13. Kate
Chapter thirteen
Kate
T he slap of my sneakers against the treadmill’s belt is the only sound I hear. Steady. Relentless. My legs burn, my lungs sting, but I don’t stop. I push harder, faster, as though I can outrun the thoughts circling in my head, I’ll finally be free of them.
My legs burn, muscles coiled tight and screaming for mercy, but I don’t ease up. I grip the side rails, knuckles white, jaw locked so tight it’s starting to ache.
Sweat slides down my back, soaking into the clingy cotton of my tank, but I barely feel it. Every step, every strained breath, the same name hammers through me. Noah. Noah. Noah.
Five days.
Five long, infuriating, dead-silent days.
Not a knock. Not a word. Not even Blaze’s large paws scratching at the porch.
The quiet is worse than any argument. It presses down like a brick I can’t shake loose, and the more I think about it, the harder I push my legs, daring the treadmill to break before I do.
The longer the silence stretches, the worse the ache gets; sharp, bitter, coiled so deep it’s hard to breathe. And the worst part? He’s still in my head.
How his hands, calloused but gentle, slid over my bare skin. How his mouth traced every inch of me as he worshiped me. His voice dipping low as he whisper my name, the sound still tangled up in my brain, sneaks in uninvited.
The anger follows fast behind, hot and sharp, curling around my ribs until my lungs can barely expand. I crank the speed higher, reckless now, my feet struggling to keep up. My body’s one sharp edge away from collapse, but I need the burn, the ache, the punishment.
Because no matter how many miles I push through, I can’t outrun the way he made me feel. Or the way he left, like none of it mattered.
If there’s something I’m certain of, it’s the fact that he enjoyed what we shared as much as I did. So, what happened? Why is he suddenly so silent and avoiding me?
I should’ve known better.
Why didn’t I stop myself from asking if he could kiss me? Why did I let go, let him in, let myself believe even for a second that it would be more than sex? That it could be something real. Something lasting.
God, how stupid could I be?
What was I expecting? That he’d fall into step with my life with Parker? That he’d want all the pieces of me, not just the ones that felt good for a night?
That there’d be something lasting, something safe? Some neat little fairytale ending? I should’ve known better. I should’ve kept my walls higher. Tighter.
Why do I have to lose my train of thought when he touches me?
I swipe the back of my hand across my face; the gym’s recycled air cools against my overheated skin, but it barely makes a dent. My heart’s still hammering, too fast, too hard.
I crank the speed up again- past reasonable, past safe - until the belt hums beneath me like it’s on the verge of spinning out. I don’t care. Let it break. Let me break.
And then, as if the universe needs to rub salt in the wound, my father’s face slips right into my head. I can picture the look on Richard Sinclair’s smug face if he ever found out I’d let another man get this far under my skin.
How much he’d gloat, how satisfied he’d be to know I chose someone who could vanish without a trace. How bad my judgment is.
A flicker of movement catches in the corner of my eye, but I don’t turn. Not until a hand wave in front of my face, snapping me out of the fog.
Emily.
She’s standing there, one brow cocked, ponytail looped through the back of a baseball cap, arms folded as if she’s been watching long enough to figure out exactly what’s going on. I hadn’t even noticed her walk in.
The gym had been empty when I showed up with Parker. God knows how long she’s been studying me before coming over.
She leans her elbow on the side of the treadmill, casual but not unkind, head tilted like a woman waiting for her cue.
“Training for a marathon, or just trying to outrun your thoughts?” Her voice is easy and light, but the warmth behind her smile is edged with knowing.
She pushes off the rail and leans in a little closer, eyes narrowing as she gives me a once-over.
“Jesus, Kate.” A soft, lopsided grin tugs at her mouth. “You trying to punish the machine or yourself?”
My chest seizes, lungs are still gasping for air. I slam my palm against the speed button, the belt slowing beneath my feet until I’m barely moving. My legs wobble, loose, and unreliable, as though they’ve forgotten what solid ground even feels like.
I swipe at the sweat slicking my face, throat bone-dry and raw. My mouth opens, but no words come. I try to speak, but nothing makes it past the tight knot lodged deep in my throat. My breath catches, shallow and shaky, as I struggle to hold it together.
Emily watches me, the sharpness in her smile softening, the tease melting away. “Rough week, huh?” she murmurs.
