Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

THIERRY

Gerry was in the weight room and felt her presence the moment she entered, knowing darn well she was going to single him out once again. He looked up from where he was on the leg press machine and saw her eyes meet his before looking away. Angrily, he moved the pin, increasing the weights and went back to pressing.

I hope you’re looking…

Eat your heart out…

I can do this… and I don’t need you!

Those thoughts were rampaging in his mind as he pressed the pad upward in a frustrated manner – only to have her step toward him.

“Don’t lock your knees,” she whispered softly. “Go slowly, and your form looks good. You’re seated properly – it’s just the knees.”

“Whatever,” he muttered under his breath and went back to moving the weights – not locking his knees as she suggested, before looking toward where Batiste was on the skating machine. Molly was beside him, showing him to move his leg backward, lunging into the motion, and advising him to swing his arms with it.

Gerry’s legs were trembling, and he felt a burning sensation in his thighs, realizing that she was right about the motion and hated it with everything in him. Letting the weights drop loudly, he got up and moved to another station. Moving the pin, he immediately swung his arm in front of him only to have her come back to his side.

“Here,” she said gently, stopping him.

“I don’t need you.”

“I think you do.”

“Nope. Been using this thing for years…”

“Incorrectly?”

“Ha!” he scoffed, looking at her. “I know how to use the weight machine. No one else uses it like I do. I can swing the weights the furthest, using the highest amounts, and my muscles are bulging like rock-hard little beasts. So, I seriously do not need you. Go help someone else, anyone else.”

“You know this machine is to work your shoulder, right?”

“It works everything, Tiny Tot…” he drew out openly, causing Couer to choke back a laugh as Molly’s lips disappeared. For a moment, he felt a twinge of guilt only to see something flicker in her blue eyes.

“I’ll tell you what,” she began softly, looking up at him. “You have it set on eighty-five pounds, right?”

“That’s what the number says,” he bragged.

“Then you won’t mind if I move it down to a measly twenty pounds, right?”

“Ha! I won’t get a workout. What kind of physical trainer are you? You don’t lighten the load to build muscles; you increase it to make your body work. How did you ever get this job?” he continued, trying to make her get away from him… and it wasn’t working. Instead, the moment his arm came back to a resting position, Molly yanke d the pin holding the weights and handed him a rolled-up towel.

“Humor me – and if you can still move this, then I’ll leave you alone.”

“Done! Utterly and absolutely done, Tiny Tot,” Gerry chuckled, realizing that he was finally rid of the woman who implied he was fat and focused on making sure the entire world knew she was right and they were all wrong. Well, he had news for her.

“No one moves those weights like Thierry…”

“Deadlifts lots like Thierry…”

“No one flexes like Thierry…”

“No one boasts while he does overhead sets like Thierry?” Molly added, practically singing and rolling her eyes. He wasn’t about to let this little woman mock him again.

“I'm the king of the gymnasium scene. If you doubt me, I’ll prove it’s true,” he bragged knowing darn well that if she was pulling a trick, he wasn’t falling for it. “Load me up with the heaviest plates you’ve seen, and I’ll do it all while tying my shoe!”

“That’s not necessary…”

“Ya’ scared?” he mocked as she continued moving around the machine, making slight adjustments, and tried to hand him the rolled-up hand towel again. “I don’t need that. I haven't even broken a sweat yet.”

She smiled sweetly at him and put the towel under his arm, between his bicep and his ribcage, simply saying, ‘Hold this’…

“I know how to build muscles. I eat six dozen eggs every morning at dawn to get biceps as big as a beast! I lift through the pain—my delts are insane…”

“There shouldn’t be pain…” she interrupted, frowning.

“I’m a beast,” he finished as she patted him on the arm, patronizing him.

“Yes, yo u are. A rare specimen of a man and so intimidating,” she agreed, and this time, he was sure she was going to try to humiliate him. He’d show her!

“I’m swole like the guys say.”

“Sure,” she said, holding his elbow and staring at it while her other arm was holding the small handle for the weight machine. “Now, without moving your arm and keeping the towel between your ribcage and your elbow, you rotate that ‘ swole’ arm inward toward your stomach. Remember – twenty pounds and I’ll leave you alone.”

“Pshaw… move back,” he commanded and saw her stern stance as her eyes glittered. Was she laughing at him? “Just swing this stupid thing inward, huh…”

“That’s it.”

