Chapter 25 - Jaynas Quiet Hurt
The news spread faster than either of them expected.
It always did.
One changed relationship status. One polite explanation at a brunch. One overheard conversation.
By the end of the week, everyone knew.
The engagement was off.
"It just didn't work out," Ginny had told Apple.
"Schedules," Jayna had told Mable.
Both lies were smooth. Practiced.
Believable.
—
Jayna handled it the way she handled everything else in her life.
With structure.
She added an extra early morning run to her routine. Increased her clinic hours. Took on a weekend community sports seminar she didn't need to accept.
If she was busy enough, she wouldn't have to think.
Except she did.
Constantly.
She thought about the kiss.
About the way Ginny had pulled her into that quiet corner, breath unsteady, eyes bright and terrified.
She thought about how real it felt.
And she thought about the way Ginny had said yes when asked if it was just a lie.
That part replayed the most.
"Yes."
Jayna had spent years teaching patients how to rebuild torn muscles.
She was discovering heart tissue didn't respond to the same methods.
—
Mable found her at the café near the clinic on Saturday morning.
Jayna was stirring her coffee long after the sugar had dissolved.
"You look tired," Mable said, sitting across from her in crisp elegance.
"I'm fine."
Mable raised a perfectly shaped brow. "You always say that when you're not."
Jayna gave a faint smile. "Occupational hazard. I'm used to being the stable one."
Mable didn't push immediately. She observed. Calculated.
"You care about her," she said finally.
Jayna didn't answer.
Which was answer enough.
Mable sighed softly. "When she ended it, I expected you to be angry."
"I'm not angry."
"You're hurt."
Jayna's grip tightened slightly around her cup.
"I knew what I was getting into," she said carefully. "It started as a favor."
"But it didn't stay that way."
Jayna looked out the window.
No. It didn't.
Mable leaned forward. "Did she mean it?"
Jayna swallowed.
"She said it was just a lie."
"And you believe her?"
The quiet confidence in Mable's tone made something ache deeper.
"I believe that she's scared," Jayna admitted. "And I can't force someone to be brave."
Mable studied her friend for a long moment.
"Just don't shrink yourself to make it easier for her to walk away," Mable said gently.
Jayna nodded once.
She wouldn't.
But that didn't mean it didn't hurt.
—
Across town, Ginny was also pretending to be fine.
She threw herself into work with chaotic intensity. Rebranded a client's entire theme overnight. Took on a destination wedding proposal she didn't have time for.
If she kept moving, she wouldn't have to sit with the silence.
But silence followed her anyway.
No more good morning texts.
No more dry humor about her dramatic clients.
No more quiet, steady presence grounding her when she spiraled.
She missed Jayna's steadiness.
And that realization terrified her.
At a small networking event a week later, fate—or cruelty—put them in the same room again.
It wasn't a grand gala this time.
Just a polished industry mixer with wine glasses and polite laughter.
Ginny saw Jayna near the balcony doors, speaking to a former athlete with easy professionalism.
She looked... normal.
Composed.
Unaffected.
It stung.
Ginny considered leaving.
But running would only prove the narrative she hated.
So she stayed.
Their eyes met eventually.
No dramatic music. No lingering stare.
Just acknowledgment.
Jayna excused herself from her conversation and approached.
"Hi," she said.
"Hi."
God, this was awkward.
"You did well on the Valencia wedding," Jayna said. "The photos looked great."
Professional compliment.
"Thanks," Ginny replied. "I heard your rehab program got featured in a sports blog."
"It did."
Another pause.
The air between them felt carefully measured. Like two people afraid to step on broken glass.
"You look busy," Ginny said stupidly.
"I am."
There was no bitterness in Jayna's tone.
That almost made it worse.
Ginny searched her face for cracks. For signs that this mattered.
She found restraint instead.
"You okay?" Ginny asked before she could stop herself.
Jayna held her gaze.
"I will be."
Not I am.
I will be.
Something in Ginny's chest twisted.
"I never wanted to hurt you," she blurted.
Jayna's expression softened slightly.
"I know."
That gentleness felt like mercy she didn't deserve.
A group called Jayna's name from across the room.
She glanced back, then returned her attention to Ginny.
"Take care of yourself," she said quietly.
And then she stepped away.
No dramatic confrontation.
No accusation.
Just distance.
Ginny stood there, wine untouched in her hand, feeling the space widen in real time.
Jayna was giving her exactly what she'd asked for.
Freedom.
And it felt unbearably lonely.
From across the room, Jayna laughed at something someone said.
It sounded almost genuine.
But when she turned slightly, her smile faded for just a second—just long enough to reveal the truth.
She was holding it together.
Barely.
And neither of them knew how much longer they could keep pretending it didn't matter.