is still a hormonal mess, although granted, I think Mom secretly loves it. And Kaylin is three months of perfect chubbiness. She gets it from me.”
“She is adorable.”
“I can’t talk about leaving her behind, either. I cry when I think about saying goodbye to either one of you.” She blew her bangs out of her face, then tilted her head, her eyes narrowed on me. “Are you going to run for three hours again? I’m fine with working out, but let’s not drag this into torture.”
My shoulders tightened. “What’s wrong with three hours?”
“Chelle, that’s really intense. Sure. You’re the cardio queen. But don’t you ever take a break?”
“Of course.”
“Have you since my wedding eight days ago?”
I hesitated. Did not running on Sunday morning and sometimes only an hour in the evening instead of two count? I jammed my feet into a brand-new pair of shoes and tied them.
“Let's hit the cardio room. The movie is going to start soon. I think it’s Wonder Woman.”
She eyed me. “You just dodged my question.”
“I made an observation.”
“That turned the conversation away from your exercise obsession.”
“It’s not an obsession. I’m training for a marathon.”
“That you quit your job at an accounting firm to train for!”
“I got new work! I still teach exercise classes four times a week.”
“Chelle…”
I straightened and acted like I didn’t notice the worry in her gaze. The three-hour run with her there had
been a one-time thing thanks to a very special movie marathon. Ever since I started teaching Zumba classes a few months ago, I’d had to cut my running time. That day had been an anomaly.
Besides, losing over a hundred pounds in the last eighteen months didn’t happen with short walks on the treadmill.
“Just an hour today,” I said, straightening. “I promise.”
“You sure?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Fine. One hour. Although, seriously, I had way too many cupcakes, and maybe I should do three. But I won’t. Because that’s ridiculous.”
We didn't speak as I grabbed a towel and flung it over my shoulder. My water bottle sloshed in my hands as we slipped out of the locker room and through the morning crowd toward the back room. Being amid the quiet whirring of the machines again calmed my suddenly stressed-out heart.
Just an hour.
Well … maybe ninety minutes. At most! My Zumba class this evening was canceled for maintenance, so I’d need to fill the cardio time somewhere else.
Lexie could handle an extra half hour. Especially with a good movie going. She’d done it before for me.
Two rows of treadmills filled the cardio room, which boasted sprawling TVs in each corner and mirrors along the far wall. We picked two machines at the far right. Until I dropped from 265 pounds to 175, I’d always hated the mirrors. After that turning point, I didn't mind them so much. Now they were ideal to track my form when I started getting tired.
"Sa-weet!" Lexie cried when the movie started—just as I planned. "Wonder Woman! Teach me your ways, and give me your thighs."
I snorted, and she let out a giggle.
We fell into motion on our separate treadmills without hesitation. Music swelled through the speakers in the corners and rippled through the room. This kind of thing was the great part about Lexie. Everything came naturally. She filled the silence when I wasn't in the mood to talk, and when she was too afraid of doing something, I set us in motion. Even though I’d lost more weight than her by far after we started healthier lifestyles, she'd never resented me.
"So," Lexie drawled, one eyebrow lifted. Her blonde hair swayed back and forth in a high ponytail as she walked. “You had a new date after my wedding, didn’t you?”
I grimaced and cranked the speed to 4.5 miles per hour for my warm-up jog.
“Yeah.”
“That bad?”
“Could have been worse, I guess? He wore suspenders. To a baseball game. Explain that logic to me, will you?”
Her forehead wrinkled. “The guy that hit on you at the gym?”
“Yeah.”
“Weird.”
“I mean, it was fine. But the conversation wasn’t great.”
“If a first meeting starts with the words, Hey baby, I think you fell from heaven, then I’m not surprised. Suspenders? Really?”
Normally I would have laughed, but today I just grimaced. It had been a pretty horrendous pick-up line. “He was handsy,” I said. “He kept trying to touch me.”
“Gross.”
I frowned. “Yeah. It’s…”
When I didn’t finish, she lifted an eyebrow. “Yes?”
My thoughts whirled. Although I had frequent dates, and not the glamorous kind, when I weighed 265 pounds, I often dreamed of how dating would be when I was skinny. The beautiful men—that I hadn’t hunted down myself—lining up at my door. The gobs of date requests at clubs. Not having to drag the bottom of the barrel for a night out when the loneliness became too overwhelming.
So far, that world had eluded me.
“Let’s just say that it’s good I won’t have to see him again,” I said. “I think I might take a dating break. I’m tired of men.”
“I took one of those. For twenty-three years.”
At that, I did laugh. Then I cranked the speed up to 6.5 miles per hour and enjoyed the rhythmic pattern of my feet smacking the treadmill.
“Right now? That sounds pretty great.” I recalled the glassy look in the last date’s eyes after one-too-many drinks. Overweight Rachelle would have rejoiced—a chance to score with a muscular guy! Suspenders aside. But now it was annoying. Like a gnat that wouldn’t go away.
Maybe that’s what Chris felt like, I thought. My stomach twisted, and I cranked the speed to 7.0. Thinking about him would get me nowhere at all. Instead, I turned my thoughts to the marathon. Pictured myself crossing the finish line, hands raised. Sweaty. Salty. Euphoric.
Right now? Nothing else mattered.
“Chelle?”
