“Yeah.” The word is flat, clipped, too quick. His gaze drops to his brace, not me. “I’m fine.”
But the knot in my chest tightens becausefineisn’t true. I can see it in the way he moves.
I nod anyway, swallowing everything else I want to ask. Because pressing won’t help. And if he wanted to tell me the truth, he would.
The timer buzzes, jolting the moment back into motion. I unstrap the ice, movements brisk and efficient. He thanks me—rough, automatic—and I let him go, tablet hugged tight to my chest.
Only after the door shuts behind him do I let my smile drop, the ache I’ve been hiding curling sharp and low.
I pack up slower than usual, trying to stretch the minutes until I don’t feel raw anymore. My schedule’s light today with the team on the road, so there’s nothing left but the empty training room and my own thoughts.
Which is dangerous.
At lunch I check my phone. I have a few texts, including one from Kristy.
Wine tonight? At my place?
I almost say no—I’m not exactly in sparkling-company mode—but I cave. Better her than being alone with my brain.
Another text is from Erin:
Reminder for the bake sale tomorrow – 3:30 to 5 in the cafeteria if you can make it!
I smile despite myself. After the last several days, the idea of small talk and fluorescent lights feels like too much. But I promised Maya. And maybe showing up, even briefly, will be a good distraction.
The hours crawl. I keep checking my phone like something might change, like he might suddenly explain. He doesn’t. By the time evening comes, I’m too restless to stay home, so I grab my keys and head to Kristy’s.
Her apartment smells like sage and candle wax when I step inside, the stem of a glass already waiting on the counter for me. Kristy doesn’t waste time.
“Okay. What gives? You look like somebody swapped your coffee for decaf.”
I blink. “I don’t—”
“Don’t even start. Last week you had that glow,” she says as she pours. “Today, you’re chewing your lip like it owes you money. What happened?”
The knot in my chest tightens. I sink onto a stool, fingers circling the glass.
“He canceled.”
Kristy blinks. “Wait. Your mystery guy?”
I nod. “We were supposed to have dinner last night. But then he sent me a text saying it wasn’t a good idea.”
Her brows shoot up. “That’s vague. And cowardly.”
The words land heavy. I take a sip of wine, stalling.
Kristy leans her elbows on the counter, eyes sharp but soft. “Do you want me to be your friend or your filter?”
“Both,” I say with a sigh.
“Okay.” She tilts her head. “Don’t go chasing for answers he isn’t ready to give. If he cares, he’ll show you. If he doesn’t, at least you’ll know.”
I nod, but the ache doesn’t ease. Her certainty makes it sound simple. Black and white. But my chest feels anything but. I want answers.
I keep wondering what happened to the man who let his guard down with me, who woke up in my bed. Because the man I saw today felt like a stranger.
Kristy doesn’t press. She just gives my hand a quick squeeze, like she knows I’m not ready to say more, and lets the silence settle.
