Superman: Dawnbreaker (DC Icons #4)(51)

“I’m worried about you,” Clark said. “You weren’t at school. And you’ve barely answered my texts. And now I see your eye…” Clark trailed off, trying to figure out the best way to reach his friend. He didn’t want to push Bryan so far that he closed himself off completely. But at the same time, Clark wasn’t going to just turn around and leave.

Bryan stood up and motioned for Clark to take his spot at the bench. “If you’re gonna be here, you might as well work in.”

Clark saw his chance. “Sure, I’ll lift with you.” He walked closer to the bench, stretching out his arms. He didn’t need to stretch, of course, but he’d seen so many others do it inside weight rooms, he assumed it made him appear more normal.

“Want me to take some of this weight off?” Bryan asked.

Clark shook his head. “Let me give it a try.”

After Bryan stepped away, Clark lay down on the bench. He pushed the bar off the rack and began a slow, laborious-looking set. Ever since freshman football, he’d felt silly inside a gym. Truth was, Bryan could put a half dozen more plates on either side and Clark still wouldn’t break a sweat. Which turned his whole gym experience into nothing more than a performance. He strained whenever it seemed like an appropriate time to strain. He let out little grunts whenever it was an appropriate time to grunt. When he was done with his ten reps, he reracked the bar and sat up.

“Ten,” Bryan said. “Not bad.”

Clark stood up, stretching some more. “I guess I sort of remember how to do this.”

As they each hefted a third forty-five-pound plate onto either end of the bar, Bryan cleared his throat. “I know that what happened last night sucked. But it’s all under control, okay? We’re not going to let some small-time company like Wesco take any of our market share. You’ll see.”

“We?” Clark said, moving out of Bryan’s way. “When did that happen?”

Bryan sat down and lined up his hands. “You know what I mean.”

Clark wished Lana were here, too. She’d know what to make of this sudden shift in Bryan’s demeanor. But she was spending the afternoon on the south side of Smallville, trying to get a better sense of how big the upcoming protest might be and how the organizers planned to publicize the fact that people had gone missing from their community.

Bryan hoisted the bar off the rack and did a quick set of ten, then reracked the bar and sat up. “Anyway, things are getting a little better at home,” he said. “I feel like my dad’s treating me different now.”

“Really? How?”

Bryan shrugged. “He said we’re at an important crossroads as a company. And he needs me.”

“He ‘needs’ you,” Clark repeated. “And what does that mean?”

Bryan only gave a shrug, though, and started in on his next set.

Over the next fifteen minutes or so, they continued adding weight to the bar, and Bryan met every challenge. Clark was genuinely impressed. But there was something gnawing at him about this display of strength. Something that didn’t add up.

When Bryan put a fifth plate on, Clark knew he had to fight his competitive instincts and bow out gracefully. “That’s it for me, man. I’ve hit my limit.”

“Yeah?” Bryan asked.

“Yeah, you got me.” Clark moved into a spotting position. He looked at all the weight on the bar, thinking there was no way Bryan would be able to lift it. Clark would have to be ready to help.

Bryan lay on the bench, stretched his pectoral muscles, and took a series of yoga-style breaths while working out the position of his hands. He then let out a deep growl as he hoisted the bowing bar and slowly brought it down to his chest. Both arms trembled as he inched the tremendous weight back up, iron plates rattling, his face pinched in concentration. When he got the bar to its high point, he locked his elbows and guided it back onto the rack, where it clattered into place.

A few serious-looking weight lifters who had stopped to watch nodded their approval. One guy hooted. A proud-looking Bryan saluted them as he sat up, sucking air. He turned to Clark. “New personal high.”

“Impressive.” Clark gave Bryan a minute to towel off before addressing the elephant in the room. “But you and I both know people don’t improve that quickly on their own.” He left off there, without saying the word steroids, hoping Bryan would address it himself. But he didn’t. He just walked over to the drinking fountain and took a long sip.

“Bryan?” Clark tried again.

This time Bryan turned to look at Clark. “I don’t want to play it safe anymore. That’s gotten me nowhere.” He paused for a few seconds, shaking his head. “Do you want to know why I finished the year at Smallville High?”

“Yeah,” Clark answered. “Of course.”

“It’s not because I got kicked out, like everyone here seems to think. It’s because a few close friends at my boarding school started gambling in the city. Like, a lot. At these super-shady places. I went with them a few times. I’ve always been good with numbers, and it was no different when I sat down at the poker table. Soon as I learned the rules, I started making money. And it freaked me out. Not because I was scared of getting in trouble. I was scared by how much I liked beating people. I couldn’t stop, so I transferred here. Because it was safe.”