“Twenty pounds.”

“Do you need it lower?” she asked innocently.

“No!” he barked, leaning forward, almost in her face. “I’m a man, and I don’t need it lower.”

“Twenty pounds.”

“Move it to fifty and get out of my face.”

“Twenty, Gerry.”

“C’mon man!” Boucher called out. “Quit flirting with her and show her what you got, bro!”

“I’ve got this…” Gerry muttered, feeling frustrated because he couldn’t figure out what kind of trick she was pulling.

“I believe you,” she murmured softly, holding his elbow still. “Keep this here. Use your scapula and the muscles in your shoulder, here…”

“Don’t touch me.”

“I’m not,” she replied quickly, looking a little alarmed. “I’m spotting you to make sure you do it correctly, using the right muscles.”

“I’ve got this,” he muttered. “I’m gonna move this, and you’re gonna get out of my face.”

“Fine,” she said simply, looking at him. “Prove me wrong.”

Gerry flexed and tried to move his arm, and he couldn’t. He glanced at her, sucked in his breath, and put everything into rotating his arm in the small movement.

“…No, don’t lift your elbow,” she murmured quickly, holding his elbow and that towel fast. “Use your shoulder.”

“I am,” he grunted, glaring at his wrist, hand, and forearm, which weren’t cooperating.

“Are you going to move it today?” she said smugly in a quiet voice, almost gloating but it was a hushed whisper only to him.

His eyes met hers, their faces so close together, and he was trembling with the amount of effort he was putting into this simple movement that he couldn’t do. At that moment, he saw a flicker in her eyes as she released his elbow, allowing him to lift and move the weight – but they both knew what just happened.

He couldn’t move it.

She let him save face.

“Ooooh burnnn, Tiny Tot!” Coeur belted out enthusiastically, and Boucher was beside him on the other machine, laughing as the two high-fived each other. Batiste was looking at them skeptically while Giroux looked away. Lafreniere had no expression on his face as he picked up the kinesiology tape and gave Molly a nod.

She never said a word, simply leaving the towel between his elbow and ribs as she walked off to talk to Lafreniere. He stood there, staring at the two of them, and then adjusted the towel between his elbow and side once more, trying it again, testing to see if Molly had played some joke on him.

Nope.

He couldn’t move it, doing it in the way she instructed. He shifted the weight to ten pounds and st ill nothing. Moving it to five pounds, the same thing as a sack of potatoes, he was barely able to swing the machine’s handle.

Why? Was he that weak in his shoulders? – And why wouldn’t she prove to the others that she was right and he was wrong?

T hat afternoon, Gerry had enough.

Miss-Know-it-All crossed a line when she got rid of his donuts, replacing them with holistic beet brownies. He finished his workout, wanting to go have a bite of something sweet, only to discover the box of donuts that was a daily ritual between the fellas was gone – and replaced with brownies. He picked up one, nearly moaning at how soft and moist they were, his mouth watering as he took a massive bite and gagged.

“What the…” he spat – and then did so again in the sink nearby, not caring if it got clogged or not. “What in the – WHAT’S WRONG WITH THE brOWNIES?!” he hollered in disbelief, only to see the dietician walk in with Molly.

Of course!

“Where’s my stuff?” he snapped hotly, already knowing somehow that she was involved.

“What stuff?”

“My donuts.”

“We arranged for you to have these brownies instead.”

“These taste like crap.”

“Expensive crap,” she smirked, crossing her arms over her chest – which he was now focusing on against his will. He really liked her wearing that pale blue sweater because it made her eyes glow and hung on her curves.

What am I thinking?! He thought in horror and looked at the brownies – then at Molly. “You drugged me!”

“I did no such thing,” she sputtered, looking shocked at the accusation as he turned, grabbed a paper towel, and wiped the ‘brownie’ off his tongue, trying to get the taste out of his mouth.

“I hate these frownies …”

“They are brownies.”

“No - those are frownies and exceedingly awful.”

“They are delicious,” she countered. “I had one myself, and you can barely taste the beets inside and…”

“YOU PUT BEETS IN THE FROWNIES?!” he yelped, turning back to the sink. Yanking up the faucet, he rinsed his mouth and put a finger down his throat, ignoring her as she spoke behind him.

