Tumble

by Locke, Adriana

I suck in a deep breath and feel it fill my lungs. My chest is tight, too tight, almost, to fit all the oxygen I try to take in.

  Standing, I pace a small circle around the office. “Do you ever feel like there’s more for you out there? Like you love what you do and you find satisfaction in it, but like there’s something else you could be doing that’s important and you just can’t quite get there?”

  “Go on . . .”

  “I thought the promotion I didn’t get was that, and now I feel like I have no freaking clue what I’m supposed to really be doing.”

  She watches but doesn’t respond.

  “I love what I do,” I insist. “I’ve done it for years, and the longer I do it, the months just add up and I expect to feel more validation, maybe, from it and it’s just not coming. Not like I thought.”

  “You don’t feel fulfilled. That’s what you’re saying.”

  “Maybe I don’t. I don’t know how to describe it.” I shrug. “But when things went to hell, for the first time, I didn’t overthink it. I came home.”

  She walks around the desk and places a hand on my shoulder. “And we’re glad you did. But can I give you some advice?”

  “Please?”

  “There are some things in life you can’t find outside yourself. What you’re looking for is one of them.” She drops her hand. “My mother-in-law taught me that after I had my second child. I kept thinking this perfect little baby was supposed to complete me, you know? That’s what movies and books tell you. I had the house, the husband, the two cutest little girls, and yet I wanted something else. What I wanted, I found out, was to find me in the midst of all the things that make up me.”

  I nod, mulling that over.

  “I am my family. My house. This gym,” she says. “But I’m more than that, and it’s easy to forget who you are and what you want and need and love when you’re driven like we are. We want accolades. Trophies. Championships. Proof in tangible ways. That means we’re worthy. But it’s important, Neely, to reevaluate sometimes and be okay with wanting things you don’t get a trophy for.”

  “I do need that,” I admit. “I don’t know why. There’s probably a lot of therapy sitting right there.”

  She smiles. “Some people need parental approval. There are people who need a certain number in their bank accounts. Some get the same thing out of shoes. You and I do it with trophies.”

  I mull this over but am pulled back to the present by her gaze. “What?”

  “I just want to add that sometimes what we want in life changes, Neely. And that’s okay too.”

  “Oh, I still want what I want. That hasn’t changed. I just want more, I guess. I just don’t know how to define that.”

  Voices trickle through the open door as the evening round of classes begins to arrive. I glance over my shoulder to see a group of little girls huddled in a semicircle.

  “You know some of their parents,” Aerial tells me. “Competed with and against a lot of them. There’s some talent out there.”

  Twisting around in my seat, I take in Aerial’s narrowed eyes. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “I have a favor to ask.”

  “Sure. Shoot.”

  “Is there any way you can come by tomorrow afternoon and help out? Jessica has a family obligation I just remembered, and I’m going to be shorthanded.”

  “Sure,” I say, my brain still reconciling her speech. “It’s not like I have anything else to do.”

  She stands as a voice calls her name from the gym floor.

  “I can help out tonight too,” I offer, getting to my feet.

  “Not what I heard,” she teases.

  “What are you talking about? I don’t have plans. And Mom splurged on margaritas last night, so she won’t drink again for a year.”

  “I went into Dogwood Café this morning for an English muffin, and Claire told me you were going out with her tonight.”

  My eyes almost fall out of my head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “I think it might be a good idea.” Aerial’s arms cross over her chest, and she flips me a look only a well-seasoned coach can deliver. “When was the last time you did something really memorable? Just for you?”

  I give her the look of a defiant student. “Three months ago. Rob Thomas, live. It was amazing.”

  Her arms fall to her sides. “If you’re counting fun in months, you have a bigger problem than I realized.”

  “I may or may not have problems, but fun isn’t one of them.” When she tilts her head my way, I roll my eyes. “I have plenty of fun. Look at me, coming home on a whim. I’m spontaneous.”

