The morning air is crisp, almost biting—having dropped back into the forties last night, despite it being June.
Stupid bipolar Minnesota weather.
I pace back and forth in front of St. Mary’s Hospital. I couldn’t even bring myself to wait in the gym where the temps are climate-controlled. I need to be the first thing Carlie sees when she gets here.
It’s barely dawn, the sky finally exploding into a sea of colors, but sleep is the last thing on my mind. My phone is burning a hole in my pocket—the screen lighting up with notifications I’m too anxious to read.
I thought the first tagged image was bad. There have been more cropping up now, like we were stalked by the goddamn Paparazzi. And one in particular has hit its mark.
It’s clear in the image I have a thing for Carlie—it’s practically written across my face in flashing neon lights.
The whole thing is a nightmare.
Now, there are comments accusing me of abusing my position, of being an ‘eligible bachelor’ who takes advantage of his clients.
What really twists the knife is the way people are talking about Carlie—judging her, making assumptions about her. About us.
So much of it is vile.
If I knew who snapped the pictures and posted them the way they did …
Anger courses through me as I clench my fists at my sides.
To add insult to injury, Carlie is ghosting me.
I don’t know if that means she’s seen the post or if she’s pissed.
I’ve tried calling and texting her, but she hasn’t responded since the last one saying ‘she’ll be here today for sure.’
If she’s seen the posts, I can’t blame her for ignoring me. She must be feeling blindsided by all this. And the stupid part is, it’s my face, my name tied to everything, even though I had nothing to do with it.
It’s like watching a car crash in slow motion, and there’s not a damn thing I can do to stop it.
I glance at my watch.
Carlie’s session is in thirty minutes. I need to talk to her before she walks into a gym buzzing with rumors and stares. Hell, I need to apologize, explain—do something.
Anything.
As I turn to head back inside, a flicker of movement—a flash of red hair—catches my eye. My heart seizes as Carlie approaches me, her pace hesitant.
“Carlie,” I call out, my voice steadier than I feel.
She looks up, almost as if she’s trying extra hard not to trip over her feet. Surprise is etched on her face and I can almost see the walls going up—the defenses she’s putting in place.
Shit. She knows.
“Adam,” she practically whispers, her voice low as she walks up to me.
I swallow hard, wishing like hell I didn’t have to have this discussion. But I hear myself say, “Carlie, we need to talk.”
She nods, as if expecting my opening sentence. “I saw the posts.”
I exhale, feeling the weight of her gaze as my shoulder sag. “I’m so sorry, Carlie. I had no idea someone was taking photos, let alone posting them.”
“It’s getting a lot of attention.” She wraps her arms around herself, looking smaller, more vulnerable. In the movement, I realize she’s not in her workout gear. She ends with, “Not the good kind.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, fighting the urge to reach out and touch her.
She gives me a small, wry smile, her humor peeking through despite the gravity of the situation. “I always thought if I went viral, it’d be for something cool, like rescuing kittens or accidentally starting a flash mob. Not ... this.”
I can’t help but crack a small smile at her attempt to lighten the mood, even though my heart is heavy with guilt. “I know, and it’s all my fault. I should have been more aware. I wasn’t evening thinking about—” I run a hand through my hair, my frustration getting the better of me.
Carlie shakes her head and bites her lip. “It’s not your fault, Adam. But ... I don’t want to be the reason your career suffers. Or your celebrity status, it seems.” A flicker of a smile graces her lips before dying out.
“That’s not going to happen,” I say quickly—too quickly maybe. “I’m not going to let some idiot with a phone dictate who I train or the methods I use. I could tell yoga was going to help—or at least, I thought it would. You’re here to train and I’m going to help you hit your goals. That’s what matters.”
“But the things they’re saying about me ...” her voice wavers and it hits me straight in the center of my chest.
I didn’t realize just how self-conscious she is but it’s right there—in the tears brimming in her eyes.
“They’re just words, Carlie. Hurtful, yes, but they don’t define you. And they certainly aren’t how I see you,” I say, hoping to convey the sincerity I feel.
