“I will,” I say, then step back into the noise.
Beck is exactly where he promised he’d be, pretending he hasn’t been watching the door.
He lifts a brow. “You cry?”
“Shut up,” I mutter, but it’s weaker than usual.
Beck grins. “So…better?”
I hesitate. Then, honestly, “A little.”
Beck nods like that’s enough. “Good. Now touch a barbell so the universe doesn’t think you quit.”
I roll my eyes, but I move toward an empty bench.
I don’t load much—just enough to feel the weight, the ritual, the familiarity. Beck spots without making a thing of it.
First rep feels like coming home.
Second feels like grief.
Because my body remembers what it used to do.
And my brain remembers what I might lose.
I finish a small set, sit up, and wipe sweat from my forehead.
My phone buzzes on the floor beside the bench.
Pops: You around today?
My chest tightens instantly.
yeah. you good?
Three dots.
Then:
Pops: Need a ride somewhere. Just you.
My stomach drops.
I glance at Beck. He clocks my face shift immediately.
“What?” he asks.
I stand slowly, knee stiff. “Gotta go.”
Beck’s expression sobers. “Everything okay?”
I swallow. “Yeah. Family stuff.”
Beck nods once, no questions, just understanding. “Text me. And for fuck’s sake, reply to the group chat so Carter will shut up.”
“I will,” I lie, then limp out of the weight room with my heart thudding too hard.
—
