19
I really don’t belong here.
Not in this gleaming torture chamber disguised as a gym.
The air smells like metal and misery, and the machines make all kinds of noises, like they’re quietly judging me.
I’m surrounded by sculpted strangers who move like they were born doing this, while I’m standing here in ten-year-old sneakers and a T-shirt that’s seen better days.
It’s not as dramatic as it feels. I know that. But nerves have a way of distorting things, and right now, everything feels too loud, too polished, too not me .
After shoving a protein bar into my hand and telling me to “pick a machine that doesn’t look like it wants to kill you,” Tess and Sofia disappeared into some kind of dance-based exercise class.
They urged me to join them, but my coordination is seriously lacking, so I opted for cardio instead.
Maybe a bit of gentle walking on the treadmill.
But no one here looks like they’re doing anything gentle.
It’s all determination and intimidating energy, and I feel completely out of place.
Honestly, I’d rather be curled up on my couch with a romance novel and a mug of hot chocolate.
I linger at the water fountain, once again wondering how my friends convinced me this was a good idea. Saying no is clearly a skill I haven’t mastered.
It’s been three days since the announcement of our fake engagement. True to our word, Joel and I have kept a low profile. No calls, no texts, no accidental run-ins. He’s stayed away, and I’ve done the same.
And yet, stupidly, hopefully, I keep checking my phone. Every time it stays quiet, I remind myself this is exactly what we agreed to. So why does the silence feel like rejection, even when it isn’t?
When people ask about him, I smile and say we’re both busy. When I run into someone at the store or on Main, I hear how “Joel’s such a nice young man” and how “we’re all so glad you two worked things out.”
A throat clears behind me. I turn to see a line of people waiting to use the water fountain I’ve been unintentionally hogging. I mumble an apology and step aside. No more stalling. I retie my ponytail, square my shoulders, and take the long way around to the treadmills.
That’s when I see Joel.
He’s across the room, seated on a weight bench, head down, one arm curling a dumbbell like it’s an extension of himself. His white T-shirt stretches across his back and shoulders. His dark hair is damp and curling slightly on his neck.
There are people everywhere, but he’s the only one my eyes fix on.
He hasn’t seen me yet. His jaw is set, his brow furrowed, and the veins in his forearm stand out with each repetition.
There’s something almost primal about the way he’s training.
I remember what Aaron said at Gideon and Kate’s wedding: He trains like he’s waging war against someone or trying to exorcise something .
Five minutes pass. Maybe more. I keep telling myself to move, to stop staring.
But I stay rooted, caught in his gravitational pull as I watch the way his muscles strain and coil with every lift.
When he leans forward to grab another dumbbell, I glimpse the scar on his cheekbone flash beneath the bright overhead lights.
I finally manage to tear my gaze away, my cheeks hot with embarrassment from all my ogling. I turn toward the treadmills and walk straight into someone’s chest.
“Wow,” a familiar voice says. “I never thought I’d see you at the gym.”
Bobby.
He’s wearing gym shorts and a too-tight tank top. His eyes travel slowly down my body, lingering on my legs.
“Hi, Bobby.” I give a self-deprecating laugh. “I never thought I’d see myself here either.”
“How are you?” he asks carefully.
“I’m good.”
He crosses his arms. “People are talking, saying you’re engaged.” He pauses. “I don’t believe it. Not unless I hear it from you.”
I grip my towel a little tighter. “I guess nothing stays secret around here.”
“Is it true?”
“It’s true,” I manage. The lie feels jagged and wrong in my mouth.
His eyes widen. “To Joel Adams?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t get it. You barely know him.” His voice carries more confusion than judgment, but it still lands like an accusation.
“It happened fast,” I say. “A, uh, whirlwind romance.”
He stares at me in disbelief. “You? Whirlwind? Kenzie, when it comes to dating, you move at a snail’s pace.”
“It’s different with Joel.”
He frowns. “This isn’t you. What’s really going on?”
Before I can answer, Joel appears. He’s fresh from the free weights, towel slung over one shoulder, his T-shirt clinging to every unfairly sculpted muscle. His gaze moves from my face to Bobby, sharp and unreadable, before settling back on me.
“Hey,” he says simply.
“Hi.”
“Everything okay?” His voice is calm, but his eyes tell a different story.
“Everything’s fine,” I reply, but I can feel my pulse jumping under my skin.
Bobby stiffens, looking up at Joel. “We’re talking here, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind at all,” Joel says easily. “Carry on.”
“It’s a private conversation,” Bobby says pointedly.
“In a very public place,” Joel retorts. “And I’m her fiancé. Pretty sure that gives me a front-row seat.”
A few gym-goers glance our way. I can feel the ripple of interest around us, the gossip practically writing itself.
Spots of color flare on Bobby’s cheeks. “I’m just making sure Kenzie knows what she’s getting into.”
