Page 6 of Beyond Oblivion

“It’s a simple question.” Hazel blinked, trying to look innocent, but she loved drama. She wasn’t the least bit concerned with how it made me feel, not because she was mean, but because she knew that I knew she’d kill someone for me, and with that knowledge, her antics weren’t malicious. She wasn’t asking to judge me, she just wanted to know because she was a nosy bitch—albeit a cute one—with no sense of personal boundaries.

“He’s my brother-in-law and my ex-boyfriend. Yes, it’s complicated. Most people don’t spend the holidays with their exes. But not even when I had feelings for him was it the same way I love Trent. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love Trent.”

“And that’s why no one cares,” Trenton said, kissing my forehead. “Chet, you’re up!” he said, calling to a man in the lobby.

“Wait, he’s not on the…” I said, scrolling on the computer screen.

“I’m a walk-in,” Chet said with a thick Jersey accent, grinning at me as he followed Trenton into his room.

“We don’t take walk-ins,” I said, looking at Hazel and pointing to the hall. “Do you know that guy?”

“He’s one the new trainers at IronE,” she said, staring at the hall they disappeared into. “Maybe it’s a favor for Travis. Okay, Kate, I’m ready for you!”

I jumped off my stool and trotted back to Trenton’s room. Chet was reclined in the chair while Trenton was setting up his tray.

“You have a client in twenty minutes. Beck is free.”

“We’ll be done by then.”

I blinked, locked eyes with Chet for a few seconds, and then turned to walk out.

“Love you, baby,” Trenton called after me.

“Don’t tell me that’s your wife,” Chet said with a chuckle.

“Yeah, she’s mine, and don’t say what you’re gonna say, or I’ll throat punch you.”

“Don’t forget, I know your brother, buddy. I ain’t stupid,” Chet said.

I paused at the mirror beside my desk, studying my reflection. When Trenton and I started our not-exactly-just-friends relationship, my skin was untouched, free of piercings, with a plain brown bob and heavy bangs. Now, the only thing that hadn’t changed was my hair, sans the darker color of brown and razored ends. Beyond the BABY DOLL ink on my fingers and the poppies on my shoulder, I’d let Trenton add more of his art to my back and arms. Two of my favorites marked the milestones of our lives together—one for the day we’d survived the accident, the other to commemorate our wedding. They were bold and intricate, sprawling across half my arm and back, made even more special by the fact that Trenton was the only one who’d ever inked my skin. Once, on a Vegas trip with his twin brothers, Taylor drunkenly suggested we all get matching tattoos. But Trenton and I, even after a few too many drinks, fiercely agreed: no one else would ever mark my skin.

“Hi,” a woman said from the other side of the desk. “I’m Madison Davis. I have an appointment with Trent.”

“Great,” I said with a smile. “Just tap start on the kiosk and it will take you through all the steps to check in.”

After a few seconds, I looked up to see Madison still staring at me. She was stunning, early twenties, with big, brown doe eyes that seemed to be taking in every detail. Her honey brown hair fell in soft waves nearly to the crests of her hips. She looked vaguely familiar, but I knew I’d never met her before.From social media, maybe?

“Do you need help with the check-in process?”

“No,” she said with a small smile, shaking her head quickly. She looked down, tapping through the forms and waivers.

“Hey, Cami?” Beck said, rounding the corner—then he saw Madison. His expression did a full one-eighty, fromserious inquirytowalking Tinder profile.

“Well, hello there,” he purred, suddenly a cologne commercial.

I side-eyed him. His voice wasn’t normally that deep.

Beck was tall, built like the gym owedhimmoney, and had the kind of face that made people double back for a second look—sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and deep brown skin that held a rich, smooth glow even under the dim lighting. His eyes, dark and knowing, carried the confidence of a man who never had to chase—because women were always happy to meet him halfway. A notorious ladies’ man, he had a reputation for smooth talk and even smoother exits. His exes still talked about him like he was a limited-edition release they were lucky to have experienced even once.

His hair was always cropped short in a crisp fade, thanks to a standing appointment with his barber, and he never missed a trim. He strolled closer, wearing a fitted black hoodie layered under a distressed denim jacket, a heavy silver chain that caught the light at his collarbone, and his ripped black jeans tucked into a pair of clean, high-top Jordans. Beck was everyone’s favorite friend, favorite Friday night, and favoritethis guy once...

Almost everyone.

Madison looked up once and then back down at the kiosk. “Hey.”

Beck blinked, then looked at me, confused.

I shrugged.

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