Absolution Road

by Rachel Blaufeld

  “Yeah, I am. I sit around here all day, doting on you, waiting for you to notice me—for more than sex—and you only cater to Bess.”

  “Where the hell is this coming from?”

  Apparently Camper had worked up a head of steam, because now she hooked her hands on her hips and spewed fire. “Well, I ask you how you’re doing and it’s always fine and good. I ask you to open up to me, and you go about business as usual, flirting and shit. Bess threatens to send Lane, and you’re totally bent out of shape.”

  “Get out!” I roared, and whirled to face my window, trying to rein in my temper.

  “I quit!”

  “Good! I went to jail for you, Camper. We’ve been doing this on-again/off-again bullshit for too long. I know I’m no saint, but for Christ’s sake, I’m sick of you letting any muscle-head dip his cock in you, and then I have to pick up the pieces. And yeah, you had no fucking right to make fun of the lawyer. She was there in jail with me, and you weren’t.” Slamming my hand on the desk, I finished with, “I’ll consider this your notice. Don’t report back. I’ll be happy to give you a decent recommendation. You did do a good job when it came to marketing.”

  “Jake,” she said on a whimper, her eyes welling with tears.

  “One piece of advice, Camp. Don’t fuck your next boss.”

  And just like that, I needed a new marketing person for my two currently up-and-running gyms and the third on the way. I was fucked.

  I grunted, lifting the weight bar and catapulting the heavy piece of shit over my head.

  “Ten,” Anthony shouted from the corner. “Two more, baby doll, and then you can take a rest.”

  I slammed the weights down on the rack. “Shut the eff up, Tony. I’m still your boss. Don’t you have any clients coming in?”

  “Nah. They’re lunching. You know I only train the pretty ladies, and my girls do lunch . . . or salads . . . or their husband’s partners. Whatever it is they do, they do it at lunchtime.” The son of a bitch winked at me before walking away.

  Oomph. I lifted the bar again. I couldn’t get any work done after Camper left, so I decided to lift and clear my head. It wasn’t working.

  The gym was getting crowded with the lunchtime rush. Our location bordering several colleges, the medical center, and close to downtown combined with our high-end locker rooms made us popular with professors, doctors, and lawyers looking for a midday workout.

  This was my cue to get to work. I didn’t like to take up equipment when there were paying customers waiting. I hit the main locker room quickly, stripping down in front of my general locker before sauntering off buck naked to the shower. Hey, I owned a gym and had been working on my body long before that. I was stacked, and I knew it. Plus, I needed to make sure the facilities were all being maintained; no better way than to use them myself.

  Stepping out of the shower and wrapping a towel around my waist, I heard Billy from the front bringing someone on a tour.

  “This is the general locker area complete with extra-wide showers and a changing area. In the back, we have a VIP locker area where there’s a steam and sauna, whirlpool, rainfall showers, and an attendant.”

  “That sounds about like what I’m looking for,” the dude answered him as I rounded the corner. “I’ll be in town two or three times a week meeting with clients and interns, researching a case, so jumping in here at lunch is perfect.”

  I made a quick escape to my locker to toss on my clothes, but not without grabbing a better look at the prospective member. He looked so familiar, and I was still trying to place him when I headed back into the gym. Billy was waving a hand, pointing out all the equipment options as he sold my hard work. I’d built this brand, and yeah, I fucked up more often than not, but it was coming along.

  As I sneaked a quick glance at my watch, I remembered who the hell the jerk was. He was the guy with the lawyer. My lawyer, Alyson Road. Legs. I hadn’t been able to get that redheaded siren out of my head for days. I chalked it up to it being Christmas and I’d been lonely, but Christ, if she wasn’t on my mind. I’d beat off close to a dozen times to my memory of her and those long legs. Girl was a ball-buster in that interrogation room, but she was so different when I ran into her at the restaurant. Shy, almost timid, but you could see her intelligence. It shone through like a bright light.

  I’m becoming a full-on sap.

  She had let me off the hook that night. Pretty sure anyone else would have made me sit in jail while they enjoyed their holiday. Not that one, though. I’d thought about that more than I’d whacked off to her.

