I lower the weight slowly, set it down harder than I should, and suck in a breath.
I’m not gentle.
I’m not soft.
I’m not Finn, who knows how to touch someone without making them jump.
I’m not Kael, who can control his temper and his body like a machine.
I’m wrong for someone fragile.
And Wren Harper is fragile.
Not weak—there’s a difference.
She’s strong as hell in ways I don’t understand.
But she’s...breakable.
And I break things.
That thought hits me like a punch to the ribs.
I grab a dumbbell—not light, something that requires both hands—and drop onto the bench.I start a chest press, pushing until my muscles scream.
“Focus,” I mutter to myself.“Get your head straight.”
But it won’t straighten.
It keeps looping back to her.
The way she flinched.
The way she couldn’t look any of us in the eye.
The way she ran out of the room like it was on fire.
And the worst part?
I didn’t do anything to fix it.
Didn’t go after her.
Didn’t ask her what was wrong.
Didn’t stop her from walking away.
Because I could tell—I couldfeel—that I was part of the problem.
“You scare her.”
The voice comes from my own fucking head.A memory.A million memories.
My father.
Teachers.
Coaches.
