The tattooed man stares down Josh, his breathing labored. I hadn’t noticed him coming, but now he’s less than a foot from Josh. But Josh escalates beyond what I feel is appropriate: shoving the tattooed man back, he scowls. But the tattooed man doesn’t budge more than an inch.

Josh’s scowl contorts into a snarl. He hits even harder this time, but his own shove pushes his back into the mirror. The tattooed man grips Josh’s shirt to keep him restrained. With how tightly they’re pressed against the mirror, away from blaring gym lights, the tattooed man’s eyes are shrouded in a dark shadow.

But Josh finally shoves the man’s hands off. “The fuck is wrong with you?!”

The tattooed man’s deep voice echoes across the tall ceilings despite his tone remaining even. “You have no right treating anyone like this. You’re hurting your client - in front of everyone.”

Josh opens his mouth to speak, but multiple people have stopped working out to stare, leaving the gym in sharp silence. The only sound is my hard panting between rasping, pathetic tears.

Breaking into a sour grin when he meets my eyes, Josh laughs. “Chill out, man. She’s fine; she’s just crying.”

My heart crunches like Josh smushed it in his beefy palm, forcing me to hold my breath to keep a grip on my tears. The tattooed man’s eyes flicker to mine in the mirror. His heavy concern rips a fresh sob out of me. I drop my head to my lap, hiding my ugly crying face. I’ve created such a humiliating mess, but I can’t stop my heart from aching like it’s been ripped out. I’m not just disappointed in myself; I’m terrified by what this workout failure means. I really wasn’t strong enough.

But Josh’s voice tenses, zipping my focus back to him. “What makes you think you can tell me how to work with my client? I don’t think you own the place.”

The tattooed man glares at Josh, leaving a long, extended pause. Josh tenses, but the tattooed man drops Josh’s staredown to fetch the discarded dumbbells at my sides. He’s not stooping to Josh’s level by laughing or taunting back, and the deepening hatred in Josh’s furrowed eyebrows tells me that’s an insult to his manhood.

I scramble to my feet, ready to pacify both men and leave the gym as quickly as possible, but my side cramps harder than I’ve ever felt, forcing a sharp cry from my lips.

My overworked legs threaten to send me to the ground, shaking hard despite how horrendously heavy they feel, but the tattooed man steadies me by the arms. He settles me safely on the floor, propping my back against the nearest workout bench. I whimper as the pain only continues, but he keeps a firm hand on my arm. “You’re okay, you’re okay. Keep breathing through it. What’s hurting?”

I grimace, grabbing my side as it pinches like a piece has been torn out of me. But before I can speak, Josh scoffs.

“Go on, play the hero. She’s just whiny. It doesn’t make anything happening here illegal. I can make her cry as much as I want to.”

Whipping a phone out of his pocket, the tattooed man points his camera at Josh. “Want to repeat that?”

Josh’s jaw tightens.

The tattooed man shakes his head. “I don’t remember the part in Psychology for Sport and Physical Activity that taught us how important it was to make our clients cry as Kinesiologists. Care to jog my memory?”

Josh grabs his water bottle and keys, but not after slamming down a heavy weight with a resounding bang. I shriek, gripping the stranger beside me. The tattooed man’s arms tense beneath my grasp, ready to lurch into action. My heart hurts for him too; his wide, clenched stare tells me he’s just as terrified of what Josh might do next. But thankfully, Josh storms out, leaving us all in silence.

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.