  “You might’ve forgotten, but you have people here who love you, Neely. People who would love to see you. Claire is only the tip of the iceberg.”

  “That’s not true. They don’t even know who I am anymore. It would be rehashing memories that don’t matter.”

  Her head cocks to the side, and she considers my words. She draws in a long breath before speaking again. “Have you seen anyone but Claire?”

  My throat squeezes. “Yeah.”

  “Who?”

  “Dane,” I admit, toeing the floor with my shoe.

  The longer she goes without a reply, the faster my heart beats. The deeper the silence gets, the clearer the picture of him becomes in my mind and the harder the knot that I’m beginning to hate twists in my stomach.

  Finally, I look up at her.

  “How’d that go?” Her words are pronounced carefully, each syllable nice and even like I’m some kind of caged tiger that might pounce if mishandled.

  “It went fine.”

  “Fine, huh?”

  “Yup. Fine.”

  “All right. If that’s all you want to say, then so be it.”

  I blow out a breath. “That’s all I want to say. He’s really just a guy I happen to have a history with whom I ran into recently. It’s fine. It was just some stupid juvenile obsession, and that’s over.”

  “You sure about that?”

  No. “Absolutely.”

  “Miss Aerial!” Our attention turns toward the gym as the little girl from the café waves. “Is that Neely? From the videos?”

  I give her a little wave, trying not to laugh as the troop of little faces look like a celebrity just walked in.

  “Hi, girls,” I say.

  They give me a mix of waves, laughter, and a couple of shrieks that leaves me feeling like a million bucks.

  “I thought you looked like Neely from the videos,” Mia gushes. “But I didn’t think it was really you.”

  “It’s really me.”

  “Miss Neely is going to help us around here. Would you like that?” Aerial asks them, to which they wholeheartedly agree. “Good. Now, Mia, show me what you’ve been working on.”

  Mia turns toward the opposite end of the room, her chest rising and falling a couple of times before she sprints down the mats and tosses her small frame into a roundoff back handspring.

  Her friends clap as she jogs toward us, a smile splitting her cheeks.

  “Great job, Mia,” Aerial exclaims.

  “Very good,” I tell her when she reaches us. “I didn’t think you had that yet.”

  Aerial gives me a weird look. “How do you know her?”

  “We met at the café,” Mia tells her. “I told her about the show.”

  “Oh,” Aerial draws out. “I see.”

  “Are you coming?” Mia asks me.

  “I’m going to try. Okay?”

  Aerial cuts in, giving Mia a pointer about her back handspring. I’m too distracted by my phone to pay much attention. It’s a number local to Tennessee, but I don’t know it.

  “Hello?” I ask, turning away from Aerial.

  “Neely? It’s Claire.”

  “Oh, hey.” I laugh. “How’d you get my number?”

  “Your mom.”

  “Naturally,” I say, shaking my head. “What’s up?”

  “Mucker’s tonight. Nine o�
��clock. Be there. This is not a request.”

  “I don’t know . . .”

  “I do. Be there or I’m coming after you,” she insists. “I’ve told everyone you’ll be there, and I don’t go back on my word. So, come. Okay?”

  Glancing over my shoulder, I see Aerial smiling at me. I consider telling her no and spending the night brainstorming ways to get my life back together. But something about the way Aerial looks at me, and the way Claire seems so determined, makes me reconsider. Maybe I need a night away from the pressures of New York after all. If it’s weird at Mucker’s, I can always leave, and if nothing else, it will give me good stories to entertain Grace with.

  “Okay,” I relent. “I’ll be there.”

  “Yay! Let me know if you need a ride.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  Except for the ache in my cheeks from smiling so hard.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  NEELY

  And then that movie star walked in. What’s his name?” Grace asks. The phone muffles as she bobbles it on her end. “You know who I mean. He’s in that movie I love.”

  “Oh, him,” I reply, rolling my eyes. “I know exactly who you mean.”

