The One You Can't Forget by Roni Loren
Being stalked by the press for so many years made him see motives in everyone and feel like he was constantly under surveillance. But this time at the coffee shop, he’d seen real recognition in the woman’s eyes. She just hadn’t placed him. That was what had made the cold hand of fear grip his chest. Maybe later on today, her brain would click, and she’d realize who she’d been talking to. Maybe not. Either way, he wasn’t going back to that coffee shop.
When he unlocked the back door of the soon-to-be-open Gym Xtreme, the steamy, chlorine-scented air hit him in the face like dragon breath. He grimaced and finished the rest of his coffee before tossing the cup in a trash can in the hallway. As Shaw entered the main part of the gym, his footsteps echoed in the cavernous warehouse space like he was in some horror movie, but fear was the last thing he felt when he stopped and looked around.
Sunlight streamed in from the skylights he and Rivers had gotten installed, but the main lights weren’t on. Dust motes danced in the air, and the reflection off the pools painted blue patterns on the far wall. Despite the stuffy atmosphere and too-warm temperature, the tension in Shaw’s shoulders eased. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. A quiet gym was like entering his own version of church. It was the only place where his mind went still.
A clink of metal sounded to his left, and Shaw craned his neck that way. Rivers was balancing on a ladder as he adjusted something on a set of still rings in the gymnastic area, his blond hair slicked back from either sweat or a dip in the pool.
“How’d it go at the permits office?” Rivers asked, not looking away from his task but apparently hearing Shaw’s footsteps. “I hope it’s more fun than the DMV.”
Shaw snorted as he walked over. “It made the DMV look like a rave, but we’re all squared away. I’s dotted, t’s crossed, ridiculous fees paid.”
“Great.”
Shaw pulled his shirt away from his chest, the material starting to cling. “What happened to the AC? It feels like the inside of a gym sock and smells like a swim meet in here. Are you trying to save money on the electric bill?”
Rivers sniffed. “No, I’m not choosing this misery. The system froze up. I already had a guy out to look at it. He said to turn off the units for a few hours so they can thaw and to consider adding another one to cover this much square footage. He said once we have people in here, it will only get hotter quicker, and in the summer, we’ll be completely screwed.”
“Fantastic. More expenses,” Shaw groused. The gym was bleeding money, and Shaw was having a hard time finding ways to stanch the wound. He’d helped Rivers plan this project down to the penny, but the old building had issues they hadn’t been expecting, the equipment had been pricier to build than the original estimates, and the insurance was through the roof. If they didn’t have a stellar opening month, they were going to drown before they ever made their first lap around the pool.
“I know. It sucks.” Rivers glanced down at him. “But it is what it is. We can’t have people passing out from the heat.”
“At this rate, we’re not going to have people at all because we’re never going to open.”
“It’ll all work out.” Rivers smiled, unperturbed, which tended to be a natural state for him—hence the reason Shaw was in charge of the business finances. Rivers returned to checking the still rings, yanking on them. “The smell is because I got all the pools treated again. The chemical balance was off. Now they’re clean and ready to catch all the people who will fall off our badass challenges.”
Shaw smirked and stepped under the rings. “I’m not sure I would market them that way. Come to the gym that is sure to crush your spirits!”
Rivers snorted. “Breaking spirits to rebuild them, Shaw.” Rivers put a hand to his chest, a dramatic look on his face. “We’re doing spiritual work here. The people need us.”
“Yeah, okay, Reverend McGowan.” Shaw eyed the other side of the high-ceilinged space that they’d converted into what would hopefully become Austin’s premier extreme gym—a place for people who wanted to train and test themselves on ultimate athletic challenges. The side he and Rivers were on had more traditional exercise equipment and weights, along with a full setup for gymnastics. Equipment to get people ready for the harder stuff. Those things were vital, but the other side was hopefully where the money would be made. There were crazy-hard obstacles that tested strength and balance to the extreme—a huge curved wall to run up, rock climbing apparatus with nearly impossible angles, rolling cylinders to run over, ropes to swing on, various riffs on monkey bars to test upper body strength, and two deep swimming pools and a few foam pits that would catch people if they fell off the obstacles.
He and Rivers had come up with the idea after drinking too much beer one night and watching too many episodes of Ninja Warrior Challenge when Rivers had come into town to visit him. Shaw had thought his best friend was joking. They’d had crazy conversations like that before when they’d been college roommates. Rivers was an inventor by nature and a big talker. But then a month later, Rivers had shown up on Shaw’s doorstep in Chicago with a stack of paperwork. Rivers had leased out the warehouse in Austin, quit his engineering job, and had developed a business plan—a plan that included Shaw moving back to the town he’d sworn he’d never return to and running the gym with him.
Shaw had refused. His life plan was to lie low and to never do anything that would have the press ever sniffing his way again. So what if he was miserable and unable to find decent work because of the reputation that followed him around like a plague? But when Rivers had laid out the plan—Shaw changing his legal name, the business being listed under Rivers even though they’d split the profits, and Shaw getting to handle the business’s finances while also being a trainer—Shaw hadn’t been able to walk away.
