Chapter 8
Chapter eight
Liv
The thing that no one tells you about being cheated on and lied to is that you don’t automatically stop trusting. Stop hoping. Stop missing the version of them you thought was real. You still do those things, but each time it hurts.
You don’t get a clean break. It’s messy because there’s no reset button that turns off the part of you that cared.
Even when you’re angry. Even when you know better.
Because betrayal isn’t a clean slice—it’s a slow bleed.
It’s webbed into all the parts of you that you thought could be loved by someone.
Those parts still very much live within me, stale and sore.
Wounded and yet somehow healing. That’s probably the worst part, not that I trusted him, but that now I don’t trust myself.
And some days, like now, all it takes is a name lighting up my phone with a simple ‘I have something of yours’ text to make my lungs feel too small for my ribs. To remind me that I’m not angry enough. Not over it enough. Not healed enough to stop reacting.
I hate that it still gets to me. I hate that just seeing his name on my phone brings it all back like a slap to the face.
There’s no amount of self-care that can erase the deep, painful shame I carry.
That’s why I can’t sleep right now, despite my stomach being filled with the most amazing dinner, homemade by my roommate.
The very roommate who has shown me nothing but kindness, and I’m here thinking about how unnerving it is when someone doesn’t want anything from me.
I feel like an ass, and yet I can’t stop myself from replaying all the bad things from the last few months on replay.
Especially that morning in Rhys’ lake house.
I’d thought it was ours, I thought he was mine.
His smile, his hand on the small of my back as he unlocked the door.
The place looked like a bachelor pad, with dark furnishings, clean lines, no photos, no family clutter, nothing to hint at a wife and family.
Nothing to hint at me being the other woman cliché.
His wife’s scream still lives in my bones. High-pitched and shrill, as I saw her standing in the doorway, watching her husband drive into me in their bed. Her bed. And I couldn’t move, couldn’t cover myself, couldn’t do anything except drown in the sound of her breaking. It plagues me.
The memory scrapes against my ribs, hot and sharp. I swallow hard, willing it down. He’s already seen enough of my tears. Having space from that situation made me realize how blindsided I was by him and all his charm and swagger. It made me feel like an idiot, and I lost something that day.
The clock on my nightstand blinks back at me: 5:00 a.m. Disgustingly early. My choices are counting sheep, doomscrolling, or getting up and exercising some of this energy out.
Sleep’s clearly not coming, and I have no intention of texting him back or ever speaking to him again. Running will have to do.
I dress in leggings and grab an old, threadbare hoodie off the back of the door and slip it on, then move quietly through the apartment. The air is warm from sleep and silence, and I just need out. Out of my head. Out of this imaginary space where memories cling to my skin like sweat.
I’m almost at the front door when a rustle from the couch stops me.
Jay shifts under the blanket, rubbing at his face with one hand, hair sticking up in every direction. His eyes meet mine, still heavy with sleep but immediately focused.
“Hey,” he mumbles, voice rough and low, flicking on the lamp by his head.
“Shit—sorry,” I whisper. “Didn’t mean to wake you. I was just”—I gesture vaguely toward the door—“heading out.”
He pushes himself up slowly, blanket falling to his waist, showing me his broad chest. “You okay?”
I nod too quickly because the way he says it so gently makes my throat tighten. There’s no suspicion, it’s care, and for a second, I couldn’t tell the difference. “I couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d go for a run.”
Jay glances at the clock, then down at himself, realizing he’s half naked, not that I’m complaining. “You want company?” he asks, standing.
My brain short-circuits for a second. He’s all lean muscle and lazy confidence; his body is carved more from motion and consistency than vanity—strong shoulders, that faint line tracing down his abdomen, a softness around his eyes that doesn’t match how solid he is everywhere else.
Heat rushes up the back of my neck before I can stop it.
I hesitate, fingers wrapping around the edges of my hoodie sleeves, wondering why he would want to subject himself to running with me at this hour. And still, I find myself asking, “You usually run in boxers?”
“Well, no,” he says, running a hand through his lopsided bedhead. “Usually I wear my superhero costume and pretend I’m saving the world. But I forgot to get it dry-cleaned.”
Laughter spills out of me effortlessly, and it feels good. “Sorry,” I say, still smiling. “Didn’t expect you to be funny this early. Or, you know, at all.”
“Ouch.”
“I meant that with love.”
