They were each in a ring with a trainer, wearing padded gloves and shin guards so they wouldn't get hurt, kicking and punching at thick pads held by their trainers.
There ended the similarities, though.
Andrew's focus never wavered. He landed flurries of clearly hard kicks and punches on his trainer's pads then paused for advice and correction before starting again, not letting himself be distracted by the noise around him.
Ninety percent of the noise around him came from my brother, who had none of Andrew's concentration. Brandon stopped after nearly every blow to talk about what some other fighter had done or to claim he needed his equipment adjusted or to get clarification of some instruction even I had understood. He'd been back to training for nearly a month since his fight but he kept checking and re-checking his remaining cuts and bruises to make sure he would survive. I didn't know whether his trainer recognized what he was doing but I did since I'd seen him do it so often over the years: he was applying his time-honed technique for looking like he was working hard while doing next to nothing.
I looked back and forth between the two of them and realized why Brandon had lost his fight so definitively and why Andrew's record was nearly perfect. Andrew knew what he wanted and he wasn't afraid to put in the work to get it. I didn't know whether my brother was afraid or just lazy, but either way, he didn't put in the work.
After about ten minutes, Brandon shucked off his gloves. "That'll do for today, right? I'm beat."
His trainer raised his eyebrows but said only, "If that's how you feel, sure."
"I'll go a little longer on Sunday." Brandon picked up a bottle of something bright green. As he sucked down the drink, I remembered he'd be away for the weekend, off at a friend's cottage for the Victoria Day long weekend that officially kicked off summer in Canada. He clearly hadn't informed his trainer he wouldn't be around. Nice.
They parted, and Brandon wandered toward the snack bar. He didn't notice me, too busy eyeballing the cashier, so I said, "Hey, Brandon."
He turned toward me. "Sis! You came to watch me practice?"
"Yeah, right," I said, amused by the 'sis' reference, no doubt intended to let the cashier know I wasn't a girlfriend. "I'm running with the group tonight. Got here early."
He jerked his head toward Andrew. "He's running after this? He's crazy. I've barely got the energy to go to a movie." He looked past me. "What do you think, Shelley? Want to go out with me tonight? Make sure I stay awake?"
The cashier giggled and said, "Sure."
Poor girl.
Brandon strutted off to shower, and I began packing up my school stuff, afraid Shelley would ask me what my brother was like and I'd feel compelled to tell her. Before I finished, though, Andrew's trainer yelled, "Hey, Pencil! Come spar with Andrew."
I looked around, confused by 'Pencil', and saw a guy hanging from the chin-up bar calling back, "Why, did he rip apart the last opponent you found?"
"I'll tell you after," the trainer called back. "Get over here."
The guy dropped to the ground and walked toward Andrew's ring, and a cold shiver went through me. I didn't want to see Andrew get beaten up, and if anyone could do it this 'Pencil' with his non-pencil-like heavily-muscled arms and legs seemed like a good bet.
Pencil's reluctance to get in the ring with Andrew became clear about ten seconds in, when Andrew rushed him, grabbed him around the legs, and threw him to the mat like he weighed less than my guinea pig.
"Damn it," I heard from beneath Andrew before the trainer said, "Nice. Let him up and do it again."
"Let him up and he's leaving," Pencil said, but he didn't try to get out of the ring once Andrew released him. They went back and forth taking each other down, but Andrew won more often. Brandon had said he was different while fighting and I could see that now. He was cold and driven and determined to win, and somehow it scared me and intrigued me at once.
Some of the intrigue, no doubt, came from seeing so much of him. Only shorts shielded his body from my gaze, and what I could see was beautifully muscled and all man.
The computer programmer who was also a fierce fighter. Interesting combo. Andrew was definitely an interesting man. And far from hard on the eyes.
When the trainer said, "That's enough for today, guys," Pencil said, "Thank God. Find another sucker next time."
The trainer and Andrew laughed, then Pencil said, "Actually, I take that back. Pick me again next time. If I can learn to hang in there with this guy I can beat anyone."
Andrew clapped him on the back. "You did great. Just work on your leg flexibility so I can't take you down so easily."
"Got it," he said, slapping Andrew's back in return. Then he mock-limped out of the ring to the men's chuckles.
Andrew grabbed a towel and wiped his face and chest while he and his trainer talked a little more, then he headed out of the ring. The change rooms were behind the snack bar, and when he approached and saw me his bright smile made me grin back at him.
"You're here early."
I nodded. "Glad, though. I got to see you fighting."
He wiped freshly-appeared sweat from his face with the towel then hung it around his neck. "And Brandon too, right?"
"Yup."
Our eyes met and he raised his eyebrows. "What did you think?"
I smiled, knowing he knew my brother didn't work hard. "I thought you were amazing. Poor Pencil. Hey, why do you guys call him that?"
Shelley behind me stifled a giggle. Andrew's exercise-reddened face blushed further and he said, "I... wow, is that the time? I'd better get ready to run."
He started to hurry away but Shelley stopped him. "Sandra called here since you didn't answer your cell. Said not to interrupt you but to ask you to call back when you were done. Some crisis with the foundation's web site."
