As predicted, the three new guys snorted because, of course, professional athletes would have no reason to follow a modified workout routine. They had no fucking idea what was coming.
The guys spread out in a long line extending from one side of the room to the other. In front of them, roughly thirty-five other exercisers took their places next to their own mats and bottles of water. Later, they would all grab an aerobics step for the part of the class that truly separated the women from the men.
“All right, everyone. We’re going to start with some light stretching and warm-up,” Mrs. Porth said. The speakers began to play a quiet, calming music, like the kind you’d hear in a day spa. “Let’s get those arms loosened up with some nice, easy shoulder shrugs . . . That’s it. Now start to roll them back and forward . . . Very good. Now some arm circles.”
Colton spread his arms out wide and smacked hands with Felix. Colton gave him a sharp look, and Felix inched sideways with a quiet Sorry.
“Okay, everyone,” Mrs. Porth said. “Now for some easy yoga poses to get those legs nice and ready to work.”
Colton followed her instructions into goddess pose and several others. A moment later, he looked up from his mat to a disturbing sight. “Dude, get your downward dong out of my face.”
“Isn’t it called downward dog?” Brad whispered back, his face upside down between his legs.
“Not when you do it.”
Brad crab-crawled a few inches away.
“Okay, everyone, excellent job,” Mrs. Porth said. “Now, everyone grab your step and place it in front of you. Remember that you can adjust it to whatever height is most comfortable for you.”
Mrs. Porth had the highest setting.
A moment later, Jake groaned. “Shit, you didn’t tell me it would be this hard.”
“What did you expect?” Colton snorted. “This is the Jazzercise generation. They’ve been kicking asses in leotards since the dawn of MTV.”
“So what time is the meeting with the label?” Noah grunted.
“Three.”
“You worried?”
Colton glanced over quickly. Did they suspect something? “No. Why would I be worried?”
Noah shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, just that you’ve never had a meeting like this since I’ve known you.”
“It’s just a formality,” he said, adopting the no big deal attitude he’d perfected at ten years old. No one wanted to see him worried. Or mad. Or anything other than the carefree, aw-shucks playboy who had sold millions of records around the world.
Because Colton Wheeler had one job, and one job only. To make other people happy.
Even if it killed him.
CHAPTER TWO
“Your honor, may I approach?”
Gretchen Winthrop fought to keep her tone neutral as she waited for the federal judge to respond to her request. Inside, however, she was raging. It never ended, the indignities that her clients were forced to suffer. The judge nodded and waved his fingers in an annoyed make it quick way, and both she and the attorney for the government left their respective tables. The judge looked down from his desk, hand over the microphone that recorded the deportation proceedings of the Memphis Immigration Court.
“Your honor, my client is ill. She has a fever of 102 degrees and can barely sit up.”
Judge Wilford raised an eyebrow and looked at Assistant U.S. Attorney Justin McQuistan. “It would seem Ms. Winthrop is correct. Why is the defendant in court sick?”
“Your honor, it is my understanding that—”
Gretchen cut him off. “My client cannot possibly be expected to contribute to her own hearing without proper healthcare. I request a postponement until Ms. Fuentes can be treated properly.”
The judge waved them back to their tables. A moment later, he spoke into the record. “The court grants defendant’s request for a postponement pending proper medical treatment for Ms. Fuentes.”
He banged the gavel, and Gretchen let out the first full breath in over a half hour. She sat down next to her client, Carla, a fifty-six-year-old woman who’d crossed the southern border with her parents at the age of seventeen. Carla’s parents had already been deported, and the court had denied her request to stay even though she’d lived in the United States nearly all her life. But she had children now. And grandchildren. A boy and a girl, both under three. An American family who loved and needed her.
Gretchen squeezed her hand. “It’s going to be okay. A postponement is good. We’re going to get you healed up, and I will bring you proper clothes and shoes.”