  “Damn it. Now it’s going to drive me nuts.” She takes a breath before carrying on about her story from dinner. As she delves into the whos and whats of her evening, I tune out and focus on mine.

  Mucker’s sits before me like an old friend. The one-room sandwich shop, with its basket of fake ferns hanging by the front door, may as well be holding its arms wide open. It’s been a staple of the community for fifty years. Focusing mostly on pizza and burgers with a decent selection of beer, it’s the place to go in Dogwood Lane once the sun goes down. It’s the only place, too, but that’s beside the point.

  There’s a door inside that opens into a lot that was once a dilapidated basketball court. The owners bought it years ago and put a brick wall waist high around the perimeter. With some added shrubs and black iron fencing, it’s a cozy little patio that gets more use than the seven or eight tables inside the actual pub.

  As Grace chatters on, I do my best to figure out who’s here. The shrubs are so big, and the only light comes from an outdoor lantern hanging above the door and haphazardly hung string lights around the fencing. It’s difficult to make out anything, or anyone, for sure.

  It’s the “anyone” part that has my palms sweaty.

  “And we were supposed to listen to a comedian uptown, but screw that.” Grace sighs. “I’ve had enough action for one night.”

  “Sounds like it.”

  She snorts. “Whatever. You weren’t even listening.”

  “I was too!” Moving up in the driver’s seat, I shake the fog from my head. A warm breeze billows through the open car window. “You told me all about . . . dinner . . .” I scramble to come up with something else she talked about but fall short. “And your outfit?”

  “It’s a good thing I love you.” She laughs. “What are you doing tonight?”

  “Not what I should be doing.” My index finger touches my lips, and despite all the germs I know are on my fingernail, I bite it anyway. “I’m so stupid, Grace.”

  “You better not tell me you’re at home throwing a pity party. I swear to all that’s holy I’ll be on the next flight to Tennessee.”

  Someone stands on the other side of the fence. A blue cap rises just to the top of the shrub, and I can barely make out a Dodgers logo.

  “Shit . . .” I whisper, but not soft enough to slip by Grace.

  “Okay. What are you doing?”

  A burst of laughter comes from the other side of the shrubbery. Several voices ring through the mix and swirl around me. My chest rises and falls in deep, steady succession, but it takes a lot of effort to keep it that way.

  “I took your advice.” I gulp. “Again.”

  “Does it involve hay and flannel? Because if it does, I’m jealous.”

  “No.” I laugh. “I’m sitting in front of Mucker’s.”

  “Which is?”

  “A little pub sort of thing. I ran into an old friend, and she invited me out tonight.”

  “That’s great. Exactly what you need. Go have fun and let your hair down.”

  My laughter fills the car. “That’s a random saying for you to spout.”

  “I was with this banker last night, and he said it.” She groans. “He had an accent that he said was British, but it kind of wore off in the middle of sex. I’m not sure about all that, but his skills in the sheets were sublime. I had no idea an investment banker would be that thorough.”

  Settling back into the leather seat, my eyes still glued to the patio, I blow out a breath. “Maybe that’s the answer to my problems.”

  “Not following you.”

  “I need to find a thorough investment banker who takes care of everything, if you know what I mean. Then I could just sit at home and run my own magazine. It would be perfect.”

  “So you want a sugar daddy. That’s what you’re saying.”

  “No.” I giggle. “There’s nothing sexy about a grown man being called daddy—sugar or not.”

  “So true. Do you remember the—”

  “Lion tamer,” we say in unison before bursting into laughter.

  “He couldn’t have tamed a first grader. Where do you find these guys?” I laugh, wiping at my eyes. “His ponytail was epic, though. I—ah!”

  When I jump at the sound of a knock to my left, my elbow hits the middle console. My phone goes flying across the car and lands in the passenger’s seat with a thud. I barely register the glow leaned against the seat before I take in the white of a smile on the other side of my door.

  My heart blips like it’s been tased.

