“Enjoy it,” Matt says. “Because you’re going home with Mom and Dad after the holiday. I told them what’s going on, and they’re very concerned about your well-being.”
A scream lodges in my throat; I won’t give his smug ass the satisfaction.
“Like I’d expect anything else from you. You’re such a brown-nosing golden boy, running to Mommy and Daddy for approval and support, like you have ourentirelives. I hope their approval is worth it, because after today, you no longer have a sister.” I nod toward the doorway before turning on my heel to face the bars. “Don’t let the door hit your treacherous ass on the way out.”
Then I jump and catch the bar, immersing myself in my routine. If he says anything more, I don’t hear it, using my well-honed skills to block out noise and lose myself in my gymnastics.
Zach still isn’t answering my calls when I leave the gym. Of everything falling apart in my life right now, I can try to salvage my relationship with him. It’s also what I need to fix most. Returning to the gym brought me purpose, but my happiness these last few months stemmed from sharing my life with Zach.
It’s pouring rain when I reach his apartment. My legs ache from the rigorous workout, but still, I sprint from my car to his building, taking two steps at a time to his floor. I knock urgently on his door, five loud rasps before I hear him call, “Hold on!”
The door unlatches and swings open, revealing Zach Briggs, shirtless in gray sweatpants.Fuck me.
“Hi,” I say, wiping rainwater from my brow. “I tried calling.”
Zach shakes his hair, water droplets falling to the floor. “I was in the shower.”
I raise an eyebrow. “All night?”
“My phone was off.”
The stiff conversation hurts, especially when I’m hit with memories of every other time I was in this apartment—joking, laughing, swapping stories, tangling bodies together, sleeping with his arm draped over my waist, pulled snugly against him. A sharp pain settles into the center of my chest at the idea of never having another moment like that.
“Can I come in? I want… I need to talk to you.”
Zach steps back, nudging the door open wider. He walks to the main room instead of the game room where we’d spent most of our time.Message received. Zach sits on one end of the couch,remaining shirtless. He can’t be this oblivious to how seeing him half-naked affects me?
I take the opposite end of the couch, not wanting to cross any boundary he’s setting. No matter how much I want his arms around me, I can’t lose sight of the reason I’m here. I’ve hid from him for too long. He deserves the truth.
“What do you want to talk about?” Zach asks after an extended silence.
I tuck hair behind my ear. “I couldn’t sleep last night, knowing I hurt you. I want to fix it.”
“There’s only one way you can do that.” He shifts in his seat. “I was fine waiting until you were ready, but then I realized you don’t trust me. I’m starting to think you never will.”
I lean forward, wishing Zach was close enough for me to reassure him. “That’s not the reason. I promise it’s not. I’ve wanted to tell you, but I’m terrified. I’ve never had this conversation before. I wanted to be sure we were on the same page… but then I cared too much, and your opinion has the power to break me.”
Zach’s fingers dance across the back of the couch, but he meets my gaze. “Finley, Iloveyou. That means I’m here, I have your back. I’d rather break my arm than hurt you.”
The words meant to soothe remind me of everything I stand to lose if Zach Briggs leaves my life. He’s the rarest of rare—kind, funny, loyal, handsome, talented. I’m one of the lucky few who find a quality man and aren't too oblivious to realize it. Zach’s the brave one, putting his heart on the line without confirmation I’ll handle it with care. Meanwhile, I keep mine wrapped in barbed wire to remain safe.
I don’t deserve you. I think the words but don’t say them because it’d be unfair. He’d try to reassure me, and this conversation would take an entirely different turn.
Instead, I say, “I’m going to tell you everything, but I need you to promise not to say anything until I finish. Is that okay?”
Zach lifts one shoulder. “Fine.”
I take a deep breath, readying myself to tell the entire story to someone for the first time. “Three years ago, I was training for the Olympics. Everything was fantastic. I’d been performing my routines consistently in competitions. My skills on beam—my best event—were in high demand. The stars were aligning. I thought I’d make the Olympic team.
“But I started to feel different. Not for the first time, but it was worse than before. My parents always said I had a hard time regulating my emotions, not realizing it was a condition I couldn’t control.
“I don’t know what triggered it or why the change in my mood was more severe than other times in my life, maybe stress or getting older. I didn’t want to get out of bed, my body felt drained—both physically and emotionally. I struggled to sleep, and sometimes I had these really scary thoughts.”
I shudder as I remember the sheer terror that I might never climb out of that dark lonely hole. I run a hand down my face, surprised it comes away wet. When did I start crying?
“People could tell something was wrong,” I go on, “but I didn’t know how to explain it, and I wanted to pretend I was fine, so I distanced myself. Sometimes, I didn’t want to do gymnastics, the sport I’ve loved my entire life. It took every ounce of my energy to get through the day. I didn’t have anything left for anyone else.”
Zach pushes to his feet, comes to me, and settles at my side. One hand lands on my knee while the fingers of his other hand brush tears off my cheeks. He doesn’t say anything, giving me time to share my story like I asked.
