One to Love (One to Hold 4)

Chapter 1: “The pain you feel today is the strength you feel tomorrow.”

Kenny

Left, left, left, right jab.

Left, left, left, right jab.

Switch.

Right, right, right, left jab.

Right, right, right, left jab.

My fists slammed into the canvass bag, hitting it over and over with a satisfying THUNK! I was a rockstar, a badass. Rocky. No—I was Wonder Woman, blocking bullets with my wrists. Ten more seconds...

Left, right, left, left, left. Roundhouse kick.

Right, left, right, right, right. Roundhouse kick.

BUZZ!

“Woo!” I yelled as I jumped up and down, clapping my gloved hands together before raising them over my head.

My muscles were burning and spent, but I felt amazing. I glanced at the motivational poster on the wall—a superhot, ripped woman in a black bikini running over the caption: She’s the gazelle. Be the tiger.

I pointed at it. “Fuck that! I’m the tiger.” Boom! I gave the bag another roundhouse kick. “Take that, gazelle!”

Then I exhaled a laugh and stepped back. Post-workout adrenaline was crazy. I grabbed the white towel off the bench along with my water bottle and took a long drink. I wasn’t very good at kickboxing, but it was so much fun. The idea hit me (ha ha) cleaning out my boss Rook’s old VHS tapes of celebrity workouts. I popped in Tae Bo, and immediately I wanted to do it.

Being self-taught, I’d have to do a certification class if I wanted to train or teach a class of it here at the gym, but I didn’t care. Right now I was simply getting stronger, punching out the stress. A brief glance at the speed bag, and my lips twisted into a frown.

That little fucker was a whole other matter. I’d looked like an idiot trying to keep time with it my first try. It ended up bouncing back and hitting me in the head, which made Rook howl with laughter. Embarrassment burned my cheeks, but I swore I’d master that guy.

I just wasn’t doing it this morning. In thirty minutes my first and only client of the day would arrive, leaving me enough time to shower, put on fresh yoga pants, a sports bra and tank, and have my morning power smoothie.

Fridays were light days, but I had to help run the juice bar for Mariska and hang around in case any new clients walked in or existing ones decided to rearrange their schedules. Mariska was my best friend and self-appointed Mistress of Smoothies. We’d met in art class at Ocean County College. I had taken fall semester off this year, but she arranged her schedule so all her day classes were on Fridays. Pete, the other trainer, wouldn’t be in until lunch. Rook, and his wife Tammy would arrive in the next hour.

Rook was an ex-NFL player, forced to retire after blowing out his knee. It was pretty life shattering from what I’d pieced together. He’d almost fallen apart, and ended up working as a bouncer, a bodyguard, a mover, pretty much anything requiring muscle, until he met Tammy.

She was a bombshell of a former pageant girl and got him into professional fitness. She taught most of the group classes here, from Pilates to Zumba, but they started out doing bodybuilding, nutrition, and videos before opening The Jungle Gym in Toms River, right next to Bayville, wher

e I lived, and close to where all the MTV reality-TV kids liked to misbehave.

They kept it flush with product endorsements and reviews, and the vibe was very sexy, “Where the wild things are.” We never got any celebrities in the gym, but we got a lot of suburban wannabes, which was just as good if not better.

Rook made all the hiring decisions, and he paid his trainers a decent wage. I was lucky I’d moved back to Bayville right when he’d needed a new juice bar attendant. I’d quickly moved up to personal trainer. Now I was toying with adding kickboxing to my resume. He wanted all of us on the cutting edge of new class offerings. Currently, I was planning out a regimen that combined BodyCombat, Animal Moves, and Rhythm Hit.