Chapter Twelve Inclined to Jealousy #2
“And the history part?”
“She wants to apologize.”
“Do you want that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want her back?”
I asked before I could stop myself. Amy’s fingers went to her watch.
“No.”
Relief hit so strongly I had to look away.
“But,” she continued, “that is not a question you are entitled to ask as my former coach or assigned training partner.”
“No.”
“Or fake girlfriend.”
“No.”
“Or friend?”
Friend again: true and insufficient.
“Maybe as a friend,” I said. “But you don’t have to answer.”
“I did answer.”
Amy moved toward the table and rested both hands on the back of a chair.
“You rejected Simone because you said you were unavailable.”
“Yes.”
“What did you mean?”
The honest answer waited. I am unavailable because I want you.
I am unavailable because the idea of touching someone else feels like stepping out of a story I have already entered.
I am unavailable because the fake relationship has become the most real thing in my life. Too much. Too soon. Too dangerous.
“I meant I don’t want to date Simone,” I said.
Amy folded her arms. Accurate. Incomplete. Rose would have recognized the distinction. Amy probably did too.
“Okay,” she said.
I hated the word.
“What did you want me to mean?”
Her eyes lifted.
“That is not fair.”
“No.”
“You keep asking questions that force me to define something we agreed not to create.”
“Maybe the agreement is outdated.”
Amy stopped turning her watch. Outside the glass room, people crossed the lobby, music started in Studio A, and a treadmill beeped.
“What are you saying?” she asked.
I did not know. Or I knew too well. I stepped closer.
“Rule six said no feelings.”
“Yes.”
“We admitted attraction.”
“Attraction is not necessarily romantic feeling.”
“You were jealous.”
“So were you.”
“I understand.”
Amy touched the watch.
“I don’t want to make a decision while emotionally activated.”
“That is the most Amy sentence ever spoken.”
I smiled carefully. The joke worked this time. Some tension eased.
“We should not decide anything now,” she said.
“Okay.”
“We have the challenge, my training, your certification, and the coaching boundary.”
“I am aware.”
“And you have not told me everything about your first marathon.”
There it was. The hidden weight beneath every close moment.
“I know.”
Her gaze remained steady.
“I am not asking now.”
“Okay.”
“But the agreement cannot become real while parts of the foundation remain unclear.”
Fair. Painful.
“You’re right.”
Amy’s shoulders lowered.
“Tomorrow, I meet Evelyn.”
“I will not interrupt.”
“You will not appear at Bellweather.”
“No.”
Amy counted the conditions on her fingers. “You will not send Tessa.”
“I don’t control Tessa.”
“You will not encourage her.”
“Fine.”
“No possessive nicknames.”
I considered the loss with appropriate gravity. “Can I retire baby permanently?”
“Please.”
“Sweetheart?”
“No.”
“Spreadsheet of my heart?”
Her mouth twitched before she forced it flat. “Absolutely not.”
She almost smiled. I leaned against the table.
“What happens with rule four?”
“We acknowledge that it has been broken.”
“By both parties.”
“Yes.”
I drummed my fingers once against the table. “Consequences?”
“Improved communication.”
“That’s disappointingly mature.”
“And no acting on jealousy.”
“Define acting.”
Amy met my eyes. “Do not increase treadmill incline, reject dates for the other person, interrupt conversations, or engage in unapproved physical affection.”
The list was too specific to be theoretical. “What if Evelyn touches you again?”
“You manage your own emotions.”
“Hostile.”
“Necessary.” She did not look away, and the firmness in her face made the rule feel less like administration than a warning.
I accepted it. “Agreed.”
Amy picked up her bag. At the door, she paused.
“For the record,” she said, “I did not like Simone asking you out because I want you to be unavailable.”
My heart stopped. She continued before I could answer.
“I do not yet know what I want you to be unavailable for.”
Then she opened the door and walked away. I stood in the consultation room alone. A second later, my phone buzzed. A message from Rose.
Rose: Evelyn just asked Amy to coffee. Are you behaving?
I stared through the glass at Amy crossing the lobby.
Dani: Define behaving.
The typing indicator appeared. Then stopped. Then appeared again.
Rose: You are exhausting.
The doorway remained empty. She wanted me unavailable. Not a relationship or a promise, not enough to change the agreement—but more than I had before.
At ten seventeen that night, Amy sent me a screenshot. A message from Evelyn:
Tomorrow at eleven still works. There are things about the past—and about Dani—that I think you deserve to know.
I read the final line twice. About me. The room went cold around me. I typed:
What does she mean?
Amy replied:
I don’t know.
Then:
Do you?
I sat on the edge of my bed. The old marathon bibs were in the drawer beside me.
The first race. The panic no one knew about except Rose.
The second race. The injury. Public results anyone could find if they searched.
I had told Amy I had no finishes. I had not told her the full truth. Evelyn could know only what was public.
Unless she had asked someone. Unless she had found old photos or race reports. Unless the story had traveled farther than I realized. My fingers hovered over the screen. Accurate information. Direct answers. Do not use privacy to mislead. I typed:
I told you the public facts. Two starts. No finishes. One medical removal. One injury.
I stopped. The safer answer waited: no danger, no misconduct, nothing relevant. All technically useful. None of it addressed the thing she had asked. I typed again.
There are private medical details I have not shared because I am ashamed of them. Evelyn should not know them. I will tell you directly—not by text and not through her—before we decide whether this arrangement changes.
Amy’s response took longer.
Then I’ll hear what she says. After that, we set the time.
I wanted to ask her not to go. Rule four. No acting on jealousy. She had every right to meet Evelyn. She had every right to learn whatever information Evelyn believed she possessed. I typed:
Okay.
Okay looked weak. I added:
Call me after?
Amy replied:
I will decide after the conversation.
Fair. Painful. I placed the phone down. For the first time since the challenge began, I wished the relationship were entirely fake. Fake things could not be threatened by the truth.