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Jayden Ellis had walked away from his divorce with not so much as a tarnished shoe. Wasn’t that always the case though with famous, attractive men? It must be the woman’s fault… And Dahlia’s career had certainly paid a price for it. She went from A-list events to B-list movies to C-list, to straight to Netflix releases quicker than a has-been reality star, and she didn’t really deserve that fate as she had always had a beauty and a talent on screen that made her characters raw and real.
As I tumble into bed and throw my work clothes in the wash bag ready for my Grandmama on Monday, I’m still flicking through images of Dahlia Dante on my phone, but the more I look, the more I feel like she is far more beautiful in reality. There’s just something about her that I can’t shake. As though those piercing green eyes have seen straight into my soul.
2
“Come on, Alexa. Push through, push through. That’s it, get into your stride… focus.” Andy, my coach, is getting frustrated. I can hear it in his voice. See it in my time. I’m off my game; my focus is distracted and I need to be in it. I need to go into the zone where nothing else matters except pushing my body to the limit.
“Okay. Let’s call it for today,” he adds with a sigh as I drop to the ground and try to catch my breath. My limbs are burning. My lungs are on fire. I couldn’t get myself into that space where I could push past the pain and so every inch of my body seems to be screaming in protest.
Andy drops to a crouch next to me and grabs my ankle, raising my calf in an unusual gesture of kindness as he squeezes hard on my calf. I feel the sting of pain then instant relief in my muscle as his thumb works out the spasm. “You only have a few weeks, Alexa, until the 10k meet. And you know, I don’t want to say this is it. It is never it if you are still focused, improving, dedicated. But you are not going to get many more chances like this.” I watch as his beautiful dark brown skin glides over my tan shin so his fingers can work their magic.
He is attractive and reminds me of the actor Jamie Foxx a little bit. He’s been my coach for nearly ten years and even though he was in his late thirties when I met him, he still could pass for late twenties; he seems to have not aged a day in all that time. Not like me; I’ve gone from the awkward teen, rebellious college kid, straight through to the person I am now. Which is probably a chaotic mix of all those things.
I manage to find my voice and gasp out an, “I know.” Which I do. It isn’t last chance saloon, but I need to make the big leagues now or I’ll need to accept the fact that I’m too old and this is now my hobby, just a pastime, and I’ll need to always have an alternative career. A proper job.
“Are you okay? You seem distracted?” he asks softly, glancing up at me with deep dark eyes.
I nod. “I am. I just, need to focus. You know.”
He nods and switches legs. “You should hit the pool; you need to give your muscles a little break from pounding the pavement. Are you still doing the strength and conditioning programme in the gym religiously?”
“Conditioning and weights every other day,” I confirm, and he smiles as he gives my calf a final squeeze before standing. He holds out his palm to give me a hand up, which I happily take.
“Good. You have it all there, Alexa. The talent, the drive, the speed, the fitness. I know you can hit the times you need to to make it big, you just need to pull it all together. I know that it has been a hard road for you and I tell my other clients about you, your determination- you are someone who has what it takes. It isn’t about winning all the time; it is about perseverance and fucking hard work. That is what makes athletes, not the medals, the commitment. Don’t forget that.”
“Thanks, Andy,” I say sincerely and he nods.
“I’ll see you next week. Meanwhile, do your strength and conditioning programme, get some swimming in, and focus on what is ahead.”
My weekend passed uneventfully and other than work, gym, swimming, and running I had nothing worthy to talk about. I took the bus out of the city and dropped my washing off at my Grandmamas and spent my one day off out running errands and chores before meeting up with some friends for a few drinks.
My job was always a source of interest to them. Especially as most had them had sold their soul to the devil and took on regular office jobs, which made each day as gray as the next but gave that all-important regular paycheck so they could afford their very own and private tiny loft space in the city.
I was seen as the wild one. The one who had never really grown up, and I got where the idea came from but it wasn’t exactly true.
Mostly, I couldn’t be less wild.
I could have gone into the world of insurance, taken an admin job, worked as a receptionist until I got a promotion to PA. But those kinds of jobs just didn’t give me much flexibility when it came to my training. Whereas at the hotel, I could double up shifts, switch around, and take my time when I needed it to make it to track and field meets. Not that I made it to that many anymore, but that had always been the intention.
Plus, my hotel job was motivational too. I knew that by staying at the hotel job, it felt like it was just a side job. It felt like I hadn’t given up on my dream of being an athlete, whereas the moment I took on the nine- to-five, mentally I would be admitting that I hadn’t made it. That I wasn’t good enough, and whilst that day was coming nearer and nearer at an alarming pace… I wasn’t quite there yet.
So back to my friends. They lived for the details, wanted to know who was in staying at Luxe, who was hooking up with who, who was secretly gay, who was now T Total. I usually had no issues with telling them because I owed these people nothing and let’s be honest, who were my friends going to tell. But I found myself biting my tongue when it came to Dahlia Dante. I didn’t want to spill her secrets. I didn’t want to talk about her. So, I passed it off as a quiet week and got back to hitting the tequilas.
I felt like shit the next day and the bus didn’t help, but I knew my Grandmama’s cooking would be just the thing I needed to make me feel alive again.
I know what you’re thinking. At my age, I should be able to clean my own clothes and cook my own meals, and the truth is I could. But this was our thing, you know. Our routine. She wasn’t so good on her feet and found it hard to come and see me race anymore, but this was her way of being present in my life, and I looked forward to it every single week. It was never a chore. Never an “Oh, now I have to go out of the city.” It was my escape and my precious time with the person who loved me the most in the world.
“Hey, Grandmama,” I sigh as I fall through the back door and collapse at the kitchen table.
“Hey, pumpkin. Your clothes are all done. I folded them and put them in the holdall in the room over there. How are you doing? Dinner will be done in a few minutes. Would you like a drink? Some tea? Water? Soda? I got the zero zero stuff you like.”
I smile up at her. She is my father’s mom. My parents had both died in tragic circumstances when I was young, before I could even remember them, and Grandmama and Grandpapa had brought me up. A lot of people gave me the pity eyes when I was growing up, but the truth is I didn’t know anything different. And I was super lucky to have grandparents who loved me like that.
Money was an issue; both were on the cusp of retirement and in no way prepared to raise a child, and they kept the life insurance money to pay for my college, so we had all learned how to live with less. What I lacked in material things, though, was more than made up with love, attention, and affection. Most people I knew had issues growing up, parents that fucked them up or situations that changed them, became defining moments in their lives that shaped them into different people.
It would be easy to think I was the fucked up one, poor little orphan, Alexa, but that couldn’t be further from the case.
My childhood was perfectly vanilla. There was no drama; I went to a nice school, had a couple of good friends, a loving home, and faux parents that adored me and did all they could for me. I never thought of the what if. What if there had been no accident. What if I had been raised by my own parents, because honestly, I grew up really happy so what would be the point in changing any of that.