“Beets are delicious, and you are being childish. They are full of vitamins, make the brownies moist, and I didn’t bake them. You don’t have to make such a scene. I had a bakery make them especially for you and…”

“For me?” he said in disbelief. “What on earth makes you think I want frownies made with beets ? That’s a vegetable! Where are my sugary, fattening, delicious donuts?”

“No more donuts,” she said simply, crossing her arms.

“You’re fired,” he snapped bluntly, only to pause as she got this look on her face. That look was definitely a four-letter-word-eatin’-grin, as his grandpa used to say when no one was around.

“You can’t fire me, Gerry.”

“But Coach can…” he started, moving to wipe his mouth again as he shivered in disgust before pushing past her.

“Coach supported my purchase and ate two of them not twenty minutes ago – if you really want to know. Coach Mike said they were delicious.”

And Gerry came to a stop in his tracks, slowly turning toward her in shock. Betrayal coursed thro ugh his veins at the way she was neatly side-stepping him, humiliating him, and getting everyone to side against him. He thought this position was a dream for him because he was supposed to be bulky, supposed to throw around his weight on the ice, but now they were making him second-guess and triple-guess what they expected.

Was he letting down the team?

Maybe this was why Giroux was called the ‘Golden Boy,’ and when the photos were of the three of them – Giroux, Batiste, and himself – he was always referred to as the last in the group – the third wheel. Maybe they humored him hanging around? Did they pity him because he wasn’t as pretty as Giroux or as charismatic as Batiste? Those doubts wrapped around his heart painfully because he loved this team and these guys like they were his own family. He felt included… until she showed up.

Molly.

“I hate you…” he whispered, his voice raw and broken. He saw her flinch as her eyes looked like she was about ready to cry. He felt guilty for his words and felt like a lesser man, but the doubts, fear, rage, and frustration were bubbling over, and he had no outlet for it – no safe place to get it out of him.

“G-Gerry…” she breathed, extending a hand toward him, looking as devastated as he felt – and he backed away.

“No,” he began again hoarsely, looking away so she didn’t see the truth in his eyes, the shame. He felt completely emasculated, ashamed, and lower than a piece of trash right now because he wasn’t good enough for the team – and sure wasn’t good enough for someone as gorgeous as she was. Obviously, she was there because she pitied him, and he was heartily sick of people’s pity and sad looks. “Just leave me alone… please.”

And her hand dropped as he heard her mumble ‘I’m sorry.’ She pushed past him, heading out the door and leaving him standing there. It took him a second t o realize that the team nutritionist was there, frowning at him.

“I never thought you were mean,” the man said simply. “Seeing that side of you was a first for me, and I sure didn’t like it. You don’t want her expensive holistic brownies, so be it. Your celery and carrot sticks are in the fridge – enjoy.”

Gerry winced.

“Oh – and you better hope Molly doesn’t quit because she’s not here for you, you ungrateful meathead. She’s here to make sure you guys have a goalie by the end of the season – Molly Haines is the best physical therapist in her field, but you wouldn’t think so talking to her. She’s nice, humble, and wants to please everyone— including you.”

“But…”

“Yeah, she bought the ‘Frownies’ out of her paycheck – not the team’s because you’ve been trying so hard and she saw it. Personally, I don’t know why she’s being nice to you,” and before Gerry could say anything, protest, or make a move, the door opened behind him as Batiste walked in… just in time to see the other man fling the tray of brownies in the trash.

“Eh? Que fais-tu?” Batiste railed, staring in frustration at the trash can. “I wanted one of those! Coach said they were delicious…”

“Ask the food critic!” the man snapped, leaving Gerry standing there with Batiste.

“What ‘appened?”

“They are made with beets.”

“So?”

“It’s a vegetable.”

“And cane sugar is a stick. What’s your point? It’s all in ‘ow it’s prepared – and why was I not born into this life as a raccoon?” Batiste snapped before wailing into the trash can. “You think Aimee will leave me if I dumpster-dive for one of those?”

“You’r e disgusting.”

“I’m ‘ungry, mon frere …”

“There’s celery in the fridge.”

“No calories,” Batiste said simply, shaking his head and looking once more at the overturned tray in the trash can. “I’m supposed to bump my intake by two hundred calories a day – and I could use a few of those… but not now.”

“Oh, quit pouting, you big baby. You’ll be fine.”

“Is this your fault?” Batiste seized, looking at him with a piercing squint. Without a word, Gerry fished out a brownie from the trash – flung it at the man with no warning – and left the room before he could see if Batiste caught it.