Chapter 2
Kari
The day after three job interviews that all end with we’ll be in touch, I decide to make one impulsive, possibly unwise detour.
I’m dressed in interview-acceptable clothes—black pants, cream blouse, and flats that pinch just enough to remind me I’m not meant for corporate life. My stomach twists as I drive, mentally tallying how long I can survive on my savings if nothing pans out.
As much as I love my parents, I do not want to live with them indefinitely.
I spot the apartment complex by accident.
Well. Not exactly by accident. I’ve been low-key scanning listings since Darby and I commiserated about our lot in life, bookmarking places I can’t afford and pretending that counts as progress.
This one looks newer. Cleaner than others.
A little aspirational without screaming luxury pricing.
On a whim, I pull in.
The leasing office smells faintly like lemon cleaner. Fake plants dot the corners of a large room that most likely serves as a clubhouse after hours. A large fireplace glows and crackles, but the absence of burning wood smell is a dead giveaway that it’s all gas powered. Still, it’s homey-ish.
I pick up a brochure from the table beside the door, admiring the professional photos on the cover with pristine grounds and a pool that glistens in the sun. I flip open the brochure and scan the floor plans of varying size.
A woman with glossy blonde hair steps out of a windowed office and greets me with a practiced smile. “Welcome to Savannah Harbor.”
“I’m just looking,” I say quickly, like that absolves me of commitment. “Efficiency apartments?”
She lights up. Of course she does.
She talks through what I imagine is her usual spiel—first and last month’s rent, deposit, utilities, amenities. Efficiency units are small but bright, with enough space to make it feel cozy rather than claustrophobic.
At this point, I’d jump at the chance if it were a shoebox. That’s how desperate I am to be on my own again. Living with my parents feels like I’ve regressed to childhood instead of becoming a flourishing adult.
“We try to make our community feel like home,” she says, gesturing toward the lobby area. “Residents can reserve this space for meetings or small events. There’s a cleaning fee, but nothing outrageous.”
I nod, doing the mental math. If I can pick up a few more clients, I could afford the smallest unit in about… three months. Way too long.
Then she adds, “And of course, the pool and gym.”
My ears perk up.
The gym is attached to the office, doors propped open while staff are on-site. She explains the access rules—open during working hours, locked after eight, swipe card access for residents any time of the day or night.
“And guests?” I ask, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Guests are welcome,” she says easily. “As long as they’re accompanied by a resident. We ask that residents limit guests to one per visit.
Good to know.
I glance around the gym as we pass through. Clean machines. Mirrors. A certain… layout. Something about it tugs at my brain, but I can’t place why.
Before I leave, she hands me the paperwork.
“You’re welcome to take these home and bring them back whenever you’re ready.”
“Thank you,” I say. “I’m still looking around at my options. I’ll be in touch.”
I tuck the paperwork into my bag and walk out feeling strangely energized, but still with few options on my plate. So I fudged. My current situation isn’t any of her business.
But, I’m almost a tenant. A tenant in waiting. An interested party who would like more information. Try the place on for size, so to speak.
That’s what I tell myself an hour later when I circle back wearing sweats and a hoodie, and feeling a wee bit guilty for treating myself to an ice cream.
I obviously have no self-control. Or common sense.
I park, sit in my car for a second, then grab the papers I filled out from my passenger seat. I could just drop them in the night box.
But since I’m already here… it wouldn’t hurt to check out the gym again. You know. For research. I mean, what if I hate it? That would be a deal-breaker. I owe it to myself to test the vibe. I’m not breaking and entering. I’m not vandalizing anything. I’m almost a resident.
That has to count for something.
The gym is empty when I slip inside, my heart races like I’m doing something far more criminal. I mean, I’m not even trespassing. I’m taking a second look at the place without a tour guide.
The place feels bigger when it’s quiet.
I walk around, skimming my fingers along the machines that look like intricate torture chambers. I tilt my head at a contraption with the words Glute-Ham Developer in bold letters along a piece of steel.
What the?
I’m suddenly aware of every insecurity I own and why I’ve avoided gyms. Where would I even start? What if someone came in and watched me flail around? What if I injured myself and couldn’t move? No one would find me until morning. Would the blonde lady call the police and have me arrested?
Pfft…of course not. My imagination’s getting away from me.