  She’s a good person.

  Well, she obviously had a boyfriend and he was about to be a client of mine, so I mentally scrubbed her out of my brain. I’d stopped fucking other guys’ girls a year ago. The whole Camper thing was a stupid mistake, a clusterfuck, and I needed to make some improvements in general about who I slept with. Period.

  My thoughts were interrupted by my phone vibrating in my jeans. When I plucked it out of my back pocket and saw who was calling, I mumbled, “Fuck this day,” under my breath.

  As I connected the call, I didn’t bother with hello or any other formalities. “Doc, sorry, I got distracted with work. Shit! I’m coming now.”

  “Jake, I don’t reserve a whole day for you.”

  “I know, I know,” I said as I headed toward the back exit. “Come on, Doc. I’ve had a super shitty day. Can you go a little easy on me?” I asked, shamelessly flirting with my shrink.

  “Jake, don’t try that with me. You’re in luck today. You were before my scheduled lunch, so we can push your appointment a bit. Next time, I won’t go easy.” She didn’t chuckle. I knew she wasn’t lying. She was one tough bitch.

  “I’m getting in my car. On my way.” I slid my finger across the END CALL button and started up the Bimmer, not the least bit interested in enjoying this day now.

  I was five minutes away from my shrink’s office. Dr. Wells had been my psychiatrist ever since Lane and I had a come-to-Jesus meeting and finally sat down to discuss what had happened when our parents died—and who was really responsible. Both Lane and I had let our own guilt affect our lives since our parents died, but we were only children at the time. It took some soul-searching on both my part and Lane’s to come to the conclusion that we weren’t at fault in our parents’ deaths. It was Shirley, our negligent drunken babysitter, who was responsible.

  Stubborn and reckless, I’d gone on a one-man mission to bring Shirley down. I’d sort of lost it for a while, chasing and berating the woman who’d ruined our family.

  Of course, when Bess caught wind of what I was doing, she went into action. Bess had just moved to Florida to live with my twin brother and was surprised to learn she was pregnant. A day or two after this, Shirley had called her, trying to make amends with what was left of our family, and Bess hadn’t wanted to hear from her—ever. Hearing from that awful woman was like drinking a bad cocktail on an empty stomach.

  I remembered when it happened.

  My phone had rung as I’d been finishing up a run and was cooling down as I walked through some graffiti-lined alley, lost deep in my muddled brain.

  “Hello,” I’d said, panting a little as I got my breath back.

  “Jake! How could you?” Bess screeched through the phone.

  Whoa. This was totally unlike Bess. She was normally easygoing and chill; she never screamed.

  I stopped in my tracks. “What? I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” I lied.

  “Jake . . .” My sister-in-law practically growled my name, a no-bullshit tone in her voice.

  “I wanted justice,” I admitted in a low voice, as if I were ashamed for wanting something so basic, so primal.

  She breathed out a noisy sigh. “Listen to me, Jake. The only justice you’re going to have is the knowledge that life has been shit for Shirley ever since she convinced you guys not to rat her out. You know damn well the statute of limitations is up, and she’ll never be prosecuted for her r
ole in your parents’ deaths. Heal yourself, Jake, and forget Shirley. She’s not worth it.”

  I braced myself against the damp cement wall, glancing up as heavy raindrops started to fall from the sky that had turned as black as my heart. Kicking my feet out in front of me, I leaned back my head and blew out a frustrated breath.

  “Bess, she was in charge. I was the one ultimately responsible, but she was the adult. I need you to give that to me.”

  “Did you hear me? I know that. But it’s time for you to heal yourself,” she said, her exasperation clear in her tone.

  “Yeah, I heard you, but I’m not Lane. He harbored all this guilt for nothing, and now he has you, so cut me a break. I got no one.”

  “Jake,” Lane said, somehow breaking into the conversation.

  “What the fuck are you doing on the phone?” I roared.

  “I grabbed the phone from Bess. It’s enough. She’s pregnant . . . she doesn’t need to hear from Shirley. Let it go, man,” he said earnestly, punctuating each word.