"Got it," he said, his blush beginning to recede. "Thanks. Megan, if I'm not back on time, take the running group up to the track, okay?"
"Will do."
When he left, curiosity overcame me and I went to Shelley. "So. Pencil. What's the deal with the name?"
She looked to see if anyone was within earshot then turned back to me, her eyes dancing with amusement and devilry. "He's really called Paul, by the way. I haven't confirmed this myself or anything, but... you saw how he's got really thick arms and legs?"
I nodded.
"Apparently... something else... is a lot thinner than it should be."
It took me a second to get it, then I burst out laughing. "The poor bastard," I managed to say through my mirth.
She laughed with me and said, "I know. Men, eh? Why would they name him that? So cruel."
I calmed enough to say, "Don't people ask him about it a lot? What does he say?"
"I've never seen him use a pen, only pencils, since..." She fumbled for words then went on with, "since someone started calling him that. I think he tells people he just likes pencils and pretends that's why."
She'd clearly decided not to tell me who'd started the nickname. That meant it was Andrew or Brandon, and I couldn't imagine Andrew doing such a thing. "My brother. Such a jerk."
She smiled, relieved. "I didn't want to tell you, but since you already know it's okay."
Yup, I knew my brother all right.
And I was glad I apparently knew Andrew too.
*****
The group had been on the track for ten minutes when Andrew came rushing in with his hair wet and his usual relaxed demeanor absent. I went over to greet him, and he said, "I decided to take a quick shower so I wouldn't stink you all off the track, and then calling Sandra back and fixing things took longer than I'd expected. Thanks for getting them going."
"No worries, we're all fine," I said, smiling at him. "And after all the work you've done to help me start running it's the least I could do. Is everything okay with the web site?"
He nodded. "Now, anyhow. A bunch of the files had got their permissions set wrong somehow so I had to chmod them all."
I gave him m
y best blank look, not difficult since I had no idea what he meant, and he grinned and wriggled his shoulders as he'd told me to do whenever I felt tense during a run. "Sorry, nerd talk. The web site wouldn't load so I had to make it work."
"I can just about understand that," I said, smiling back.
"It no work. Me fix."
"Ah, got it."
He laughed and said, "Let's get moving. We run."
"You run. Me sit."
"No way."
I'd already done most of my warm-up but he joined me for the last lap of slow running. After a minute or so, I finally said what I'd been thinking about since Brandon's fight but hadn't found the nerve to say. "Andrew, I'm really sorry about your girlfriend. That must have been awful."
He nodded. "The shock of it was the worst part. We talked on Christmas Eve and the next day she was gone."
I shook my head. "I can't imagine. The foundation, though. That's a great thing. I know it helped my parents' friend when his wife went missing."
"Yeah, it's done a lot of good. I'm glad about that."
But of course he'd be far gladder if it didn't exist and his girlfriend hadn't died.
We ran in silence a little longer, then he said, "It's funny, in a way. When we started the foundation I sort of figured Rhiannon's parents and her best friend, that's Sandra, would end up taking over and I wouldn't do much of anything. I mean, we only met in July and then she was gone in December. Sandra'd been her friend for years and of course her parents knew her all her life. But now it's well over a year later and I'm just as involved as they are."
I didn't know what to say. Was he happy to still be involved? "I guess they figure you guys cared about each other so you belong," I finally said.
"Yeah."
He didn't seem to want to say anything else, so I left it alone until we'd finished the lap then said, "Well, it's time for you to race off and leave me to drag around at my own pace."
He chuckled. "You don't drag. And actually, I think I'll stay with you today. If that's okay."
"Of course. But today's a speed workout and even at my top speed I'm way too slow for you."
"After that workout in the gym, I'm probably too slow for you. I'd rather not push it too much since I did so much sparring. But if you'd rather run on your own I don't mind."
"Not at all," I said, then blushed at how quickly I'd said it. "I mean, I like having the company. Makes running more fun."
He smiled, and I thought he might have been blushing too. "I agree."
The scheduled workout required four fast laps then one at a walk, repeated for forty minutes. We set to it, and after the first two laps I gasped, "Talk to me. Distract me."
"What should I talk about?"
"Anything. Not running."
"Okay. How're things with Amanda?"
I groaned, not just from the exertion. "Anything but that."
He laughed. "I suck at conversation. Um... do you have any pets?"
"Guinea pig. Curly. His birthday was last week."
I felt stupid at my silliness in telling Andrew that, but I had to smile when he said, "What did you get him for a present?"
"Lettuce."
Andrew chuckled. "I guess he's easy to shop for."
"Yup. You?"
"Am I easy to shop for?"
"No! Pets?"
"It's like talking in Morse code. I have a cat. Her name's Ruby, and she's diabetic so she gets daily insulin shots. She's a sweet girl, though." He cleared his throat. "She was Rhiannon's."
How lovely of him to take her cat. "Glad you could. Give her a home."
"Me too. I can't imagine the place without her any more."
"Me either. With Curly, I mean."
"Do cats and guinea pigs get along?"
I glanced at him, wondering why he was asking if our pets could live in the same place, but he just looked curious. "Depends on the cat. And the pig. Usually, yes."
