In Your Dreams (Blue Heron #4)(30)

He was dying inside, Em knew. She smiled at him and set the treadmill at the lowest speed. Set hers at the same.

“This was probably the hardest part,” she said in a low voice. “Just walking in the doors.”

Kevin didn’t answer. He bumped up the speed a little higher and started jogging.

Em knew he wouldn’t be able to keep that up. Too much, too soon.

Sure enough, he had to lower the speed a minute later. She pretended not to notice and kept walking, though if she were alone, she’d be running at her usual seven miles an hour.

Then she saw Naomi.

The trainer was wearing microshorts and a sports bra. Her arms curved with perfectly defined, elegant muscle, and her stomach was flat and lean but not ripped. Long, tanned, beautiful legs. Her body was perfect. Not unappealingly muscular...just perfect. There was no other word for it.

And evil personified, because her face changed as her gaze stopped on Kevin. Her hands went to her hips, and she sauntered over, slowly, her eyes narrowing.

“What are you doing in my gym?” she asked Kevin, her voice just shy of yelling. “Really. What the f**k are you doing in my gym?”

All around them, people grew quiet.

“How dare you,” Emmaline said. “Back off, Naomi.”

“Is this your man? Are you here to be supportive? Huh?”

Kevin’s face flushed even redder.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Emmaline bit out. “He’s here. He’s taken the first step, so shut up.”

“Oh, how sweet.” Naomi sneered. “Guess she has the balls in the family, huh, fatty?”

It was nearly dead silent now.

“I’m reporting you,” Em said. “You can’t talk to us this way.”

“Is that right? We’ll see, won’t we?”

“Be quiet,” Kevin muttered.

“Yeah,” Em echoed. “Shut up, Naomi.”

“I was talking to you,” he said.

Emmaline stopped walking, then jerked to a run to avoid being thrown off the treadmill.

“You’re disgusting,” Naomi said, her eyes on Kevin. “You know how much fat you’re carrying right now? Slick, yellow, nasty-ass slabs of fat? Oh, wait, you have a big frame, right? You’re a big guy. Is that what you tell people? Is that what she tells you? You have a slow metabolism? Thyroid problem? Bullshit.”

“I do have a thyroid problem,” he mumbled.

“Right. You’re a fat, lazy food addict, and you make me sick. You’ve done this to yourself. You made yourself disgusting.”

“I have an eating disorder,” Kevin said, his voice meek.

“I have an eating disorder,” she mimicked. “No, you don’t. You have no self-control, no self-respect, and you’re lying to yourself. I bet she lies to you, too. ‘I love you just the way you are, honey!’ Right?” Naomi looked around at the other gym members, who were unabashedly staring. “Well, guess what? Everyone here looks at you and thinks you’re grotesque. No one cares about your great sense of humor and beautiful mind.”

“That’s not true! Stop it!” Emmaline yelped.

“Shut up,” Kevin ground out.

He had never said anything like that to her. Ever.

Naomi reached over and pushed the stop button on Kevin’s treadmill. He was drenched in sweat; the seven minutes they’d spent walking just now was more exercise than he’d had in a long time.

“Get out,” she said. “Go home, lard-ass. Order a pizza. Bet you have Domino’s on speed dial.”

Just last night, Em had made a big salad with grilled chicken; Kevin had a huge serving, then called for a pizza. Extra cheese.

Now he just stood there, his head hanging.

“You want to lose weight, lard-ass? It’s not gonna happen from climbing on a treadmill twice a week. You think just walking in this door is enough? It’s not. You may as well not even try.”

“Jesus,” Emmaline breathed. “Honey, let’s go. There are plenty of other—”

“What do I have to do?” Kevin asked.

Naomi smiled. “Every f**king thing I say.”

It went against all the literature. It went against everything her parents had said. Bullying wasn’t supposed to work. Humiliation wasn’t supposed to motivate.

Kevin signed up for a six-month membership with two hours of personal training a day.

“Why?” Emmaline asked as they went to the car. “I don’t get it, Kevin.”

“She told me the truth,” he said. He wouldn’t look at her.

When they got home, he went straight to the bathroom and turned on the shower. A minute later, she heard him crying. It broke her heart, but he wouldn’t unlock the door when she knocked.

He didn’t eat for the rest of the day.

The next day, he wasn’t there when she got home from work. She texted him; he didn’t answer. Around nine, he came in, sweaty and red-faced, a stiff new SweatWorld gym bag in his hand.

“Hey!” she said. “How was it?”

“Good.”

“Um...honey, I’m so glad you’re doing this, but do you think Naomi is the best person to—”

“Yeah. I do. Thanks.”

Three days later, he came home from the gym with a list in his hand and, without further ado, opened their cupboards and began tossing everything into the trash, making disgusted noises as he read labels.