CHAPTER 7 LACE AND LOVE
When we were alone, he was heaven.
Not the kind of loud, flashy, blinding kind of love.
No. Ryder loved in quieter ways. Like when he brought me lemon muffins on Mondays because he remembered I told him once, once, that Mondays made my chest feel heavy.
Or the way he'd pull me into him at night—arms warm and protective—and whisper, "You're beautiful, you know that?
I never thought relationships could be this wonderful and peaceful"
It was the small things. His fingers tracing the soft part of my wrist while we lay tangled on my couch, his hoodie drowning me, my legs curled in his lap. A kiss that felt like a promise he was too scared to say out loud.
When I forgot to eat, he'd wordlessly hand me a sandwich. When my hands shook, he'd wrap his warm palms around them without asking why. And sometimes, when the nightmares woke me, he'd just... be there.
I was starving. For touch. For care. For something that felt like love, even if I had to squint and bend the meaning to believe it. I took his crumbs and made them a feast, because I didn't know better. Because I'd never had more. I convinced myself I was the exception.
That I was special.
That I was wanted.
I ignored the truth. Pushed it down like I had so many other truths. The voice in my head that said, He doesn't choose you in the daylight. We didn't go out together. He didn't post me. No labels. No late-night calls that weren't hushed. And I never asked.
That night, I sent the text:
Are you coming over tonight? I miss you.
A minute passed. Then two. Finally, three dots appeared.
Sorry, babe. I'm staying late at the gym alone. I need to take care of some paperwork. I need to update training schedules. Rain check?
I stared at the message, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Something inside me clenched, disappointed—but not surprised.
Still, I didn't want to end the night on a quiet ache.
Not again. Not with everything we had shared recently.
I wrapped my long coat around it and looked in the mirror.
Underneath my coat, I wore black lace. A matching set.
A little thing I'd bought months ago, tucked away in the back of my drawer, waiting for a version of me that could be that girl—bold, sexy, wanted.
I looked at myself in the mirror and thought: Tonight, she gets to exist.
I arrived at the gym just after eleven. It was quiet, just one light on in the back office. I walked softly, coat clutched tight around me, heart thudding like it knew something I didn't.
I tiptoed past the empty mats and machines, my heartbeat fluttering like wings in my chest.
A soft murmur caught my ear. Two voices. Mira's laugh rang out, loud and familiar. Mira, his ex, the owner of the gym, the one he begged me never to approach her.
I paused just outside the door.
"You know, I have to fight girls off you," Mira purred, her voice sugary-sweet and sharp underneath. "You're gorgeous, baby. And when we're official and public, they'll finally back off. I'll make sure of it."
Ryder laughed, that low rumble she once told herself was hers. "They can try. But I've only got eyes for you."
"That clingy little fan club should really back off" she teased but almost threatening, nails tapping the desk. "You never answered me. What's the deal with that chubby girl? The one who follows you around like a stray?"
I froze.
I wasn't breathing. I wasn't alive.
Ryder chuckled—chuckled. "She's no one, Mira. Just a client. A girl who shows up every time I smile at her. Honestly? She seems desperate. It's like... she thinks being pitiful is cute."
"She always looks like she's about to cry," Mira scoffed. "Like she's trying to puppy-dog-eye her way into your bed."
"She's a charity case," he said, voice low but not low enough. "I feel bad for her. She's sweet, yeah, but come on. Do you really see me with someone like that?"
Mira let out a dry laugh. "Please. She's built like a plush toy. Soft all over and not in a cute way." "And those skirts don't help either," she added. "Always cinched at the waist like she's pretending it's flattering. Girl, it's not."
He sighed. "let's not talk about her any longer, not worth it."
Each word peeled another layer off my skin. My breath turned jagged, my heart a frantic animal in my chest.
"I can't wait," Mira whispered, her tone dipping soft. "Just a few more months and this gym is ours. And then I get to be yours—finally."
"I know," he murmured, "I can't wait for this to be over."
"Tell me again," she said, leaning in.
"You're it, Mira," he said, his voice wrapped in devotion. "I only want you."
Then she leaned in, lips parted. He dodged the kiss but pressed a kiss to her forehead.
And that's when the sound escaped me. Just a breath. A tiny, trembling thing.
They turned.
She saw me first. Her eyes flicked down to the lace beneath my coat and lit up like Christmas morning.
"Oh my God," she gasped, then burst into cruel, mean laughter. "What are you wearing?" she kept laughing "You look so—so pathetic."
"Ryder?" I said, barely audible, barely standing.
His face drained of color. His mouth opened—but Mira's voice cut through.
"Why is she here? What the hell? Is there something going on?"
"No, no" he said quickly. Too quickly. His face hardened. "Don't be ridiculous, Mira. She's just a client."
My world cracked.
"Are you sure?" she said, eyes narrowed. "Because she seems to think there's something."
"She's delusional," he said, with a shrug. "She probably made up an entire relationship in her head just because I was nice to her."
"And look at her," Mira sneered. "Coming here dressed like that. Who's she trying to impress?"
I couldn't breathe.
I turned and fled. Each movement felt like glass in my chest. Like the floor had dropped out from under me. Like every quiet kiss, every midnight word, had been fed to me like poison disguised as honey.
I thought I was an exception. I thought I was seen.
But I wasn't. I was a joke. A punchline with trembling hands. My throat closed with every breath. I wanted to scream. I wanted to collapse. I wanted the floor to open and swallow me whole.
All those nights, all those whispered words. His fingers in my hair. His body curled around mine. His soft promises. All of it—
Lies. Convenient lies.
I walked until my legs ached. Until the city became just noise and color and motion—cars honking in the distance, strangers brushing past me, laughter from somewhere I couldn't place.
I walked until the tears I didn't want to cry slipped down anyway, quiet and hot, like they were ashamed of existing.
I didn't wipe them away.
The world felt too sharp. Like if I breathed too deep, it might slice me open.
My coat clung to my skin. The lace underneath it felt like a cruel joke—like I'd tried to become someone beautiful and the universe had laughed in my face. Each step home was a slow unraveling. Of hope. Of delusion. Of the version of him I thought was real.
When I finally made it through the door, I didn't turn on the lights. I didn't want to see the apartment where I'd imagined him living someday. I didn't want to see the framed photo he took of me last fall, or the hoodie he left behind that I wore like armor.
I went straight to the bathroom, flicked on the light, and stared at myself in the mirror.
The mascara had run. My lips were trembling. My eyes looked hollow—like someone had scooped me out and left the shell behind.
And the lace. God, the lace. That black, delicate fabric that once made me feel powerful, maybe even a little brave—it clung to my body like shame.
Like a costume I had no right to wear. I stripped it off like it was on fire.
Yanked it down, tore at the straps, the hooks, my hands shaking so hard I nearly fell.
I threw it straight into the trash. Didn't fold it. Didn't hesitate.
Because it didn't make me feel beautiful anymore.
It made me feel stupid.
And then I curled into myself on the bathroom floor, knees to my chest, arms wrapped tight, like I could somehow hold myself together. I didn't sob anymore. I didn't scream. I just... sat there. Numb. Empty.
Because what he said wasn't just cruel.
It was true.
Or at least, that's what some part of me believed. The part that had always believed I wasn't good enough. The part that remembered every boy who turned away, every whisper in school hallways, every moment someone looked through me like I didn't exist.
I let myself believe I was different with him. That maybe, just this once, someone saw me and didn't flinch.
But all I'd been was convenient. Secret. Disposable.
And worse—worthless.