I jerked out of my thoughts to find Lexie peering at me, concern in her bright blue eyes. I shook my head.
“What? Sorry.”
“You okay? You seem a bit … distracted.”
“Yeah. Sorry. I…”
“Everything all right?”
“I’m fine. Really. I just—”
A wolf whistle came from the other side of the room. We glanced up to see two men stride inside, shirts torn at the sleeves revealing thick arms and broad shoulders. One of them, a guy with a lip ring, watched me through the mirrors with a lurid gaze. My nose wrinkled. I’d seen him here before.
“Hey pretty lady!” he called. “Always good to see you again in those tight pants.”
I turned to snap at him, but a flash of pain jolted up my right leg. I flailed, grabbed for the arm railing, and missed. The quick-moving belt shot out from under my foot. My shoulder slammed into the treadmill, and l tumbled off the moving belt and onto the ground. My right leg slammed into the wall.
In seconds, Lexie was at my side.
“Rachelle!”
I shoved back to my feet but dropped again with a cry. White-hot agony tore up my right leg, like lightning into my hip. Once back on the ground, I grabbed my ankle and bit back a scream.
“Okay,” Lexie said. “Oookay. You’re not good.”
I gritted my teeth and closed my eyes. The pain. It magnified through my leg, prickling and flaring in tight spirals. Lexie crouched next to me. The two guys had made themselves scarce, leaving us alone in the room again. When I probed the smarting ankle, heat coiled back through my legs. The muscles throbbed, already swelling.
Lexie stared at my ankle in wide-eyed horror. “That looks awful, Chelle.”
“Help me to the car,” I gasped. “I think it might be broken.”
An hour later, Dr. Martinez stared at my ankle through a pair of tortoiseshell glasses perched at the end of her nose. The skin between her eyebrows wrinkled, and her lips twitched to one side. Slowly, she straightened, causing a waterfall of ebony hair to spill off her shoulders.
“Sprained.”
Not broken.
“Grade 3—which is the worst one, by the way.” She pulled her glasses off her face. I let out a long breath of relief. Sprained I could work with. Broken? That was trouble.
Dr. Martinez sucked in a sharp breath. “I want to cast it.”
“Cast it?” I cried. “But it’s not broken!”
“It’s as close as you can get.”
“That can’t be right.”
She propped a fist on her hip and lifted both eyebrows. “Are you telling me I don’t know a sprained ankle when I see one?”
“No! I just…” For a long pause, we stared at each other. I blinked. “You’re serious. You have to cast my sprain?”
“Rachelle, your tendon needs the extra support. As it stands, you’re on the border of requiring surgery. Did you hear that? I can repeat it if you need me to.”
“Surgery?” I sputtered. “It was a little trip on the treadmill. Nobody has to have surgery because of a treadmill.”
Dr. Martinez tapered her gaze. “I don’t like this sass. You want me to call your mom? Listen, I know my job, all right?” She jabbed a finger at my ankle. “That’s one of the nastiest sprains I’ve ever seen.”
Her sharp rebuke properly chastised me. Dr. Martinez had been my doctor for years now. I swallowed hard. “Right. Sorry.”
“Look, we don’t have to cas
t it. I just want to stabilize it until the swelling has gone down. There are really awesome boots that are practically armored tanks. We’ll do one of those.”
“Listen, Dr. Martinez, I’m supposed to run a marathon in four months. Whatever you do, I—”
“Don’t count on it.”
“What?”
“Do you ever run outside?”
Taken aback by the sudden shift, I leaned back. “Outside? Uh … sort of.”
“Sort of?”
“Some of my runs were outside, but … most of them are inside.”
“On a treadmill?”
“It’s easier to control my environment that way. I don’t like running in the heat. Or the rain. Or finding routes. Do you know how hard it is to find fifteen miles of safe roads? Not to mention the boredom of a track.”
In other words—movies ensured I didn’t cop out early, and having the treadmill control my pace meant I didn’t tire out too fast. The mirrors gave me something to look at too. To maintain motivation.
Dr. Martinez rolled her eyes. “In that case, I’m willing to bet that all your treadmill running has weakened your tendons and bones around the ankle. Predisposing you to something like this. So when you stepped wrong…”
She didn’t need to finish the sentence. One misstep. One idiot that thought he could impress me by acting like a dog. My goal … poof. Gone. The goal I’d been working toward for the last eighteen months. The one I had lost one hundred and ten pounds for. The one I quit my job and started teaching Zumba classes for. It had to be this race. The Crazy Cats Summer Blow Out. Rock and roll music, confetti, and crowds of people lining the streets. This was the only race that would prove I wasn’t ever going back.
“There has to be something we can do to speed this up, right?” I asked when the silence stretched too long. A light tap came from the door, and Lexie slipped back inside, phone in her hand.
“Sorry,” she mouthed, then stood next to the bed, one hand on the crinkly paper. My gaze dropped. The ankle had already bruised a bluish purple. The strange coloring didn’t seem to bode well.
“Rest, ice, compression, elevate.” Dr. Martinez glanced down at her clipboard. “And time. Ibuprofen, too, but we’ll have to regulate that. I’m looking at possibly four months to weight bearing, then physical therapy to full rehabilitation. In an optimistic view, you could probably be running in six months. Realistically? I give it eight. Just to be safe.”
