I walk back toward them. "I will go after I'm done here," I inform Vega. He doesn't seem to have a problem with the delay. He stands up, his gaze moving from me to Mac, then back to me, lingering for a bit too long on my friend.
My eyes narrow slightly. I wonder why he keeps staring at Mac. I briefly think maybe I should have introduced them, but what's the point?
"I will leave a car for you," Vega says, his tone commanding. "Dinner is at 5:30 p.m. Don't be late."
"Okay," I reply. Vega then turns to Leif, and they exchange polite words as they walk out together.
I feel so upset that when I turn around, the guys who were practicing visibly stiffen, like they're afraid I'll pick a fight with one of them to burn off steam.
I ignore them all and walk toward the stairs. Mac follows behind me up to the apartment above the gym.
I push the door open. Mac enters, his shoulders slumped. "Are you really going to stay with him?"
"I have 4.5 million reasons to do so," I say, already heading to the bathroom. "I'm going to take a shower."
Mac sits on the couch, looking utterly defeated. I can understand why. We've been friends for years, and he's been there with me through thick and thin. It makes sense he would be this distraught on my behalf, watching me walk into a gilded cage.
I step into the shower, letting the water run on me for a very long time. For a moment, I can forget all my worries, letting the steam and heat wash away the dirt and the anxiety. But I know this is only temporary.
***
I'm in front of my closet, pulling out a handful of clothes. I want to pack minimally, just the essentials like gym wear, jeans, and my few good leather jackets. The thought of moving my life into Vega's house makes my stomach churn.
My father walks in, holding a small plastic bag. He places my toothbrush inside with my small bag for personal care stuff.
"TT," he starts, his tone gentle but serious. "I know you two are still getting used to being married, but at least be more nice to him or at least smile more around him."
I turn my head sharply. "Did he complain to you?"
It can't be. That cold-faced bastard wouldn't be bothered by something so petty. And I'm right. I can tell by the slight shift in his posture that this is all my father's unprompted interference in the matter.
"No," Leif says simply. "But I have eyes and I can see."
"Okay, okay, Dad," I concede, picking up a stack of T-shirts. "I will be nicer to him. Just stop talking about it." I desperately want to move on from this conversation lest the lie gets exposed by his continued scrutiny.
Leif walks over and starts helping me fold the clothes. He's always been like this. When I went for school trips as a kid, he would fold the clothes for me while lecturing me about how to behave when I am there.
Even when I went for matches and he couldn't come, he would lecture me while helping me pack. Its his way of caring for me.
But today, Leif is silent. He's just folding them carefully, meticulously creasing the edges.
I decide to lighten the mood. "You're so eager to get me out the house," I joke. "Do you have some aunt you want to bring over?"
Leif smacks me upside my head. It's a gentle thwack, but it makes me yelp. "Why!" I rub my head, but I'm smiling, happy that I've broken the tension.
"You really think I would be chasing women at my age?"
"Why not?"
Leif sighs, dropping the last folded shirt into the duffle bag. "Women are expensive. I can barely raise you, let alone a girlfriend."
I look at my father, and I know why he's so resistant to dating. I would have loved for him to find love, but the both of us know very well what love can do to a person. This love that others cherished tore a hole in my father's heart and life and nearly cost him everything.
When we are done packing, Leif pushes the suitcase out toward the door. As he walks into his bedroom, Mac walks in, his face close to mine.
"Are you going to sleep in the same room as him?" he whispers, his eyes wide with worry.
"He almost killed me when I kissed him," I whisper back. "So obviously we won't be sharing a room."
"You kissed?" Mac suddenly yells.
I immediately cover his mouth with my hand, pressing hard. "What are you yelling for?" I hiss, glancing nervously toward the bedroom door. "I will let you go if you promise to behave."
Mac nods his head frantically. I release him.
Leif's voice comes booming from the lounge. "TT, it's past four! You can't be late!"
"Okay, Dad," I yell back, then turn to Mac. "Don't you dare tell him about the contract."
"What do you take me for," Mac says, adjusting his shirt, "a snitch?"
I chuckle at Mac's expense, grabbing my purse and walking out.
Downstairs, Mac pushes my overstuffed suitcase and places it in the trunk of the waiting Maybach.
While he does that, I get the address of the place from the driver. It's a home address, something in the hills.
Leif is standing by my motorcycle, which is parked beside the car. "You can't be seriously taking your bike with you," he protests, his voice strained. "You know I hate you riding that thing."
"You worry too much, old man," I reply, pulling on my leather jacket.
Leif isn't backing down. "You can take my car if you need a car that bad."
"And what will you use? The gym van? Dad, I will be fine."
Leif isn't happy at all, and I can see the frustration in his eyes, but he doesn't want to argue anymore. He moves on to the next instruction.
"Don't forget to get a gift," he says, patting my arm. "You can't move in empty-handed."
"Ughhhh, why so many requirements?" I complain.
Leif glares at me. "Okay, okay," I concede. "I will find something he will like. Maybe a toolbox or something."
Leif seems satisfied with that slightly sarcastic promise. He pats my arm again. "Get going. You will be late."
I get on my bike and put on my helmet. Before kicking the engine to life, I wave at Leif. "See you tomorrow and don't forget to take your meds."
Leif waves back. "I won't."
Mac waves at me too, but I can still see that he is profoundly unhappy with this arrangement. The roar of the motorcycle is a welcome relief from the tension.