I end up on the treadmill—the one piece of equipment that feels safe. Predictable.
As it hums to life, I pull out my phone and scroll through the videos I’ve bookmarked. Workout clips. Fitness creators. Content I’ve been studying for my side gig, helping influencers expand their social media presence.
One video stops me cold.
My gaze flicks around the room. The mirrors. The placement of the equipment. The flooring. My pulse spikes.No. It can’t be. Apartment gyms all look the same with their corporate design and mass-produced layouts. My brain is playing tricks on me.
Still, the sense of déjà vu crawls up my spine, and now I’m curious. I follow the link in bio that leads to a Fans Only page for user, Flex Appeal.
Clever.
I watch the intro video. The guy has abs for days and pecs that won’t quit, but he doesn’t show his face. Camera shy or security minded. Either way, he’s hot, hot, hot. The video ends with an invite to join his workout page for personal trainer tips.
A personal trainer for five bucks? I hesitate, then rationalize. That’s less than a drive-thru latte, and educational. I need all the personal training I can get. I hit subscribe before my common sense catches up.
The man’s complete bio pops up and so many videos I start to salivate. But a metallic clank echoes outside—the sound of a gate opening, then clicking shut.
Panic slams at my chest. I yank my hoodie over my head and take one foot off the treadmill while the other slides backward at three miles per hour. I lurch forward and catch myself before face-planting into the rubber floor.
The door opens and I freeze, belly to the ground and itching to run. If it’s the blonde lady, I’m toast.
“You okay?” The man’s voice is low and concerned, smooth as ice cream.
He moves quickly toward me. Panic surges in my chest and shoots through me at lightning speed. I press my palms flat against the floor and push myself up while keeping my chin down and my face hidden.
“I’m good,” I mumble as I grab my bag and stuff my phone into my hoodie pocket.
I duck past him, brushing against his arm with my shoulder. He’s solid, smells like the outdoors, and musky… manly, sparking a fire in my belly. But my feet keep moving.
“Sorry,” I mumble, eyes locked on the floor as I escape into the night air. I don’t stop moving until I’m in my car, door locked, and my heart pounding like I’ve just outrun the law.
The paperwork sits untouched in the passenger seat. I barely escaped getting caught. But as I start the engine, I can’t shake the feeling that something about that place—and that video—wasn’t a coincidence at all.
Grey
I watch as the person hurries from the building, a woman I presume based on the voice and softness of her form. She never looks back, never looks up as she passes through the pool area and out the gate into the parking lot.
I drop my bag on the bench and pause. Her scent lingers in the air.
Something soft, almost sweet. Familiar in a way that makes my chest tighten.
The smell is reminiscent of Darby’s bedroom after any sleepover she and Kari had.
They were always painting their nails and faces to the point they were almost unrecognizable, covering up their natural features.
A fondness for the past, for Kari, tugs at my heart. But I’m being ridiculous. My brain’s playing tricks on me from seeing Kari’s profile the other day. I allowed myself to linger longer than I should at her photos, especially the ones of her and Darby making silly faces, clowning around.
I shake it off. Memory has a way of turning nothing into something. The longer I let it percolate under my skin, the harder it will be for me to keep the past where it should be. Behind me.
I set up the camera and angle it the way I always do. Chest down, no face, highlighting proper movement. Anonymous by design. Nothing flashy, just putting in the hard work to get the results I want for myself and for my subscribers.
When I go live, it’s quiet. A few usernames I recognize pop up, sending hearts and the occasional peach and eggplant emojis. That’s nothing out of the ordinary. I know most of my subscribers think this is all about the thirst trap, maybe even an ego thing on my part. I get it.
But being eye candy was never the goal. If I can help someone learn proper form, avoid an injury, and feel stronger in their own skin, that’s what matters.
And the fast cash helps too.
Still if Vance, Wade and the guys found out about it, I’d never hear the end of it. It’s not like I’m selling my bathwater or sweaty socks or doing anything I’d be ashamed to explain.
But what would Justice, my boss, think? Would he replace me knowing I don’t have any intention of sticking around once I get my gym going?
I’m not stupid. I just didn’t take the same path as everyone else.
I didn’t study as hard as I maybe could have in high school.
College was out of the question. I wasn’t interested in following someone else’s idea of what my future should look like.
