Chapter 11
FINLEY
The gym is a large, bright utilitarian space, all clean lines and polished concrete, the kind of place where effort has a hum.
Big speakers hang from the pillars and push a punchy beat through the air.
Racks of unfamiliar machines gleam under the lights, and in the far corner Jayden is already a metronome of motion, sweat shining along his temples.
“You got here just in time for the warmup,” he announces when Elijah guides me toward him, his hand hovering at the small of my back like a promise he’s not quite ready to make.
Jayden wears a cocky grin that hikes higher every time he waggles his brows.
The bruising from Florida has faded to faint shadows under his eyes, and even with the extra bump across his nose, he’s handsome in that easy, open way that invites you to smile back.
He spins the jump rope overhead in time with the music, the royal blue Comets tank rustling against his torso as he turns.
When the hem lifts, I catch a flash of tan skin above his shorts.
My goodness…
I don’t need more than that to see he’s as built as Elijah—just a touch softer around the edges, the definition less cut but no less compelling. I’m stuck in place, watching him skip to the steady snap of rope against rubber. His grin widens, mischief brightening his eyes when his stare hooks mine.
“Goddamn show off,” Elijah chuckles, a thread of gravel in it, as he moves around me to the wall of ropes and resistance straps. He wraps the padded cuffs around his ankles and wrists, then crosses to a treadmill on the opposite side.
“Don’t be salty cause you don’t have my swagger,” Jayden calls over his shoulder, still swinging the rope, still perfect with the rhythm.
I track Elijah instead. The treadmill starts at an easy lope. White sneakers land in clean, even beats. He looks relaxed here, body finding its groove before his mind can interfere.
“Give it some attitude, Sylkes,” Jayden hollers over the music.
“Put your back into warming up, jackass,” Elijah throws back, the smile in his voice landing warm in my chest.
That pancake-day giddiness starts bubbling again.
Even though I’ve had time to get used to the sight of Elijah in nothing but a towel—low enough that my eyes refused to leave the deep lines bracketing his hips—I still go slack at him on the treadmill.
My gaze lingers on strong calves and the easy piston of muscle.
Everything about him is power contained.
The tank pulls over his back, the fabric stretching as his shoulders roll. In the mirror I catch the faint quirk of his mouth as he raps along to the song.
Sweet Lord.
I can’t remember the last time I saw him this unruffled, this light catching at his eyes, the corners softening.
Did he always move to music like this, and I just never saw? The Elders would have had a field day.
Sometimes he feels split in two: the distant, reclusive man who makes my chest ache… and this looser, brighter version who makes my lungs fizz with a single smile.
Heat pricks across my skin, humming through my muscles as Elijah’s gaze flicks from the mirror to Jayden. I realize then that Jayden is watching me while he keeps the rope cutting air in clean arcs.
“Come on, Lucky,” Jayden beckons with a crook of his finger when the song shifts slower.
The new beat is kinder, easier to catch. He rocks his shoulders and the sheen along his skin glints under the lights. When he swaggers up and dips to take my hands, singing along, a shiver rolls through me.
His nearness scrambles every learned grace I own. I go still, afraid of doing it wrong. My eyes flick to Elijah. His small nod and easy smile ease the tightness in my ribs.
“You know how to jump rope, right?” Jayden asks, his breath warm against my jaw—mint and a hint of licorice—while he closes my fingers around the handles.
I nod.
“Good. Think of this as skipping rope and hopscotch combined. It’s the best cardio and gives every muscle in the arm an easy workout, even your deltoids, you know?”
“Deltoids… right…” No clue.
Jayden chuckles. “They’re the muscles along the curve of your shoulders,” he says, tracing a hover-light line along the outer cap.
“You have your triceps back here. Then your biceps at the front. And on your forearms—” He steps back and curls his arm, veins roping.
“—you have the brachioradialis. AKA, the forearm flexor.”
Wink.
“JJ knows every muscle, except the one here,” Elijah laughs, tapping his temple.
The teasing lifts a snort out of me before I can stop it. My cheeks go hot, and I stare at the floor.
“Asshole,” Jayden shoots back, flipping Elijah off as he retreats.
He grabs another rope, sets his feet, and swings to the beat. I just… stare. Rhythm is not my native language. At least not this kind. Panic scratches in my throat when he returns to me.
But he doesn’t rush. He breaks the motion into pieces, showing me the timing, the little hop, the tiny wrist flick that keeps the rope invisible.
I trip more times than a grown woman should.
The grace I was praised and punished for feels nowhere in reach.
He just waits for me to breathe, then starts again—slower—until I finally catch that first sequence and ride over it without snagging.
“See, you got it!”
The praise sparks through me, a surprised fizz that almost trips my feet all over again. I laugh instead.
“Are you going to spot me or what?” Elijah asks, stopping his treadmill and hopping down.