Joel stares at him for a long, charged moment. Then he turns to me. “Sweetheart,” he says, drawing out the endearment deliberately, “do you know what you’re getting into?”
There’s a quiet irony in his question, since we both know I’m the one who dragged us into this mess.
I loop my arm through his, trying to look like someone who belongs at his side. He stays stiff beneath my touch. We’re not selling this.
“Actually,” I confess, “I’m the one who forced Joel’s hand.”
“You?” Bobby snorts. “Come on. You’re a pushover, Kenzie. You’re not capable of forcing anyone’s hand.”
Joel shifts closer to me, casually resting a hand at the small of my back. “You might want to rethink what you say next,” he warns Bobby with narrowed eyes. “That’s my fiancée you’re talking to.”
Bobby exhales sharply before shaking his head and looking at me with something like regret. “For your sake, I hope you know what you’re doing.”
Without another word, he turns and walks away.
I release a shaky breath and step out of Joel’s hold.
“You okay?” he asks.
I nod, even though my pulse is still hammering. “You didn’t have to—”
“Yes,” he interrupts, his eyes hard. “I did.”
I knot the towel in my hands, my stomach sinking. “I think our low-key plan just went up in flames.”
Joel exhales slowly, like he’s trying to rein himself back in. He looks furious. At Bobby. At me. Oddly enough, the person he seems most furious with is himself. “Your idiot ex is like a red flag to me.”
“Bobby,” I remind him gently.
“Idiot ex feels more accurate.” He clears the gruffness from his voice. “He’s not your type.”
“You’re not my type either,” I retort, stung.
That gets his attention. His brow furrows. “No?”
“No.” My type is someone who actually wants me back .
Joel looks at me for a beat too long, then says, “Let me guess your type.”
“Let’s not,” I say quickly, alarm flaring.
“You go for men you can manage,” he continues. “The ones who fit in neat little boxes. Who’d probably pass out if you kissed them in a storeroom.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that kind of man.”
“They’re not for you.”
Indignation rolls through me. “Yes, they are.”
“You only think you want someone safe. But they’d bore you. You’d never be satisfied with that type.”
The deep rasp of his voice skates over my nerve endings. And his words, with their sharp edges, burrow their way under my skin. Some traitorous part of me wonders if he’s right.
“You don’t see it, do you?” he asks abruptly.
I blink. “See what?”
A low, dark kind of laugh escapes him. “The way men look at you. You honestly have no idea how attractive you are.”
My jaw drops. “You’re seeing things,” I say faintly.
“The only person who’s blind here is you.”
“Men give me looks?” I repeat in wonderment. “Really?”
“Really,” he confirms. “And every time they do, I want to punch something. Preferably them.”
Our eyes lock. Am I imagining the hint of longing that sweeps into his expression before he shuts it down? The moment stretches wide with everything we’re not saying.
“I was watching you train,” I say quietly, desperate to change the topic and clutching at the first distraction I can find. “You looked...intense.”
“I do everything intensely,” he says in a low voice.
For a second, I forget how to breathe as my imagination runs riot.
“You should hydrate,” he tells me softly. “You’re looking a little flushed.”
“Right. Yes.” I fumble for my water bottle and take a long sip.
Joel is silent, watching me. The heat of his gaze is unnerving.
I lower the bottle, only to realize how close we’re standing. Close enough to smell the salt on his skin, the faint trace of whatever cologne lingers beneath it. It makes my pulse do something reckless.
I clear my throat, trying to steady my voice. “Can I ask you something?”
“If you must.”
“Why do you train like that?”
“Like what?”
I hesitate. “Like you’re not just working out. But...like you’re working something out,” I finish in a rush.
Silence meets my words. Shadows flicker in his eyes. “Sometimes I train to clear my head,” he says at last.
I swallow. “Is that what you were doing today?”
“No.” He looks past me, then he settles his eyes on my face and murmurs, “Today, I was trying to forget what it feels like to want something I can’t have.”
The air between us shifts instantly, his words charging the space with heat and tension. Time folds in on itself as the gym carries on around us. It’s his first admission that I might be affecting him as much as he’s affecting me.
I can’t say a single word back. I’m too afraid of what I might admit to. And it feels like too much truth for this moment.
Just then a scream rips through the gym.
We both jolt. Joel places a hand on my arm and pulls me protectively to him as he scans the room.
I see it the same time he does. In the weights section, a man is writhing on a mat, a group already forming around him.
“Don’t look,” Joel warns swiftly.
But it’s too late. I glimpse the man’s arm bent at an unnatural angle, bone poking out of the skin.
“Kenzie.”
Joel’s worried voice sounds far away as my vision begins to blur. Black spots dance in front of me, and my knees buckle. The last thing I feel is Joel’s hand gripping my arm before the world falls away.