And then they’re gone, and I’m alone in the gym. The place feels emptier now, the occasional clang of weights from somewhere deeper in the facility echoing through the space.
I pull out my phone, ignoring the notifications from Instagram and texts from people who don’t matter right now. My thumb hovers over the message icon. I should text Chey. Call her. Something. But what do I say?
I start typing:
Me:Hey, can we talk about Christmas?
Delete.
Me:I miss you. I didn’t mean what I said.
Delete.
Me:I think I’m falling in love with you, and it scares the heck out of me.
I stare at those words for a long moment, my heart racing so fast I can feel it pounding in my ears. Then, character by character, I delete that too.
My palms are sweaty, my mouth is dry, and my chest is tight.
Is this what panic feels like?
I’ve never panicked before a game, never felt this kind of pressure on the ice. But this—the thought of putting myself out there again, of telling Cheyenne how I really feel, of risking her rejection—is terrifying in a way I don’t know how to handle.
“Please don’t go back to Garrett,” I whisper to the empty gym, the words escaping before I can stop them.
The sound of my voice, raw and unguarded, startles me. I’ve never heard myself sound like that before.
Everything I’ve kept locked away is finally spilling out.
I’m falling in love with Cheyenne.
And I have no idea what to do about it.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Cheyenne
OPEN POSITION: Senior Market Analyst – Applications Due Friday
The email subject line makes me freeze, my fingers hovering above the keyboard. I adjust my posture in the ergonomic chair that never quite feels right and take a sip of my now-cold coffee, grimacing at the bitter taste.
This is supposed to bethepromotion. The big title. The shiny badge of honor Garrett used to say Ineeded.“People respect titles, Chey. Senior Analyst sounds betterthan just Analyst.”
I can still picture the way he’d swoop in as I was talking about my job at parties, “clarifying” that I wason track for management.As if what I already was ... wasn’t enough.
“You should apply for that.”
I startle at the voice, looking up to find my boss Marissa perched on the edge of my desk with her ever-present coffee mug—today’s reads:I’m not bossy, I’m the boss.
“The senior analyst position,” she continues, nodding toward my screen with a smile. “I’d love to see your application by Friday. You’re one of our strongest candidates.”
“Oh, thanks for thinking of me.” The words come out automatically.
Marissa tilts her head, her dark eyes studying me. “You don’t seem excited. I thought this was your goal.”
“It is. Well ... I mean ... it was.” I press my lips together. “I just ... I’m a little surprised it’s open already.”
That’s not it, though. Not even close.
