Page 168 of The Fall
“Morning.” His voice carries that early-morning roughness, deeper than usual.
“Hey.” I move toward my stall. “Didn’t expect anyone else to be here yet.”
“Couldn’t sleep.” He shifts the roller to his other calf, and I catch the flex of muscle through his compression pants. “And you’re here this early.”
I bite back a smile as I set my bag down. I want to cross the room and kiss him again, to pick up where we left off last night. Instead, I busy myself with my gear.
The sound of his foam roller fills the quiet locker room. I wonder if he’s watching me the way I was watching him.
“Sleep okay?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say, meeting his gaze. “Really well, actually.”
“How’s your head?” he asks.
“Better. The ice helped.”
“Good.”
I strip off my shirt and reach for my workout gear. Behind me, Blair’s foam roller stops moving. The air shifts, thickens. I pull on my shirt and turn around. He is watching me.
He stands, leaving behind the foam roller. He crosses the space between us in three silent steps. “You sure you’re good?”
I nod. “Especially now.”
He grins at that, a real one, crooked and soft at the corners, and threads our fingers together.
“I made you something,” he says, his voice low, pulling back to reach for a shaker bottle from his stall. The smoothie inside is deep green, nearly black.
“What is it?”
“Spinach, kale, ginger, turmeric. It tastes better than it looks. Drink it before you work out.”
“Thank you.”
“And remember: easy on the treadmill. Keep your heart rate under 120.”
“Yes, Captain.”
I smile, and he tips his head in that barely-there way that means he’s fighting a smile, too.
We stand like that until footsteps echo down the hallway outside: voices rising, laughter spilling closer. Blair’s thumb glides over mine once before he lets go and steps back as the locker room door swings open.
Hayes barrels in first. “Early birds, huh?” He tosses his bag onto the bench. “Didn’t think I’d see you here before sunrise, Kicks.” He drops onto the bench beside Blair and starts unpacking his gear, sticks clattering against the wall.
The locker room fills—Hawks, Simmer, Nolan—shoulders brushing, banter ricocheting. Someone cranks the radio; classic rock spills out.
I let myself drift in the rhythm of it all as I roll my shoulders. Today is ordinary on the surface, but underneath it…
Everything glows. The fluorescent lights overhead seem warmer. Hayes’s terrible singing sounds like music. I dip my head to hide my smile because it won’t stay down.
This is happening. Blair and me. It’s not a question anymore, not a hope suspended in the space between us. Last night wasn’t a dream. This morning wasn’t a fluke.
It’s real.
And it’s only the beginning.
Thirty-Five