Her lips twitch again into that small, uncertain smile. “Thank you, Adam. That means a lot.”
I’m about to say more when my phone rings. I glance at the screen—it’s James, my manager. My stomach knots.
“I have to take this. Wait here for me?”
Carlie nods.
As I’m about to step away to answer the call, Carlie, with a slight twinkle in her eye despite the situation, quips, “Hey, if they’re calling to offer you a movie deal for this dramatic saga, remember, I get to play myself. No one else can capture my unique blend of awkwardness and accidental scandal.”
“I’ll make sure to put in a good word for you,” I reply with a wink. Then, I move a few steps away, pressing the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“Hey, Adam. Glad I caught you before your first client,” James’s voice comes through, heavy with concern. “Look, we need to have a discussion. Now, if possible. How soon can you meet me in my office?”
I glance back at Carlie, who’s watching me with an expression caught between concern and her recent attempt at humor.
“Sure. Yeah, I’ll be there in a few minutes,” I respond, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside. “I’m just outside.”
“Great. See you then,” James says before ending the call.
I return to Carlie, trying hard not to read into whatever that was. “I have to go in. But we’re not done here, okay? We’ll figure this out. Together.”
Carlie gives a small, brave nod. “Sure.”
“Good.” I jab an index finger toward her outfit. “Now, go get changed. You can’t workout in that.”
She shakes her head. “Actually, I wasn’t planning on—”
I look at her through lowered eyebrows. “We’re not going to let some assholes dictate things. Right?”
Her eyes widen and she tips her head slightly. “Right.”
I smile, the tension easing slightly as I let slip, “That’s my girl.”
Her mouth drops open slightly.
“I mean…” I backpedal, my forehead creasing and heart galloping away. “Uh, you know what I mean.”
That slip of the tongue felt a bit too personal, but there’s no way to take it back now.
Carlie gives a small laugh, her eyes lighting up for a moment. “Got it, boss. I’ll change.” She hesitates for a second, then adds, “Thanks, Adam. For not giving up on me over all of this.”
I nod, feeling a tightness in my chest.
“Always,” I say, more to myself than to her.
We walk into the hospital together, the conversation and drama still lingering between us. Watching her turn to head towards the locker room, I’m struck by her resilience, and her ability to find humor in the midst of this kind of shit storm. I’ve been in the social media spotlight for years and I don’t think I’d be able to.
Hell, who am I kidding? I haven’t been able to.
I shake my head, then make my way to James’s office, my mind tumbling through so many thoughts. The situation with the viral post, my growing concern for Carlie, and now, this unexpected meeting.
I don’t want to admit it, but having a conversation this early doesn’t bode well.
I knock on James’s office door, bracing for the worst.
“Come in,” he calls.
Entering the office, I find James with the kind of grim expression that says to close the door. So, I do.
The usual pleasantries are absent as he gets straight to the point. “Adam, we’ve got a serious problem.”
I nod, steeling myself. “I know about the posts. I’ve been trying to—”
“Look, we knew your growing status on social media might become a problem, but you’ve always been so good at keeping things professional,” James counters. “It’s not just the posts. It’s the backlash, the comments about you and your new client. The newspaper has already called for a statement and …” he pauses, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s blowing up, and not in a way that paints our program and what we do here in a good light.”
My heart sinks. “I didn’t do anything wrong, James. Neither did Carlie. It was strictly professional, despite how it looks.”
He sighs, leaning back in his chair. “I believe you, Adam. But it’s not about what I think. It’s about public perception. And right now, the perception is damaging. For us, you, and her.”
I clench my fists, feeling a sense of injustice. “So, what happens now?”
James looks at me, his eyes filled with regret. “The board had an emergency meeting this morning and—”
My jaw drops open and I gawk at him.
He sighs heavily, like it pains him to say whatever comes next. “Look, they can’t ignore this kind of negative attention, so they’ve made a decision. I’m sorry, Adam, but we have to let you go.”
The words hit me like a physical blow.
Fired.
