I pace between the weight racks and run my hand through my hair for the millionth time today. It’s probably standing up in all directions by now, but I couldn’t care less. My appearance is the last thing on my mind.
“You don’t miss yourfriendlike this,” I say aloud, the truth of it settling heavy and undeniable in my chest.
Friends don’t occupy your every waking thought.
Friends don’t make your heart race just by existing.
Friends don’t leave you staring at your phone at midnight, drafting and deleting messages because you can’t find the right words to tell them how completely they’ve turned your world upside down.
“You look like crap, Williamston.”
I turn to see Cam bench pressing what looks like the weight of a small car, his face red with exertion. I hadn’t even noticed him when I walked in.
A quick scan of the gym reveals I’m not as alone as I thought.
Blaze is on a mat in the corner, stretching through what looks like a mobility routine. Kade sits on a bench nearby, methodically organizing the contents of his gym bag like he’s preparing for some kind of inspection.
Great. An audience for my meltdown.
“Thanks,” I mutter, forcing myself to walk over instead of just turning around and leaving. “You always know just what to say to make a guy feel better.”
Cam grunts as he completes another rep. “So, what’s going on?”
I grab a free weight from the rack, then set it back down without doing anything with it. My movements feel jerky, disconnected, like my body and brain aren’t quite in sync.
“I messed up,” I admit. “With Cheyenne.”
That gets everyone’s attention. Blaze pauses mid-stretch, looking over with raised eyebrows. Kade stops his meticulous organizing. Even Cam sets the barbell back on its rack and sits up.
“What happened?” Blaze asks, abandoning his mat to join us. “I thought things were going well after you gave her that bracelet.”
I drop onto a bench, elbows on my knees, staring at the floor. “They were. I think. And then at breakfast on Christmas morning, my dad made some joke about that stupid article, about us shopping for rings, and everyone was looking at us, and I just...” I trail off, the shame of it washing over me again.
“You just what?” Kade asks.
“I panicked. Told everyone we were ‘just friends.’” I make air quotes around the words, hating them more each time I repeat them. “And then later, when I tried to talk to her about it, her ex kept texting her. Garrett’s trying to get her back.”
“The tech bro?” Cam asks, wiping his face with a towel.
“Yeah. That one.” I stand up again, too restless to stay seated. “And when I saw his text, I froze. Again. Told her she wasimportant to me ‘as a friend.’ A really good friend.” I smack the side of a weight rack, the metal clanging loudly in the quiet gym. “What is wrong with me?”
“You’re scared,” Kade says simply.
I look at him, ready to deny it, but the words die in my throat. He’s right.
“You’ve never had to work for it before,” Cam adds. “Women usually fall at your feet. You post a shirtless pic on Instagram and get a thousand marriage proposals. But this one matters—and you don’t know what to do with that.”
“It’s not that simple,” I argue, but it sounds weak even to my own ears.
“You’re Dylan Williamston,” Cam continues, “the guy who dates models and walks away without looking back. Except now you can’t walk away, and it’s freaking you out.”
He’s right again.
“But she might go back to him,” I say, my voice cracking on the last word. “To Garrett. They always get back together.”
“So, you’re just going to give up on her?” Blaze asks. “Without even trying? That’s not the Dylan I know.”
“Itried,” I protest. “I gave her the bracelet. The book. I almost kissed her on Christmas Eve, but then—”
