Grace for Drowning(24)

Tony clicked his fingers next to my head. "Earth to Logan. Earth to Logan. This is ground control, do you copy?"

Jesus Christ, pull yourself together.

"Sorry," I said, giving the bag he was holding a few more cursory punches. "I need a minute."

He chewed his cheek for a few seconds. "Alright, but just one. Don't want your muscles coolin' down."

I nodded and walked toward Grace. "You made it."

She flashed an embarrassed little smile. "Only just. I nearly talked myself out of it about a hundred times."

"But you didn't."

"I guess not," she said with a shrug. In one hand she held a plastic bag, which she offered to me. "These are for you."

Inside was a clear container stacked high with cookies. "Oh wow, you didn't have to do this."

She shrugged. "You told me to get back in the kitchen, so I did. It actually felt really good to be back there. Besides, I wanted to make you something. Consider it a peace offering." She drew a purposeful breath. "I do appreciate what you're trying to do, Logan. I'm still not sure I understand it, but I appreciate it."

"Well I appreciate these." I glanced over my shoulder. "Just don't tell Tony or he'll have my balls. A big box of carbs doesn't really fit the training diet."

"What if I told you I packed them full of canned tuna?"

I laughed. "Disgusting, but that might do the trick."

I cracked the lid and a whiff of freshly baked sugar hit my nose. "Christ, these smell fucking amazing."

"Old family recipe." She clapped and then gave a mock salute. "Anyway, Sergeant Thomas reporting for duty."

I couldn't help but grin. "Sergeant already, hey?"

"What can I say? The general liked the cut of my jib."

"Then the 'general' sounds like he belongs in the navy, but I'll let that slide. Anyway, for now, I just want you to work up a sweat on one of the machines over there," I nodded to the corner that held the meager collection of cardio equipment. "The goal is mainly to get your endorphins flowing and burn up as much energy as possible. You'll be amazed how easy it is to fall asleep later if you just tire yourself out."

The skeptical look on her face said that she didn't believe me. I couldn't blame her. Sleep was always one of the strongest motivators for my drinking. When you're desperately trying to blot things out, but all you do is lie awake at night with a racing mind, drinking yourself into oblivion starts to feel like your only option. Finding a way to get to sleep unassisted was going to be crucial to Grace's sobriety.

"Once I'm done with my session, I'll come run you through some other activities."

"Okay."

She gazed at the machines dubiously for a few seconds then shrugged and headed for the bike. Over the next half an hour, I did my best to ignore her. Tony had me interval training, alternating sprints and jogs along the length of the gym, and it wasn't long before all I could think about was the fire in my lungs. But even so, I couldn't help but sneak a peek every now and again. Grace appeared to be taking my request very seriously. She wasn't just idly peddling her way toward being slightly puffed. Sweat was running down the back of her neck as her legs pumped in a furious rhythm. She looked like a woman on a mission. Or perhaps a woman being chased.

When my body could take no more, I collapsed on one of the mats. "Good stuff," Tony said. "I'll see ya in an hour and we'll do some grappling."

I nodded, unable to summon the breath to speak, and then closed my eyes. My sessions often ended this way. People don't understand the conditioning required to be a professional fighter. They think that since we're not running lengths of a football field it's somehow all about strength, but the truth is, there are few things more tiring than trying to go five rounds in the ring. Each strike uses your entire body. It's an explosion of energy from every muscle at once. Your heart and lungs need to be in premium shape to stand any kind of chance.

A minute later, I felt another weight join me on the mat.

"You look how I feel," wheezed Grace.

"So, not good then?"

"I think I'm dying," she replied.

I choked out a laugh. "Welcome to the club."

She spent a few seconds trying to catch her breath. "You do this every day?"

"Yep. Several times usually."

"Christ. You must be some kind of masochist."

"You get used to it."

She gave a disbelieving little snort. "Well, thanks for reminding me why I never exercise."

I rolled to face her and propped myself up on my elbow. "Seriously? Not at all?"

"Nope. I tend to prefer activities that don't make me want to violently throw up. Why is that so hard to believe?"