I’m not built like my sister or Kari for that matter.
Darby and Kari are fearless. Always have been. Even when we were kids, nothing scared them. Not scraped knees, strangers, or the thought of leaving our hometown behind.
I stuck around longer than I should have. Told myself it was to keep an eye on Darby. On Kari. Truth is, they never needed me. They needed each other and the bond they shared in wanting something beyond this town.
My phone buzzes, interrupting the camera feed. I pause and glance at the screen.
Hey, bro. Homesick. - Darby
I smile, not because I think it’s funny, but because it makes me feel needed. Darby will always be my little sister, and I’ll always be her big brother.
Didn’t think you’d have time to get homesick. You and Kari been catching up? - Grey
A beat passes before three dots start dancing.
Yeah. But no. I’m just… the internship isn’t what I thought it’d be. - Darby
That’s why it’s called work. - Grey
Haha. Very funny. I’m a glorified errand girl. Mostly my job is memorizing everyone’s coffee and donut order. Not sure how long I can take this. - Darby
I lean back against the bench, sweat cooling on my skin. It isn’t like Darby to let things get to her. She was so excited to take the internship near Kari. I imagine the ear-piercing squeals, flailing arms, and jumping up and down they did when Darby got to town.
Have you talked to Kari about it? Maybe she can get you an interview where she works. - Grey
Not that the world could handle both women working in the same building. Nothing but antics would ensue.
Kari’s back home. Something about her douchebag boss and the FBI. - Darby
My hand tightens around my phone. If her boss hurt one hair on her head I’m driving out to make him pay for what he’s done.
Did he hurt her? Is she in trouble? - Grey
LOL. No bro. Nothing like that. He’s going to prison. Fraud or something like that. But Kari messaged me a couple of days ago. I’m worried about her. She didn’t sound great. - Darby
Of course, Darby’s worried more about Kari than herself. The two of them are two peas in a pod. Always looking out for the other one no matter what’s going on in their own world.
Anything I can do? - Grey
I regret asking the second I hit send. The last thing I need to be doing is worry about Kari.
But I can’t help it. She’s always in the back of my mind.
Someone I can never forget, never leave behind.
How could I? She’s family to me… more than family.
She’s the missing part of my heart that I’ll never fill.
Could you check on her? Just make sure she’s getting out. Not stuck at home spiraling. She’s having a rough time with Kelly getting married. - Darby
My jaw clenches as I stare at the screen.
She wishes she were getting married? - Grey
I know I can’t have her, but it kills me to think she could want someone else.
No, dumbass. Younger sisters get tired of walking in the shadow of their perfect older siblings. - Darby
I don’t have older siblings, but I’ve always been the fuck up compared to Darby. Not the other way around. But my lip twitches, tugging at a smirk that just won’t surface. My sister thinks I’m perfect. Who am I to dissuade her?
Do me a solid? Check on her. Take her to lunch, a movie, or something. Please? - Darby
I exhale slowly.
I’ll check on her. But no promises. I’m a busy guy. - Grey
No way in hell I’m asking Kari out, starting up something that there’s no way either of us could finish.
Oh, please. Tell me you aren’t on a marathon dating schedule. Promise me you’re not one of those love-’em-and-leave-’em guys. You’d break my heart. - Darby
That gets a chuckle out of me. Most of my friends are shacked up, engaged, or already married. I’m still figuring things out. It’s difficult to get serious about anyone when they’ll never compare to the one person I want the most.
Far from it. - Grey
Which is the truth. Always has been. I glance around the room, at the weights, the quiet.
Gotta go. Late for my workout. - Grey
Still chasing the dream? - Darby
One of them. And Darby… don’t be stubborn. Come home if you need to. Don’t worry about the internship. You’ll find something. People like us always end up on our feet. - Grey
Ugh. You’re way too perfect for your own good. But I love you, bro. - Darby
I can practically see her eye roll followed by the sarcastic batting of her lashes.
She thinks it’s weak to be mushy, but she’s got a soft spot that’s going to get her in trouble one of these days.
She’s going to roll her eyes and sass back to the wrong guy and make him fall head over heels in love with her.
And there won’t be a damn thing I can do to stop it.
I close the screen and refocus, restarting the feed. A notification pops up from a new subscriber. Five more dollars toward the dream.
At least the one hard work and money can buy.