Over a misunderstanding—a twisted narrative that couldn’t be further from the truth. “This is unfair, James. You know that. When Jillian—”
He nods, his expression somber. “I know. But what she did never impacted the integrity of our gym. The only ones who witnessed it were the ones paying attention. My hands are tied here, Adam. The board’s decision is final.”
I exhale, anger and disbelief coursing through me. “Fine. I’ll clear out my stuff.”
James’s voice is soft as I leave. “I’m sorry, Adam. For what it’s worth, you’re a great trainer. You’ll end up on your feet. I’m sure another company will snap you up.”
I huff a laugh.
Fuck that.
I’m done.
I don’t even respond, I just shake my head and walk out.
When I hit the hallway, I feel the weight of his words settling on my shoulders. Each step through the gym echoes with a finality I can’t shake off.
I glance around at the familiar equipment, the trainers and clients, all oblivious to the storm raging in my life.
I need to find Carlie so I can fill her in on what’s happened and tell her none of this is her fault.
My gut churns at the thought of how this news might impact her.
I spot her exiting the locker room, now dressed in her workout gear, and a determined look on her face. The sight of her like that, ready to face the world head-on despite everything, strengthens my resolve and breaks my heart all at the same time.
“Carlie,” I call out, my voice betraying a hint of the turmoil inside.
She turns, her expression shifting from determination to concern when she sees my face. “What’s wrong? Did something happen with your manager?”
I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what I need to say. “Yeah, something happened. I …” I blow out a slow breath. “I was just fired.”
Her eyes widen in shock. “Shit. No—”
“Board decision,” I say, feeling a bitter edge creep into my voice. “It’s about the gym’s image—about public perception. They can’t have one of their trainers embroiled in a scandal, even if it’s baseless.”
Carlie’s face falls, her eyes brimming with guilt. “Adam, this is all my fault. If I hadn’t—”
“What are you talking about? No,” I cut her off firmly, taking a step closer. “Don’t you dare blame yourself. This is on me. I’m the one who brought you to yoga. I could have had us leave when we found out it was a class for partners. I should’ve been more careful—more aware of how things might look from the outside.”
Yet, a part of me really wanted that extra time with her.
She looks up at me, her expression tumbling through sadness and resolve. “So, what now? What will you do?”
I shrug, a humorless laugh escaping my lips. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s time for a change. My brother and best friend have been on me to start my own gym. Maybe this is a sign.”
“But ...” Carlie starts, then hesitates, biting her lip.
“But nothing changes for you.” I give her a small smile. “You’re going to keep training, and keep moving forward. The desk will find you a new trainer and if that doesn’t work out, I’ll help you find another way.”
She nods, her eyes glistening. “Thank you, Adam. For everything.”
As we stand there, a silence settles between us, heavy with unspoken words and shared regrets. The gym buzzes around us, unaware of the small, personal drama unfolding in its midst.
Then, my phone vibrates with a message, breaking the moment. I glance at the screen, and my heart sinks further. It’s a text from the gym’s HR department, asking me to turn in my badge and clear out my locker.
I look back at Carlie. “I have to go take care of this. But we’ll talk soon, okay? I promise.”
“Okay.” She nods, a brave front masking her turmoil.
As I turn to leave, the reality of the situation hits me like a wave.
I’m not just leaving a job—I’m stepping away from a chapter of my life that helped me get to where I am now. Instagram would never have been a thing had St. Mary’s not hired me and let me do my thing.
Yet, despite all of that, the hardest part is walking away from someone who has unexpectedly become important to me after just a couple of visits.
How did she manage that?
My steps are heavy as I head to the locker room, each one echoing with the finality of an era ending. I’m not just clearing out a locker—I’m saying goodbye to a part of myself.
As the locker door shuts with a definitive clang, the sound seems to linger in the empty space, echoing the finality of my departure.
In the reverberating silence that follows, a deeper worry gnaws at me.
What’s going to happen to Carlie?
Our paths had just begun to intertwine, and now, with this abrupt exit, I’m haunted by the possibility that I might never see her again.