  Dane grips the top of the car, the sleeves of a white T-shirt slipped back on his arms and exposing his solid biceps. The haze of the lights from the patio creates a spectacular shadow across his face that steals my breath.

  “Neely!” Grace’s voice shouts from the other seat. “What the heck just happened?”

  “Hey,” Dane says, ignoring the commotion next to me. His cologne, spicy and warm, percolates through the night air.

  “Hey,” I reply.

  His mouth forms an easy curve. “You gonna get out?”

  “Yeah, I . . .” Glancing down in response to the shouted demand from my phone, I sigh. Dealing with Grace, who is going to want answers, doesn’t sound appealing. Neither does trying to tiptoe around the minefield that is Dane Madden. As Grace shouts again, my decision is made. “I need to get that.”

  “Sounds like it.”

  Bending over the console, I snatch the device. “I’m here. Sorry.”

  “What happened? And whose voice did I hear?”

  “I dropped the phone.” I look straight ahead, trying to keep my voice void of any emotion whatsoever. “Can I call you tomorrow?”

  “No, you can’t call me tomorrow. I mean, you can, but that voice—I need answers. It had that twang that makes me want to . . . This could get awkward.”

  “You think?” I choke back a laugh. “Let me call you tomorrow.”

  “Call me tonight. Unless you’re taking more of my advice, and in that case, a call after breakfast would be sufficient, you little minx.”

  My eyes flip to Dane’s. His arms are now flexed. The lines in his forearms are etched deeply, thicker than I remembered, and I wonder vaguely if they don’t look bigger because of the delicate green and yellow strings around his wrist.

  “Neely,” Grace grumbles. “Don’t ignore me.”

  “I’m sorry.” Shaking my head, I pull my purse onto my lap. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “That’s a good sign!”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “It could be,” she chirps.

  “Goodbye, Grace.”

  “Go get ’em, tiger.”

  Laughing at the purr she adds to the end of her goodbye, I end the call. That’s all it takes to shift everything inside both me and the car.r />
  Dane’s presence is everywhere—outside my door, in the air, and rolling through my blood.

  As I look up at his crooked smile brought on by Grace’s antics, which I’m sure he overheard, another zap of energy catapults through my chest. “She’s a bit of a handful,” I say.

  “I’d venture to say I’d like her. She sounds fun.”

  “She’s fun all right.”

  With a chuckle that trickles across my skin, he opens my door. “Unless you drove all the way here just to spy on everyone from the parking lot, let’s go.”

  “I’m not spying on anyone.” Even as I say the words, I skim my eyes down his wide neck, the way his shirt drags over the length of his shoulders, and at the narrowing of his sides into the waistband of his jeans.

  “Whatever you say.” He steps back, giving me room to exit the car.

  My sneakers hit the asphalt. I stand, my legs akin to Jell-O that’s almost perfectly set. They’re just a touch jiggly from the energy careening through me.

  You’re a big girl. You can handle this.

  The door latches shut.

  “I know you aren’t here to see me,” he says. “But I’m glad you’re here anyway.”

  “Thanks.” My lips twist, afraid to smile. I look up as a roar of laughter comes from inside the patio area, and the warmth in my chest spreads my lips into the biggest grin. “I’m glad I’m here too. I think.”

  “They’ll be happy to see you.” He tucks his chin to his chest and heads the opposite way of the front door.

  “Where are you going?” I ask. Pointing the other way, I make a face. “The door’s over there.”

  He stops and sighs. “Yeah, and if you go in that way, everyone will stop you, and it’ll be closing time before you get outside. Follow me.” He waits to ensure I do as instructed before turning around and making his way to the corner of the property.

  As I walk along the row of hedges, picking out voices I remember, feeling my heart fill with memories, I watch him move. Confidence oozes from every step he takes. Curiosity takes root.

  “Dane?”

  “Yeah?” He stops at the corner. I can see a little opening where the two fences, each forming a separate wall of the patio, meet. His Adam’s apple bobs, his hands going into the pockets of his jeans as he awaits my question.