His smile is boyish and bright. God, I’ve missed that face.
“Man, you haven’t even broken out a sweat,” Jayden teases.
I notice the way he slows when Elijah stops in front of him. The way his eyes sharpen, his teeth catching his lower lip as color climbs his neck. It makes me pause, take note.
“I’m good,” Elijah says, moving past him toward the benches. Their shoulders brush. Elijah falters—just a half-step—but his whole body goes taut. The same wary coil as when I touched him the other day—want and fear tangled up tight.
“I already went for a run this morning,” he adds, catching himself as he loads plates onto the bar. “Coming or what?”
Jayden joins him, sliding on a collar, and I drift to Elijah’s treadmill and start it slow, watching them through the mirror. Their voices rumble under the music, a counterpoint I feel more than hear.
They move together in an easy, practiced rhythm. Jayden’s hands there at the rack, Elijah’s breathing cued to the lift, the set, the lockout. It’s a choreography. A push and pull that fits.
And the conversation I overheard in the hotel threads back through my thoughts.
You and him… you go where he goes, he goes where you go. You’re always together. Always freakishly in sync…
Elijah settles on the bench, head just shy of tucking between Jayden’s knees and drives the bar up. His biceps bunch, forearms cord, and Jayden’s hands float near the bar, ready. It squeezes something in me—ribs, lungs, heart—this simple trust. This safety.
I know envy is a sin. And I feel it anyway.
Not because I want to take anything from them, but because this—this effortless belonging—is what Elijah and I used to hold between us. I want it back so badly my throat goes tight. The treadmill matches my restlessness and nudges the speed up.
I stumble, catch myself, then keep going.
“Don’t pussy out on me,” Jayden grits, taking some of the load. “You got at least another four in you.”
“Are you trying to kill me?” Elijah pants through a hoarse chuckle.
The raw sound coils heat low in my belly. My stride quickens. My breath runs ragged.
“Come on,” Jayden orders, gentle-rough. “One more, Eli. Gimme one more.”
“Ugh… I hate you,” Elijah groans, voice frayed and breathless.
It shouldn’t do what it does to me, that rough music of their effort. I close my eyes and try to match my feet to the beat, to anything steady.
“Whoa, going somewhere?” Jayden’s suddenly at my side.
“Where are you trying to run?” Elijah asks, appearing with a sweat rag in his hand.
I hop off and stop the belt. Elijah offers the rag, and I take it, bending over the rail while Jayden’s neon sneakers blur in my lowered view.
A cool towel lands soft across my nape and shoulders. “Take it slow, Finley.”
I tip my face up and Elijah shifts aside so Jayden can press a water bottle into my palm.
“Slow sips. I’m great at many things, but vomit isn’t one of them,” he says with that boyish laugh.
The easy warmth in his smile lightens the weight in my chest. When my breathing settles and I step down, I notice Elijah’s attention snagged on our hands—Jayden’s hanging close to mine, a breath of space between our knuckles.
I look down too and, for one strange second, wonder what it would feel like if his fingers brushed mine as we left together, three across.
“I think the treadmill has earnt a rest,” Jayden says, lightly, and holds the door for me and Elijah.
The sheen of sweat from earlier has soaked his tank now, making it cling in ways that erase any memory of softness. We pause at the elevator. Both of them pull out their phones. Elijah flicks away notifications, jaw set. Jayden scans his, lips pouting into something churlish and oddly charming.
“You down for a FIFA tourney? Rio’s setting it up for this afternoon. Erik and Ansel are in. Think Oliver’s in too…”
“Can’t today.” Elijah ushers me into the elevator as the doors slide open.
If Jayden’s pout was sullen before, it’s tragic now. His bottom lip juts. I feel myself wanting to fix it before I think better of it.
“We can go to the mall another day,” I offer, too quickly—anything to smooth his expression.
“There won’t be another day if Christina kills us for cancelling on her,” Elijah says before before telling Jayden, “You and Rio can team up.”
“Yeah… no. Soccer is his obsession. Last time I played on his team, he was an overcompetitive asshole. I like all my anatomy in all the right places.”
Elijah chuckles. “If you want, you can come with us to the mall.”
Jayden glances between us. “Nah, I don’t want to third wheel.”
“I’m already the third wheel,” Elijah chuffs. “So, technically you’d be the fourth.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
Jayden looks across Elijah to me. “Lucky?”
“Of course,” I say, meaning it.
“Beats getting verbally abused for fun…” Jayden muses. “Yeah, okay. I’ll tag.”
A flutter swoops through my belly at the change of plans. Even so, a small voice needles at me:
Is Elijah inviting him, so he doesn’t have to be alone with me? He’s an expert at building space where touch might happen.
I don’t know how to stop it. I only know I’ll have to learn.