I nod. That’s all I can manage. One small, brittle nod. Anything more, and I might fall apart right here on the gym floor.
Emily tips her head toward the end of the treadmill, motioning for me to come down. Her expression softens, all the teasing gone, replaced by quiet concern.
“Come on, Kate,” she says gently, “let’s get you something to drink before you keel over.”
I hesitate, pressing my palms to the rails, feeling the ground tilt beneath me like my legs might fold. My chest still heaves, sweat cooling sticky against my skin, but I nod and step off the machine, wobbly and lightheaded.
The second my feet hit the floor, the silence around me cracks open, and the soft clatter of weights, distant music thumping low through hidden speakers, and the sharp, cheerful sound of children’s laughter fills my ears.
I swivel my head toward the play area where I left Parker playing and heave a relieved sigh that he’s no longer alone. Beyond the rows of machines and mirrored walls, tucked into a bright corner near the front desk, there’s a play area.
Colorful foam mats scatter the floor, toy bins overflowing, and two climbing cubes shaped like friendly animals sit side by side. A small girl with bouncing dark curls is crawling and chasing Parker around the mat, her giggles sharp and sweet as he roars like a dinosaur.
Maddox is right behind them, trying to referee the game with all the serious focus only a kid his age can muster. A soft smile tugs at the corner of my mouth, and I appreciate the thought behind the play area for the kids.
It’s the kind of detail only someone who really understands a woman’s life would think of. A place for kids so moms like me can breathe and exercise without guilt, even if it’s for an hour.
My gaze drifts around the space for the first time, taking it in beyond the tunnel vision of my self-inflicted punishment. The gym’s nothing like the cold, sterile chain gyms I’ve seen in the city. The walls are painted a warm, muted beige, with exposed wooden beams stretching across the ceiling.
Plants hang in mismatched baskets from the rafters, softening the hard edges of weight racks and punching bags. The smell isn’t overpowering like disinfectant, just the faint scent of coffee drifting from the café next door and clean cotton.
The machines are new but lived-in, well-used but cared for. It feels less like a place for muscle heads, and more like a space for real people, for community.
When my focus slides back to Emily, she’s still watching me. Her cheeks are flushed, her ponytail dark with sweat at the nape of her neck, but she looks effortlessly good. Polished, even in workout gear. Tank top, fitted leggings, and that casual ease that some women are born with.
“You look good,” I say, meaning it. “Like... seriously good. You could be the face of this place.”
A flush that has nothing to do with exertion blooms across her cheeks, her smile turning shy.
“Feels nice to hear it from someone other than Knox, to be honest. I’ve been trying to hold it together since having Maddox. You know, keep from falling apart completely.” She laughs, a quiet, self-deprecating sound, brushing a stray hair off her damp forehead.
Before I can answer, she tosses the compliment right back, her eyes flicking over me with a playful, almost envious tilt.
“But you, Kate? You’ve got that whole ‘effortless beauty’ thing going. Like one of those women who steps out of the rain and somehow looks like she’s in a shampoo commercial.”
I let out a soft laugh, some of the tightness unwinding. “Yeah, right. Tell that to the puddle of sweat I left on that treadmill.”
She hooks an arm through mine and leads me toward a small refreshment station tucked near the front. A simple table with pitchers of cucumber water and sports drinks next to a basket piled high with neatly folded hand towels.
She presses a cool bottle of water into my palm before I even reach for one.
“Here,” she says, nudging it toward my lips like I’m one of Maddox’s classmates. “Drink before you fall over.”
The first sip is heaven. Cold and refreshing, washing away the dryness from my throat, though the lump still sits there, unmoved.
When I lower the bottle, Emily curls her fingers lightly around my elbow, steering me away from the treadmill haze and toward two people standing near the stretching mats.
The woman catches my eye first, dressed in soft navy leggings and a slouchy, off-the-shoulder sweatshirt, her hair pulled into a messy bun that still somehow looks intentional. She radiates that kind of easy warmth that makes you feel like you’ve met her before, even though I haven’t.
Her face is open and kind, and there’s a glow to her—not the picture-perfect kind from magazines, but the genuine, soft-edged kind that makes me wonder how someone can manage to look so calm.
Beside her stands a man, broad-shouldered, clean-cut, quiet in the way that says he doesn’t waste words unless they matter. There’s a steadiness about him, the kind that doesn’t come from lifting weights but from living through the sort of things that shape a person from the inside out.