Unraveling with You (EXCERPT)

Chapter 1.2

With his jaw tensed, the tattooed man closes his eyes. He hisses out a deep, growling exhale. "Gym bro motherfuckers thinking they own the fucking world, I swear. He better not have a girlfriend–"

But as I meet the worried eyes of everyone else in the gym, I dissolve into hitching, weepy tears. Burying my face in my hands, my strained voice comes out choppy. "I'm sorry–"

The tattooed man softens his hold on me, gently stroking my upper arm. "Hey, hey, it's all good now. You're safe."

I let out a deeper, harder sob, leaning into his touch. My whole body shakes through violent tears, but his melodic, even tone remains gentle.

"There you go. You're doing such a good job. You're safe now. You're safe." His words leave a light fluttering in my stomach.

But I shake my head. "Everyone's so upset, and you got harassed and shoved by him. I'm so sorry he pushed you."

The man is silent for a while. I peek from my hands to find him staring straight at me. I hadn't realized how dark his irises were, an endless pool of black staring back.

He sighs. "You're so sweet to think of me, but I'm okay. I chose to step in because I care about protecting my community, and I hate that you were treated like this. He's the one who chose to behave like a caveman, not you."

Dropping his stare, I bite my quivering lip. Hotter tears shudder from me, but this time, they're slow-rolling. Aching and silent.

He hums, shuffling to squat in front of me. With his wide shoulders blocking me from everyone's view, I sigh.

"Thanks," I whisper.

"When you think you can stand, let's take a breather somewhere less busy, yeah?"

"Okay."

Taking his hand, I try my best to stand but collapse onto the bench behind me with a sharp hiss.

"My legs," I whimper. I feel so pathetic.

"You can't stand, can you? Shit, that pisses me off so much," the man growls. "Change of plans - stay right here." Dashing to the exercise machine he was using before Josh's outburst, the tattooed man digs through his gym bag. I glance at the other gym-goers in my peripherals, but thankfully, they've stopped staring. Either way, I have an unavoidable need to hide. I hunch over myself, wrapping my arms around my waist.

The tattooed man returns with furrowed brows. "Does your stomach hurt?"

"N-no, sorry, I–" I shake my head, deciding there's too much to explain that won't make sense to anyone else. He doesn't need to know about my crippling, residual anxiety or how Josh reminded me of my father in his worst outbursts.

Maybe the man understands, or maybe he has no idea I'm struggling to speak, and he's simply a patient person. He squats, balancing a plushy stick over his knees. "Have you seen one of these before?"

He offers the padded stick to me. As I grasp it, I'm surprised the plushy portion spins.

"Let's try to lessen the damage so you're not suffering as much later. Roll this over your leg muscles where it hurts. If your arms feel too tired and you'd like some help, let me know." He nods as I roll the stick over my thighs. "There you go. Good job."

I don't know what it is about him - maybe the way he softens his voice when he says encouraging things, or maybe the stark contrast of his sweetness against the sharp tattoo designs clawing over every inch of his arms and legs - but a thrilling warmth builds in my core. I want to know more about him.

"What's your name? I'm Lilibet– Lily," I blurt out.

He peeks at me from tying his shoes, moving just his dark, steady gaze. "What was that first name you said?"

My stomach flips. "Oh, um– Lilibeth. It's just my full name, but everyone gets it wrong."

"Ah, yes. I know a lot about that, Lilibeth." He relaxes into his casual crouch like he didn't set off a tingling avalanche of nerves in my chest by saying my full name. "My name's Remington, but people just call me Rem, or Remi."

Wiping the last tears from my eyes, I smile. "Oh. What do you like better?"

He doesn't exactly smile, only quirking up one side of his mouth. "Depends on the person. Maybe you'll have to try them all."

My breath hastens the longer we look into each other's eyes. I giggle without meaning to, dropping my head. Is he flirting with me, or am I just an emotional wreck today?

"How about you?" He asks.

"I'm fine with either," I mutter.

"Yeah? Good to know."

A heavy silence stretches between us, but I'm left to bite my swollen lips, trying not to laugh again. Unfortunately, my muscles feel like goo, and I've only rolled out my thighs for one minute.

I stop rolling, instead rubbing my burning arms. Remington said he'd help me if I needed it, but do I really want a strange man rolling out my muscles? A deep, rising warmth in my belly tells me I do.

When we meet eyes, Remington's eyebrows soften with his lips. "Do you need help?"

My shoulders rise. "Um– If that's okay."

"Of course. As long as you're comfortable with me doing it for you?"

I laugh. "I-I mean, I don't really have a choice."

Remington pulls back. "Yes, you do. You always do, with the right people."

My heart flips. He's starkly serious, but I feel safer than I have all day.

"T-thank you. But I'd actually like some help still, so I'm okay with it."

With my permission, Remington gets to work rolling out my legs. "Okay. But it's your body, okay? You can be honest with me or that other trainer. Has he treated you harshly before?"

I shrink into myself. Remington's scowl is tense, but he's intensely gentle with my sore thighs. His soft rolling over them feels startlingly intimate, but I don't want him to stop.

And I don't think he'll like the truth. My heart throbs into my throat. "I've never been here before."

"To this gym?"

"Um— to a-any gym."

Remington stops rolling, arching his tense eyebrows in sorrow. "Fuck, and this is your first day? God, I'm so sorry it turned out like this. There's no need for you to be yelled at or shamed at the gym."

Oh, God. Here comes my ugly crying face in the mirror. I press my chin to my chest to hide myself, begging my tears to evaporate, but Remington softens his voice.

"Hey, it's okay to cry. You're doing so great letting it out. That was traumatizing."

Fluttery nerves swirl in my stomach, tempting me to duck my head again. But a pull in my heart towards Remington wins over my senses, and the truth comes pouring out.

"I need to carry my mom," I say.