He claps my shoulder like we’re sharing some private joke, except I am not in on it.
“What I will tell you, though, is that I have no problem stirring the pot a bit,” he says with an evil cackle.
What the fuck? I just stand there, confused.
Even still, it’s easy talking to Theo like this. He’s got that rare mix of dry sarcasm and quiet warmth. There’s no pressure to fill the space. He’s fine with silence, and I’ve grown to like that. I spot for him next, watching the smooth line of movement as he presses the bar. The tattoos on his forearms flex with each rep, dark ink shifting across skin.
He racks the bar, breathes out through his nose, and gives me a nod—the universal gym signal foryour turn.I drop back onto the bench and grab the bar again.
I finish my set and sit up, wiping sweat from my forehead. Theo’s scrolling his phone, thumb moving fast. He pauses, stilling completely, and his expression changes. His brows pull together, mouth tightening.
“What’s up?” I ask, reaching for my water.
He doesn’t look up right away. “Just—” He shakes his head a little, thumb hovering over the screen. “Someone followed the shop account. Haven’t seen the name in a long time.”
“How long?”
“Ten years,” he grunts after a second, then, “and two months.”
I whistle low. “That’s… oddly specific.”
“Yeah.” He locks the screen and tucks the phone into his pocket. His tone goes back to casual, but there’s something strained about it now. “Just didn’t expect it.”
We move through the rest of the set in companionable quiet. Between the thump of music and the steady rhythm of breathing, it’s easy to fall into that meditative headspace that lifting gives me.
When we finish, he wipes his hands and grabs his water again. “You and Gabe doing good?”
I look around the gym, it’s not exactly private. I gesture toward the back office, and he follows.
I drop into the chair, arms crossed, trying to sort through my thoughts. Gabe said I should talk to someone, and I wantto, I just don’t know where to start. Theo leans against the wall instead of sitting. Neither of us says anything. The silence stretches until it feels like a weight on my chest. Then it all comes out, and I tell him about Gabe, the lake, everything since.
“How’s he doing?” he asks softly.
“He’s… okay,” I manage. “He’s working through it. Therapy seems to be helping.”
Theo nods, eyes laser-focused on me. “And how are you doing?”
“I keep seeing it.” I exhale deeply. “The moment he came home, the vacant look in his eyes.” My voice cracks. “It’s like my brain can’t stop replaying it. Over and over. And I keep thinking… I should’ve noticed. I should’ve known something was wrong.”
Theo doesn’t interrupt. He doesn’t shift or fidget. He listens.
“I missed it,” I whisper.
Theo pushes off the wall and comes closer.
“You love him,” he says quietly. “But you’re not psychic.”
“I live with him,” I snap without meaning to. “We sleep in the same bed. I see him every fucking day. How did I not”—my breath hitches—“how did I not see he was struggling that badly?”
Theo lowers himself into the chair opposite me. “Because people who are hurting hide it, Noah. Especially the kind who don’t want to worry the people they love.”
I shut my eyes. “I keep waking up at night, checking if he’s breathing.”
“You’re afraid,” Theo says. “I think that’s probably a normal reaction.”
I let out a strained laugh and scrub a hand over my face. “You’re making it sound reasonable.”
“It is reasonable.” His voice softens even more. “You could have lost someone you love.”