“Sure you did.” Jay offers a small smile and stands, then walks right past me. “Give me two minutes.”
It throws me off how easy this is with him already. My body braces, waiting for the catch of him being nice, but it hasn’t come, and maybe it never will. Jay Oliviera is a good guy, and I need to remind myself that it won’t change.
When he rounds the corner from the bathroom, now fully dressed, sadly not in superhero spandex, the faintest scent of mint washes by as he grabs his sneakers.
“So, which costume do you have?” I ask, leaning back against the door, arms loosely crossed.
He doesn’t even look up. “Can’t tell you. It’s classified.”
“Oh, come on.”
He slides his feet into his shoes, finally meeting my eye with a deadly serious expression. “Fine. But if word gets out that I’m the lesser-known but still highly critical member of the Avengers, it’s on you.”
I hold up my hands in surrender. “Listen, as long as I can take Black Widow, we’re all good.”
He stands to his full height, and I realize how much I have to crane my neck to look at him. “I’d go Hawkeye.”
“Hm, seems we’re meant to be besties after all, huh?”
“I guess so,” he mumbles. “Just promise me you won’t go jumping off cliffs to save my life and humanity as we know it, hm?”
“And ruin the start of our blooming friendship? I could never.”
The door clicks shut behind us as we descend the stairs and step outside to the early morning air, greeting my skin with a bite.
Jay falls into step beside me without a word. We don’t speak for the first few blocks, just the rhythmic slap of sneakers on pavement and the sound of our breath finding a shared tempo. It’s easier than I thought it would be. Easier to let him in without filling the silence.
He glances over after a few minutes, cheeks pink from the cold and the run. And it’s that exact moment I realize something. “You don’t have your glasses on.”
His head tilts, a sheepish smile tugging at his mouth. “Can’t run with them,” he says between breaths. “I wear contacts when I exercise.”
I make a non-committal noise in my throat. I remember now the first night I moved in, he’d told me that.
“Why?” he asks, narrowing his eyes like he’s trying to read my face. “You like the glasses, huh?” Pretty sure anyone with a pulse likes the glasses.
“You’ve got a nice face with and without the glasses, Jay. I’m sure you know that.”
There’s something more open about his face like this.
I’m seeing him without the usual lens he keeps between himself and the world.
Or maybe it’s just the early light playing tricks, and my sleep-deprived brain is struggling.
The sweetest blush travels into his cheeks, and I tell myself it’s from the pace we’re keeping.
His shoulder brushes mine once, and it’s not on purpose, I don’t think. But he doesn’t shift away. And I don’t, either. It ignites a buzz under my skin that I’m enjoying far too much.
A couple of streets later, we turn onto a quieter path, where trees line both sides, and the sidewalk dips unevenly under our feet.
The houses all blur together, all painted the same, same lawns, same cars out front, and it suddenly hits me how stupid it would’ve been to run alone.
I’ve lived here for, what, a little over a week?
Every street still looks the same. I for sure would’ve gotten lost. I slow a little, scanning the block.
Jay stops too. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, adjusting my ponytail. “Just realizing I have zero idea where we are.”
“We’ll loop back the long way since we’ve kinda taken that route,” he says, already shifting his stride. “You’ll recognize the turn once we’re past the park.”
I fall in beside him again, the ground feeling a little steadier under my feet.
He points out a crooked mailbox on the corner as we pass it. “That’s the one that looks like it’s about to tip over but never does. You’ll start recognizing stuff in a few days. Muscle memory kicks in faster than you think. Until you’re ready, we can run together.”
I glance at him, but he’s focused on the street ahead. The offer catches me a little off guard.
“You run a lot?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says, eyes flicking toward me. “I don’t mind running with you to help you learn the routes.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I don’t. I just keep pace, and thankfully, he fills the silence with facts about the route we’re on.
“That’s the park up there near the lake, it has a good loop if you ever want to run laps. And there’s a little free library at the corner, across from the bus stop. Looks like a birdhouse.”
He gestures as we pass it, and I spot the chipped blue paint, the tiny door swinging open in the breeze.
For our whole run until we get back to his apartment, he points things out as we go, landmarks, shortcuts, where the sidewalk gets slippery after rain, and I’m grateful for him.
It’s nice having someone make the world feel a little less unfamiliar. Even if it’s just for right now. Even if I’m not quite sure what that means yet.