Page 52 of Between the Blue
That’s when it happened. When everything changed.
And from that moment on, I knew it.
I’d never be the same again.
twelve
HER
Same as always, I push through the front door of the gym on Monday morning.
And, sure enough, as I make it across the weight room, I see the back of a familiar head– slicked back, jet-black hair, covered by a backwards baseball cap– making its way down the stairs.
My mouth falls open as I register for the first time the logo of the Texas Storm subtly stitched into the fabric of the hat in dark green thread. I question how I never noticed that before, but remind myself that the logo didn’t mean anything to me until recently.
Funny how, now, it means just about everything.
I reach the top step of the staircase and his name is out of my mouth before I can stop myself.
Because I’m sick of thinking. I’ve been doing it all weekend. Now, I just want answers.
“Bennett!”
He stutters in place as he reaches the bottom of the stairs, his head only turning slightly to the side.
Just far enough for me to see the number24also embroidered into the side of his cap. My nails instantly dig intomy palms as I fist my hands in irritation at my ignorance once again.
“I need to–” I start, but then pause.
Because Ben doesn’t stop.
He turns his head forward once more, walking towards his locker room like he never even heard me.
“Hey,wait up!” I call after him, picking up my pace as I race down the last few stairs after him.
Once again, he completely ignores me.
I swear I didn’t see him wearing any headphones.
I let out a huff, jogging to catch up with him right as he’s walking through the door of the men’s locker room. I reach up to grab his shoulder. “Ben?”
Suddenly, he stops, spinning around and roughly grabbing my hand from out of the air, squeezing it in his own as his golden-brown eyes sear into my green ones.
“How hard is it for you to take a hint?” he grits, leaning into my space.
I want nothing more than to hold my ground, but his close proximity is making me light-headed, and I’m forced to lean back as my brows pull together. “About what?” I question him.
His eyes squint, his gaze dropping lower on my face before returning to my eyes once more. “When you’re not wanted,” he says.
My spine steels, heat blossoming in my cheeks. My lips part, and I intend to question him further, but then he drops my hand out of nowhere, making it fall awkwardly to my side. “Women’s locker room is over there,” he says matter-of-factly, motioning towards it with his head before slamming the door in my face.
My tongue swipes along my bottom lip as I shake my head, blood pounding in my skull and anger tightening my throat. But I make myself swallow it down and head to the women's locker room. Because this conversation isn’t over.
It’s been nearly a month of this gym routine with Ben, which means—frankly, against my will– that I know every move he’ll be making this morning.
This includes knowing exactly when he will be going to bench press.
And the way he always finishes his water bottle before he gets to that exercise.