Besides the much-needed job, his friend had been offering him a taste of freedom he wasn’t sure he deserved but that sounded like a dream. A fresh start. A job that would let him be in an environment he loved. His best friend—hell, his only friend—living down the street instead of across the country. The only sticking point was that it was in Austin, just down the road from the place of his nightmares, where everything in his world had been ripped away and burned to ashes. Where he wasn’t just hated and feared in a general sense, but in very, very specific and personal sense.
He deserved that hate.
Shaw had come anyway, even when he knew it would be temporary. Everything in his life was. Putting down roots anywhere had always invoked trouble. He’d lost the right to roots. Secretly, Shaw had vowed to give time to this project for a year. He’d take some business classes to finish up the degree he’d had to abandon all those years ago and work as a trainer at the gym. He’d help Rivers get the business off the ground, build himself a little nest egg, buy a houseboat, and then leave Rivers to run the gym. He hadn’t told Rivers that he wasn’t planning on staying permanently, but he’d cross that bridge when necessary.
The close call in the coffee shop today had only confirmed the necessity of that plan. It’d probably been a false alarm this time, but it wouldn’t be every time. He just hoped that he could actually make it the full year. The clock was already ticking. Someone would eventually recognize him. Someone would call the press. The cycle would start over.
“We’re still on track to open next week?” Shaw asked, examining his friend’s work on the rings.
“Yep.” Rivers climbed down from the ladder and wiped his damp face with his T-shirt. “Well, open to the public at least. I signed us up for a charity event tomorrow morning.”
“A what?”
“You’re coming. Don’t try to get out of it. If we get a lot of interest, I may open for a sneak preview this week and give a few tours. I don’t want to lose good leads if we get them. The event looks very Austin quirky, so I have a feeling it will get some press, which we desperately need.”
“A charity event with press?” Shaw’s
Rivers made a dismissive sound. “You won’t be. I’ve already thought this through. It’s a Halloween run, costumes encouraged. We’ll make sure you have a good one. You’ll just be there to participate and give out flyers for the gym. As far as anyone knows, Lucas Shaw is just a trainer here. They have no reason to pay attention to you.”
Shaw let out a breath, the name Lucas still sounding weird in his ear. He’d chosen to keep the Shaw part of his real name, Shaw Miller, because if he or Rivers slipped up and used the name Shaw, there would be an easy explanation. But getting used to an entirely new first name was going to take a while.
“I hate the idea of any press being involved,” he groused.
“I know. But this is too good an opportunity to pass up,” Rivers said.
Shaw couldn’t deny that fact, and he did trust Rivers not to purposely expose him to anything that would blow his cover. He should be relieved that Rivers had handled things and created a great promotional opportunity, but the thought of charities and press still made him itchy. “Fine.”
“Excellent.” Rivers gripped his shoulder. “And don’t worry, man. I told you I was willing to be the face of this thing, and I meant it. I’m not going to expose you to any of that. Plus, I have such a pretty face.”
Shaw grunted.
“But if we want this business to be successful,” his friend explained, “we have to jump on opportunities like this, get people excited and spreading the word. There needs to be some sizzle and pop.”
Shaw gave him a droll look. “Sizzle and pop?”
“Yes. Don’t make fun of my very technical marketing terms.” Rivers nodded toward the equipment. “Now get up on these rings and tell me if they’re going to break and kill someone.”
Shaw smirked. “Nice. I’ve been demoted to guinea pig now?”
Rivers stepped back with an unrepentant grin. “Oink oink.”
Shaw pulled his T-shirt over his head and tossed it at Rivers’s face. “Guinea pigs don’t oink, dumbass.”
Rivers caught the T-shirt before it hit him and flipped it over his shoulder. He folded his arms and waited. “Show me what you’ve got, big man.”
Shaw shook his head and dug a rubber band out of his pocket to pull his hair back. He didn’t have any chalk for his hands or ring grips, and cargo shorts weren’t ideal for flexibility, but he was just testing the things out, not doing a routine. He did a few quick shoulder and back stretches to make sure he was loose enough before reaching up. Rivers had set the rings lower than Olympic height so Shaw was able to jump up and grab them without assistance.
The rings felt achingly familiar in his hands as he hung from them, the scattered thoughts of the morning settling into singular focus as he adjusted his grip and made sure the whole apparatus wasn’t going to fall apart on him. Once he felt confident the rings would support him, he lifted his weight, his arms working to keep the rings as still as possible, and raised himself up until his hips were even with the rings and his arms were taut. After a few seconds, he exhaled and spread his arms out to form a T with his body, an Iron Cross.
The strength and focus required to keep his body and the rings steady in that pose were like the rush of a drug, every part of him working toward the same goal. Shaw’s muscles quivered with the effort, and he lifted himself again, tilting forward and swinging his legs behind and upward to invert the cross. He glued his gaze to a spot on the floor and tried to hold the upside-down position for as many seconds as his body would allow him. One, two, three…
“Damn,” Rivers said. “It kills me a little that we can’t market you. Former Olympic-level gymnast will personally train you on feats of strength! A photo of this alone would sell a shit-ton of memberships. Hell, I could probably fill up our rosters with all my single friends—gay or straight. We could oil you up and let them pay to ogle.”
