At least she was smiling, the shadows no longer clouding her gray eyes. I’d done my job.
Thirty minutes into my workout, Brock came sauntering in. I barely spared him a glance, but our gazes connected for just a moment in greeting. I pulled out my earbuds, shoving them into the pocket of my basketball shorts.
The machines only went so far to burn off the frustrations clawing inside me. I used the time not just to relieve the stewing need to hurt someone but also to think. I had come up with some of my best plans at the gym. Brock might disagree, but he sometimes lacked imagination. Although he made up for it in calculating strategy.
It was weird being here without Grayson and Fynn. The four of us had been together for so long. We practiced together, worked out together, partied together, and took down together. Now we were divided by whole two hours.
I made a mental note to text Grayson later, to get his take on this whole Sterling thing. Mads was his cousin, after all, and he would want to know if someone was messing with her.
Brock sat down on the ab bench beside me, his legs straddling either side as he prepped to use it. “Why do you look like you’re trying to murder that machine?”
I extended my legs, inhaling. “I’m pretending to kick Sterling’s face.”
He lay flat on his back, ankles hooking under the footrest. “Okay, that explains a lot. Did something else happen that I’m unaware of?”
Releasing the weight pressing against the top part of my feet, I wiped at the sweat beading over my brow. “We had words this morning.”
He only got one curl in and was already lying on his back, head twisted toward me. “Already? Christ, Micah. It’s barely noon.”
Noon was early in our world. “I know. I caught him staring at Mads after her class today, a class he also just happens to be taking.”
“I see.” And he did. If it had been Josie, Brock would be right where I am, doing the same shit, taking out his anger and frustration at the gym. It helped, but it didn’t fully take the edge off—not like smashing his face into the floor would.
Fuck yeah, I wanted to hit him. Almost as much as I wanted to keep Mads from getting hurt.
“And you just had words, nothing more?” he clarified as if he didn’t believe my fists hadn’t been involved.
“This time,” I grunted through another rep.
He nodded, knowing my restraint only went so far. “Coming here was the best move for the time being.”
My legs burned as I pushed the muscles in my legs, but it was a good kind of burning sensation. I enjoyed working out, the rush of dopamine, serotonin, and adrenaline. It was the one place where I didn’t disappoint my father, where I could escape from the pressure of being Alexander Bradford’s only son and heir to the multimillion-dollar empire he and my grandfather had built. I was expected to join the family biz, regardless that I had no interest in the finance world.
With each rep, I pushed through all the expectations and pressure bearing down on me. I had to be the best wide receiver, yet not pursue a career as an athlete. I was expected to marry a girl with family wealth and influence, a merger of families rather than love.
I wanted none of those things.
And if I thought the little bit of freedom college gave me would ease the pressure, I was dead wrong.
My phone buzzed. Normally I avoided my phone during workouts, but on the chance that it was Mads, I scooped it off the floor and checked the screen.
I swore. It was if as my father had an internal buzzer that went off every time I thought about him. The old man, doing his weekly check-in, reminded me who I was, how I was to behave, and what he demanded from me.
My fingers tightened against the phone as I read the message again.Asshole. I clicked the lock button on my phone. The screen went blank, and I set it back on the floor alongside the water bottle. The old man was used to me ignoring his messages. He would think nothing of my lack of response, but the texts—and calls, when necessary—would continue.
As if I needed this today on top of everything else. I couldn’t deal with the old man or the path he’d carved out for my future. Not now. Not today.
A vein in my neck ticked.
“Everything okay?” Brock asked, seeing the way I chucked my phone to the ground.
I switched machines, moving to the seated arm curl on the opposite side of him. “Just the old man riding my ass again,” I said dryly.
He understood all too well what it was like having a father who only wanted perfection, a portrayal of a son rather than an actual son with flaws. “I’d tell you not to sweat it, but we both know neither of us has that luxury.”
Wrapping my fingers around the bars, I curled my arms, the muscles tightening in my forearms. “I’m calling our guy.”
His reaction didn’t change, but Brock excelled at keeping a neutral face. It kept those who didn’t know him from being able to see what really went on behind his often-cold eyes. “Normally I’d say you’re overreacting… but I think having Sterling checked out wouldn’t hurt. Has Mads said how she knows him? That might be helpful information.”