"Cool. Half a lap."
I fought my way to the end of the interval then gratefully slowed to a walk.
"Great job," he said. "You're improving so much."
"Doesn't feel like it," I admitted, trying to slow my breathing.
"Well, you are. Trust me."
I smiled. "You're always so positive. And so supportive. It's awesome."
His cheeks reddened and he smiled back. "I try."
We grinned goofily at each other for a few seconds, then he said, "And you're one to talk. Look how supportive you are of Amanda."
"My mom says it's not enough. But then she expects me to give up everything when a friend needs me."
"Helping is good. Giving up everything, not so much."
The word 'selfish' zipped through my head. "Yeah, but..." Of course he was right that you didn't have to give up everything, but I couldn't imagine feeling okay with not being that way. I shook my head. "Oh, I don't know. I guess I get frustrated. I should feel for her more since she has to put up with James. But then, she doesn't have to, does she?"
"Nope. Does she ever support you?"
Suddenly defensive, I said, "Of course. Wouldn't be a friend if she didn't."
"Glad to hear it. Okay, we start again at that marker," he said, pointing to a line on the track maybe fifteen feet away.
"That's all? Why do the breaks flash by and the work lasts forever?"
"Nature of the beast," he said. "Let's go."
We did, but this time I didn't try to get him to talk. I thought instead. Amanda did listen to my stories and issues occasionally, but nearly always ended up turning things back to James or another topic of her choosing before I reached my conclusion. Maybe I was too long-winded. I'd have to try tightening things up so I didn't lose her interest.
When, at last, the forty minutes ended, Andrew said, "Nice job. That's not an easy workout."
I straightened up from bending over and gasping for air. "None of them are easy."
"True," he admitted. "But we won't reach the goal without a little effort."
I wiped sweat from my forehead and cheeks. "A little?"
He chuckled, and Jeanine, who'd joined us for the last speed interval because she felt she'd done enough at her own speed and didn't want to push so hard any more, said, "Remember, Megan, this guy's kind of a freak about exercise. Normal people see things differently."
Andrew gave her an innocent smile. "Normal people aren't marathon runners. Or fighters."
"He's got a point," I had to admit.
"Which means you two aren't normal either," he finished, grinning at me.
"Never said I was," Jeanine said. "Hey, Megan?"
She sounded tentative, which wasn't a term I'd ever imagined would apply to her. "Yup?"
"I've been meaning to ask you. Do you read?"
"Every chance I get. Why?"
Her smile had a hint of relief. "I was thinking we could have a post-run book club. What do you think?"
We'd been gradually warming up to each other, though I still didn't know why she'd been cold in the first place, but this was her first real friendly overture and I liked it. "Sounds great."
She turned to Andrew. "Do you read anything that's not a software manual?"
He laughed. "I read anything but manuals. So I'm in too."
"Cool." To me, she said, "You pick first."
Recognizing her giving me the choice as yet another outreach, I didn't want to annoy her by taking too long but I couldn't think of what would interest her and Andrew and the MMA fighters who'd finished their run a few minutes ago and were now taking mock swings at each other. "Something those guys would like too?"
She shook her head. "I asked, but they're not interested. So. Pick."
I thought about my recent books, wondering what I could choose that both Andrew and Jeanine might like, then said "Stephanie Vincent. Know her?"
They both shook their heads.
"Last week I finished her latest, 'Trinity', about triplets whose parents abandoned them when they were babies. They all go to different
foster homes and they end up really different. It's neat to see how their situations change them."
Andrew said, "Sounds good," and Jeanine said, "I agree. So we'll discuss it next week. Okay?"
Andrew nodded and I smiled. Amanda only read the trashiest of books about innocent maidens waiting to be swept off their feet by knights or millionaires or millionaire knights. I'd tried one of her books and hated it, and I didn't have anyone else to talk books with.
But now I did. My running buddies were becoming my friends too.
Chapter Fourteen
Another month, another family dinner. Brandon was his usual mouthy self, but Kim hardly spoke at all and several times we had to call her name more than once when we needed her to pass the salt or say whether she wanted seconds.
As we ate dessert, Mom said to her, "What's going on? You're not right today."
Before she could answer, and before Brandon could finish snickering and no doubt say that Kim was never right, Mom added in a panic, "You're not having heart issues, are you? Doctor Weston said we could go to the hospital whenever." She pushed her chair back. "Let's go."
"No!"
Mom froze and we all stared at Kim, who'd never been so forceful before. Her cheeks reddened but she said, "I feel fine. That's exactly the point. I'm fine now. I am. And to prove it..." She cleared her throat then took a deep breath and said, "To prove it, I'm going to do something I've always wanted to do. Something I've dreamed of doing."
She bit her lip and waited like she was expecting a slap across the face.
I stiffened, realizing what she wanted to do and knowing she was right to anticipate a bad reaction.
She'd brought this up several times in the past and Mom had shot her down immediately each time. This time was no different. Mom's eyes narrowed and she said, "Kim, I hope you're not suggesting, again, what I think you're suggesting."
Toronto Collection Volume 2 (Toronto Series #6-9) Page 52