That made Shaw choke, and it broke his concentration. His muscles gave up the good fight, and he swung down out of the inversion. He dropped to his feet on the mat beneath with a muted thump, out of breath, his muscles burning from the effort. “Stop flirting, McGowan.”
Rivers smirked and tossed Shaw’s shirt back at him. “As if you’d be so lucky. You’re not my type.”
Shaw caught the T-shirt and tugged it back on with a grin, not insulted in the least. “Too straight, huh?”
“Straight?” Rivers crossed his arms and lifted a brow. “Oh, you actually still have an orientation? I thought yours was monk.”
Shaw’s mouth flattened. “The rings work. We won’t kill anyone.”
He tried to move past his friend, but Rivers put a hand on his arm, halting him. “Come on, don’t be like that. I’m not trying to be an asshole.”
“You’re not doing a very good job of it,” Shaw grumbled.
Rivers didn’t relent. “I’m just trying to wake you up a little. You’ve been here for months, and I have yet to see you do anything but go to the apartment, classes, and back here. Every time I ask you to come out with me and my friends, you have an excuse.”
Shaw had, in fact, gone to a bar last night, but Rivers wouldn’t count it even if Shaw told him. He’d gone in because he really wanted a drink, and the place was dark with loud music. Not a place to socialize. A Johnny Cash I Drink Alone kind of place. But somehow he’d ended up outside with a pretty woman, treading into way too dangerous waters.
The liquor had loosened his good sense, and he’d found himself drawn to the woman who’d sung her guts out and then run off stage, and not for the obvious reasons. The woman was a knockout with her cloud of dark curls, her black-rimmed glasses, and a pink blouse that had exposed just a hint of smooth brown skin at the open collar. She was all curves and quirky sophistication. Rivers would say nerdy hot. But Shaw didn’t think her kind of hot needed any kind of qualifier.
But despite all that, the thing that had drawn him to her was the way she’d sung on stage. She hadn’t opened her eyes the whole time, but once she’d gotten started, it was like she’d opened a vein and let it bleed onto the floor in front of them. Her voice hadn’t been classically pretty. It’d been powerful and raw, with sandpaper rubbing the high notes. He’d felt each word of her song like she’d shoved the music directly into his chest, sending some sort of adrenaline straight into his system. He’d been sweating a little by the end. So when she’d stumbled by him, he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out. He’d wanted to help her, but more than that, he wanted to know why she was running.
But he should’ve minded his own business. In those brief moments outside the bar, she’d nudged a part of him he’d thought he’d long cut the wires to—that part that said he should smile at her, flirt, and get her story. The part that said he could want the normal things a man could want.
What a fucking lie that was.
“I don’t do clubs,” he said to Rivers, shutting down the memory of last night, of him walking away from her like some coward who couldn’t even manage to tell her good night.
“Fine, go to a movie then. A bar. Whatever. You don’t need to do the monk thing anymore. I get why you shut yourself off from the social scene, but this is a big town. You have a new name. You don’t look like the guy from the news stories anymore. Go out, have fun, take a roll in someone’s bed.”
“Riv,” Shaw warned.
His friend raised his palms. “All I’m saying is don’t rule out a simple hookup. It’s unhealthy not to get laid at least every now and then.” He gave Shaw an up-and-down look. “I don’t know if it’s wise to test out that use-it-or-lose it theory, you know? What if you actually can lose it?”
Shaw’s fingers curled into his palms. “I’m going to make some calls to price out adding another AC unit.”
“Shaw.”
Shaw ignored him and kept walking. Use it or lose it. Right. Like his dam
The thought sent a shudder through him anyway. He tried to shake off his irritation as he made his way to the office. Rivers meant well. The guy thought he was helping, but these types of discussions were off the table. Rivers didn’t get it.
Shaw had tried that road and had ended up getting serious with someone. The one woman he’d dated after the Long Acre shooting had acted as his confidant, had gotten him to open up about all the shit he was going through. Then, when things didn’t work out between them, she’d sold her information to the press.
An unnamed source close to the shooter’s brother, former Olympic hopeful Shaw Miller, says he’s drinking too much, angry, and a loner. Studies show that mental health issues run in families. Joseph Miller, the mastermind behind the Long Acre shooting, was reportedly suffering from…
After reading the article, Shaw had thrown his laptop against the wall. He hadn’t read a news story about himself or touched another woman since.
Sex was amazing. He missed it at an almost primal level. But no matter how good it could be, it wasn’t worth risking feeling that exposed again, that…violated.
Rivers didn’t get it. He couldn’t.
No one could know what it felt like to be stripped down and no longer seen as an actual person but only as a news headline, a sensational sound bite to be sold and collectively hated. To be shamed. A name to be thrown around the dinner table and judged.
Mass murderer’s brother.
Fallen Olympic hopeful.
Shaw Miller was now just a name on endless web pages. A cautionary tale. A common enemy.
He didn’t get to meet a pretty woman at a bar and ask her out. He didn’t get to want the things normal people wanted. That life had been stolen the day his brother had ended all those others.