  I hung up and began jogging back, catching a graffiti tag out of the corner of my eye that read GRAFFITI GOD.

  It had hit me hard, and I’d realized then and there. No one was God. Not Bess or Lane. Not Shirley, and certainly not me. I’d fucking killed my parents—even if I was a young kid—with Shirley’s help. But no one was God, and for some fuck-all reason, God wanted my parents dead and Shirley to get away with it all. Why the hell else would she reappear in our lives right when the statute of limitations was up? That wasn’t a goddamn coincidence. That was God playing a joke—one in bad taste.

  The rain had pounded down my back, soaking my shirt, as my thoughts clogged my throat. I wanted something, anything, more.

  That was a year ago, and I still pretty much believed that shit. God had a cruel and sick sense of humor. I did leave Shirley alone, but only after ripping her a new asshole about contacting Bess.

  There was no appeasing me. No amount of success, and no dirty fucks or heavy workouts were going to absolve me. I was still constantly seeking more, but I was clueless as to when it would be enough.

  Buzzing the bell outside the doc’s office, I realized I didn’t even recall the short drive over or walking up to the building. Doc—as I liked to call her bony ass—beeped me in, and I collapsed onto her uncomfortable couch. The whole room was a sea of puke pink, the furniture dainty and not built for a man my size. Despite the blatant femininity of the room and lack of comfort, I found some relief within these four walls.

  “So, what’s up?” she asked, peering at me over the top of the moss-green-framed glasses resting on the bridge of her freckled nose. “You’re late, exhausted, and obviously wielding a short fuse. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen that behavior from you, Jake.”

  Dr. Wells cut right to the chase, sitting in front of me with her legs crossed primly at the ankles, her brown hair scraped back in a bun. She was cute, but so not my type. Too straitlaced and sensible. Although I knew someone else like that, didn’t I?

  “Fuck!” I bellowed.

  She didn’t even flinch. Doc was used to my outbursts. After all, I’d had plenty in her office.

  “Major shit storm at work,” I explained. “Camper quit, which is fine with me. The contractor is flaking out on the new place. And I have this dipshit of a new member.”

  Doc narrowed her eyes on me. “Dipshit of a new member? Since when do you judge who pays the dues to use your place of business?”

  I leaned back into the sofa, its hard edges digging into my shoulder blades, and let out a long breath. “He’s just this prick I met a few weeks back. Rich guy, hair all perfect, thinks his shit doesn’t stink.”

  “That doesn’t tell me much. Why is this guy so upsetting to you? You make good money now, enjoy your business, and stay in shape yourself.”

  “That’s all fucking Lane. Ever since he bailed me out with the deal I fucked up with that smoothie company, and then became a silent partner, I’m doing well. He’s backing half the new gym, and shit . . . I just want to do something myself.”

  I breathed deeply as I swept the hair out of my eyes. It was getting shaggy, and I couldn’t have cared less. It hid the fear in my eyes; no way I was buzzing it off.

  “We’ve discussed this before,” Doc said in that cultured monotone of hers. “Your brother may know business and have funds available to help you grow your business, but he doesn’t know fitness machines or personal training, how to design layouts of gyms, or what gym rats want in a locker room. You’re the idea person and the executor; don’t short-change yourself. Now, tell me about this other guy.”

  “Don’t forget the smoothie incident where I agreed to buy protein from the girl I was sleeping with for a two-hundred-percent markup.”

  She raised an eyebrow, which meant she knew I was avoiding her question. “Well, that was a while ago, a year or more maybe, during a time before you made a conscious decision not to have sex with ‘everyone on two legs with a vag.’ I think that was the way you put it.”

  A loud guffaw erupted from my chest. “Yeah. So, I’ve just been fucking my marketing director instead. Some resolve that was.”

  “The man, Jake, the customer you mentioned. Tell me what bothers you about him.” She took a sip of her tea, looking at me over the rim of the delicate floral teacup. It was probably full of sunshine.

  “Remember when I landed in jail? Over Camper?”

  “Yes, we discussed being more professional when it came to her. Sounds to me that problem is solved as of today.”

