Chapter 8: Dumbbells and Dreams
The next few days at the gym felt like the start of something strange and new.
Jake woke up early—well, Alex woke him up early with a dumbbell clunk near his head—and they got to work.
"Rule number one," Alex said, tossing Jake a mop. "No more sleeping in past 8 a.m."
Jake groaned. "You should be arrested for that statement."
"Rule number two," Alex added, ignoring him. "If it smells, clean it. If it creaks, oil it. If it's broken—"
"Blame it on a ghost," Jake cut in with a grin.
Alex rolled his eyes, but he smirked.
They started small: sweeping the floors, realigning the weights, scrubbing down every machine until the metal gleamed. Jake took charge of the gym's dusty front desk, writing out silly signs like "Pain is weakness leaving the body—unless it's your spine. Then see a doctor."
Alex found himself laughing more than usual.
But Jake didn't stop there.
"Okay, listen," Jake said one afternoon, tapping away at an old phone Alex loaned him. "We need social media. I'm talking Instagram, TikTok, reels, flexes—angles, my dude!"
Alex looked skeptical. "What does that even mean?"
"It means people don't know you're a badass yet. But that's about to change."
They started uploading simple videos—Jake goofing around with equipment, Alex doing jaw-dropping lifts, short clips of workout tips with awkward voiceovers from Jake that made people laugh.
And it worked.
A few people stopped by the gym, saying they saw it on their feed. A teenage boy asked for tips on bulking up. A woman in her forties wanted a quiet place to train without judgment. Little by little, the gym began to feel alive again.
That night, as Jake collapsed on the sleeping mat, he looked up at the dim ceiling with a tired smile.
He was exhausted.
But he was happy.