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‘Don’t say that.’ A woman’s southern twang.
‘Sorry, Ms King.’
‘It’s Mrs Moore now, George. And I don’t think he’s dead.’ My brother’s soft laughter. ‘This is totally worth coming home from Hawaii early.’
Someone sniffs.
‘He smells awful.’ Mother’s tone implying that my odor is on par with matricide.
‘Do you think he’s just been exercising this whole time?’ Bell asks.
‘That is the lamest form of heartbreak ever.’ Chase sneers. ‘Honestly, who exercises when they’re sad?’
Someone grunts.
‘Chase, dear. You’ll give yourself a hernia.’
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence, Ma.’
‘I’m fully confident in the strength of your charm. Your biceps, not so much.’ There’s a pause. ‘And don’t call me Ma, it’s so…’
‘Pedestrian?’
‘Yes, that. Thank you, George.’
The more I hear the less I want to wake.
I’m hit with an arctic blast that shocks both my brain and body into full working order in seconds. Sitting up from my prone position on my workout bench, I sputter and cough. ‘Fuck.’
‘There.’ My mother, holding my empty water jug, smiles at me like she hadn’t just tried to drown me. ‘Now we can figure out what’s going on.’ She hooks the jug handles on the bench press cage where I left it.
‘Yo, T-money.’ Chase holding Mike, lifts the cat’s front paw and waves.
‘Good morning, Mr Moore.’ George straightens his glasses.
‘You need a shower,’ Mother says.
‘What are you all doing here?’
‘You didn’t think we’d leave you to your own devices, did you?’ Chase asks, resting a hip on the dumb-bell rack.
‘We’re here to help.’ Bell collects the cat, who looks much happier in her arms rather than my brother’s. ‘But—’ she levels me a look ‘—as Alice’s friend, I have to first say that you’re a complete asshat who doesn’t deserve her.’
A drop of water slides off the bridge of my nose. ‘Noted.’
‘Really, dear.’ Mother’s nose twitches. ‘Shower.’
* * *
Twenty minutes later, at the vehement urging of my mother, I’m showered and dressed in clean clothes. My choice of play clothes surprising everyone by the look on their faces.
‘Okay,’ Chase asks as I enter the living room, eyeing my Under Armour track pants, ‘what’s the plan?’
‘Yes.’ George stares at me expectantly. ‘Please tell me there’s a plan and that I’m part of it.’
I walk past them toward the back stairs.
‘He’s not going to exercise again?’ Mother asks the room.