  “Well, there was this PD in jail, the one who let me off the hook, but not before interrogating me. She was a vixen. Sort of. Gorgeous, but you could tell she had a softer side. Anyway, I lied to you. I tried to charm her. In jail. I’m such a cocksucker, I know. My fantasies went a little wild while I stared at her, but my damn heart beat faster at the way she handled herself, all confident and tough. Tough with a heart, you know? A couple of weeks ago, I ran into her again. She was with this dweeb, the new guy.”

  “I see.” Doc tapped her pen onto her pad. “So you liked a girl? Not just for her looks, but her brains too?”

  “I don’t know.” Leaning forward, I dropped my head into my hands. “I just want something good in my life. One thing, that’s it. Not a Hummer or a BMW, or some dumb girl to blow me when it suits me. Something genuine. Will I ever be free of my memories? The one on constant replay where I’m responsible for my parents’ deaths?”

  Doc set her pad down and leaned forward. “We’ve talked about this before, Jake. You were a kid playing outside, imitating your dad. You had no idea that pretending to fix the car would result in the wheels coming off and your parents dying an untimely death. That’s why your parents left you with a sitter, to watch over you. That’s on her, not you.”

  “Shirley! I hate her!” I stood, roaring like a lion at mealtime. I wanted the woman dead since it was too late to put her behind bars.

  “I know you do,” Doc said calmly.

  “Why does she get to live and love? Be absolved but I can’t?”

  I roamed toward the window and looked out at the quiet neighborhood, breathing hard. Down below, I saw a couple in love, walking hand in hand. It reminded me of what Lane had now and was a jab to the heart, reminding me of what I would never have.

  “But she doesn’t, Jake. As I recall, you told me she fights addiction and thrives on controversy in her small town. If I had to guess, she lives with a heavy heart. Plus, this is about you. You have to let Shirley go.”

  “That’s what Bess says, but . . . fuck. I want her good and gone.” I banged my wrist into the wall.

  “Sit down, Jake,” Doc quietly demanded. “Let’s look at this, really look at it. You met a woman, albeit under unlikely circumstances, but you liked her. I will remind you, she’s not a girl or a chick, but a woman with a postgraduate degree, if she’s a PD. Perhaps this is what you liked most? She was different from the young women you meet at your gym, even Camper. From
what I gather, this woman shot you down and it hurt. May I remind you, you were in jail for beating up another man while defending a different woman. You see where I’m going?”

  I shook my head. “I’m a loser. A fucking low-life piece of shit. All I have is my gyms, which I almost lost last year over a girl . . . a woman . . . and now this guy. Yeah, he was another reminder of what I want, what I need. Love. I never had it. Even with Lane, he’d clean up my messes, but he kept himself ice-cold until Bess. She cracked him wide open, and now his heart pours out like hot lava from an angry volcano. It’s annoying as hell. Christ! I’m even talking like a poet.”

  “Jake, this is normal. You want love, a life, perhaps a partner and a family. You’re thirty-one. It’s time to stop goofing around and settle down; that’s a natural feeling.”

  I glared at her as I paced her office. “Well, no one is gonna want me back.”

  “Would you try something for me?” Doc asked.

  I stopped to take in her pleading eyes, and shrugged. “Sure.”

  “Don’t go running home with the first woman you meet this weekend. Do something on your own—go visit Lane and Bess and the baby in the country, anything to not sleep with just any available woman. If you don’t see your own worth, Jake, no one will.”

  My gut churned; I’d been getting laid since I started high school here in Pittsburgh. My grandparents were our guardians back then, and they were dumb as dirt when it came to girls and me. By the time I graduated, I’d fucked half our female classmates in the small bedroom I’d shared with Lane in their little suburban home. After that, my D-1 baseball status and my impressive muscles pretty much guaranteed constant female company—a revolving door of cheerleaders, sorority girls, and fitness instructors.

  “I’ll think about it. Looks like our time is up,” I said as I bolted for the door, not leaving any room for discussion on the matter.

  When I hopped in my car, I decided to head back to my gym in the suburbs where there was less chance of seeing the guy. Dumb prick with money.