Page 44 of Whispered Promises

Right?

Scowling, I shake out my arms, needing to expel the tension before I see her. It still feels delicate, this connection between us, and I don’t want her to see the ugly parts of me.

Bouncing on the balls of my feet, my shoulders roll back, and I pivot around the bag, leading with my left foot and falling into the familiar routine.

Jab. Jab. Cross. Squat. Move.

Repeat.

Awareness trickles down my spine, and it has me freezing. Dropping my aching arms to my sides, I turn. My eyes immediately lock on Rosy. She’s here and already on the treadmill for her walk.

I was so consumed with punching out my aggression, I missed the time. Glancing, I see she’s only ten minutes into her session. Good. Enough time for me to have her alone.

Ripping off the gloves, I grab the towel and scrub the sweat trailing down my face, and pick up the rest of my shit, dropping them on the bench next to the machines.

“Nate, hi. You looked…focused on punching things,” she says, watching me as I step onto the machine next to her. Her pace is brisk, the pulse in her neck thundering, and a slight sheen of sweat coats the base of her throat.

Just like that, the fucking jittery angst beneath my skin disappears. This is what they wouldn’t get: why I need her. She’s the balm that soothes my burns, the cool water to my parched mouth.

No longer can I survive without her.

“It helps to work out the day. Refocus my mind,” I reply, wanting to keep her talking so I can listen to the sound of her voice. It’s not overly loud or abrasive.

More soft, subtle.

But fuck, it’s hard to concentrate past the vision of her glistening skin.

“That’s usually the same for me with walking. Just helps to quiet my brain a little.” She shrugs, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Is it loud?”

Her mouth opens, then snaps shut, and her brows furrow. I don’t want her to feel she has to filter her words with me; hopefully she’s just trying to pick the words that fit.

“No one's ever asked that,” she eventually says with a huff. Her exhale is so sharp that the hair curling around her face blows out. “It’s not…loud. More busy. Sometimes it’s just thoughts and feelings on repeat or moving around quickly. Like trying to catch a fly flitting around too fast to be able to hold it. When I’m more anxious, the thoughts are like being in a cafe. All jumbled on top of each other, and I’m trying to listen to everything at once.”

Her smile is self-deprecating. I know that look well and hate it on her.

“Sounds exhausting. Only walking helps?”

“No, there are other things. Kind of varies, really. Sometimes talking the thoughts out, getting enough sleep, quiet time by myself…loads of stuff, but it’s a bit boring for you to listen to.” Her laugh is unsure, and she looks down, watching the stats on her machine.

“I want to know. I want to help make life easier for you.” Feels vulnerable saying that. My heart pauses, waiting for her to shut me down and push me out. I glance sideways at her; she’s looking at me, a tiny crease between her eyebrows.

“That’s sweet…” She turns off her machine and steps off. Why the fuck does she look unsure, though?

She can’t be backing off; I’ll just take the words back.

“I’ve not had someone care enough to get to know me beyond anything surface level. I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know what to say or not say. What are the boundaries? What if I say too much, and it puts you off? What if I don’t say enough, and you think I’m too blunt?”

Crowding her space, I grip her chin, lifting it so our eyes meet.

“Nothing is too much. No boundaries. I want to know everything.”

At my declaration, her lower lip slips in between her teeth, and I have to dig deep to not let it distract me.

Teasing little minx.

“This is new to me too. I don’t know what I’m doing either.”