I cut through Lincoln Park on the return stretch because it shaved off a few blocks and gave me a break from traffic. The paths were mostly clear, just a few dedicated runners and early morning dog walkers scattered through the open space.
That's when I saw him.
Troy was about fifty yards ahead, crouched near one of the benches with a dog climbing all over him. A Labrador, young and badly behaved, shoving a tennis ball into Troy's hands while its tail whipped back and forth hard enough to throw off its own balance. Troy was laughing, which was still enough of a rare enough thing that it stopped me cold.
A man stood nearby holding the leash. Around Troy's age, maybe a little older, dressed in running gear that looked expensive and barely used. Attractive in a way that looked easy and effortless and completely unearned. He was smiling too, saying words I couldn't catch from fifty yards away but clearly enjoying whatever was being said back to him.
The dog dropped the ball at Troy's feet. Troy threw it across the grass and the retriever took off like a shot. Troy stood up and wiped his hands on his jeans, still smiling, and said something to the stranger that made him laugh.
I stopped running.
I told myself I was just catching my breath. That I'd been pushing hard and needed a minute. But that was bullshit and I knew it.
I was watching Troy smile at a stranger in a public park and feeling anger rise hot and irrational in my chest like I had any right to it.
The dog came back with the ball and Troy threw it again. The stranger said something and Troy responded, his body language open and relaxed in a way it never was around me. No tension pulling at his shoulders. No defensive edge to the set of his jaw. Just a man having a perfectly ordinary conversation with another man about a dog.
And I wanted to be the one standing there. Wanted that version of him turned on me instead of some random guy who happened to have a retriever and a free Saturday morning.
This wasn't residual discomfort from yesterday. This was jealousy, immediate and territorial and completely without justification. I had no claim on Troy. No right to care who he talked to or smiled at or threw tennis balls for. He wasn't mine in any way that made what I was feeling anything other than a problem.
But logic didn't make the feeling go away. It just sat there in my chest, ugly and insistent, making it hard to breathe.
The dog came back and this time Troy caught it mid-jump, laughing as it tried to lick his face. The stranger moved closer to grab the leash and said something that made Troy grin, and I watched the whole exchange like I was watching it through glass from the wrong side.
Troy looked happy.
That landed harder than the jealousy. The knowledge that I was the person he kept his guard up around. That a stranger with a badly trained dog got the easy version while I got the one who turned everything into a fight and flinched away from anything that got too close.
Troy threw the ball one more time. Then he turned his head and saw me standing on the path like an idiot, pretending to stretch but obviously just standing there watching him.
The smile didn't disappear entirely. It just changed, the warmth in it cooling a few degrees as the walls came back up. The careful distance he kept around me resettled into place like armor he'd had long enough to wear without thinking.
That made everything worse.
He said something to the stranger and started walking over. The stranger glanced my way and gave a friendly wave that I returned out of reflex more than goodwill.
“Didn't know this route came with an audience,” Troy said when he reached me. His tone was dry. Not hostile yet, but pointed enough to sting.
“Wasn't looking for one. Just saw you from the path.”
“And decided standing there staring was the move.”
“I stopped to catch my breath.”
“Right.” He looked me over like he was assessing a suspect. “For the record, he owns a labrador. She's the one who's dangerous, not him.”
The stranger had caught up to the dog and was heading our way. Troy glanced back and the easy warmth returned just enough that I felt the absence of it when he turned back to me.
“Declan, this is Mark. Mark, this is Declan.” He paused a beat. “Mark's got a dog with better social skills than most people I know.”
“She's a sucker for anyone who'll throw the ball more than once,” Mark said with an uncomplicated smile. He offered his hand and I shook it because not doing so would've been rude in a way that was hard to explain. “You a runner too?”
“Most mornings.”
“Nice. I usually stick to the gym but Bailey needs the exercise more than I do.” He scratched the dog behind the ears. “You two know each other from the neighborhood?”
“He's my stepfather,” Troy said, without any particular inflection.
