I finish the protein bar and start on my next set, trying to focus on the burn in my muscles instead of the noise in my head. It doesn’t work. My brain keeps circling back to things I don’t want to think about.
The way the guys looked at her. The way Reed smiled when he talked about her.
The way she’d smiled at Zayden like they were old friends, easy and warm, and hadn’t even tried to make conversation with me.
Not that I wanted her to. I don’t do conversation. I don’t do small talk.
I learned a long time ago that getting close to people only leads to disappointment. Foster homestaught me that. Four different families in eight years, each one promising this time would be different. This time you’ll stay. This time we’ll be a real family.
Lies. All of it.
So I stopped trying. Stopped hoping. Built walls so high and so thick that nobody could get through, even if they wanted to.
It’s easier this way. Safer.
“You’re going to pull something if you keep scowling like that.” Zayden drops onto the bench next to me, water bottle in hand. He’s in workout gear, a towel slung around his neck, looking way too cheerful for leg day.
“I’m not scowling.”
“You’re always scowling. But this is more than usual.” He takes a long drink. “What’s up?”
“Nothing.”
“Convincing.”
I grunt and reach for another protein bar. Zayden watches me unwrap it with raised eyebrows.
“That’s your fourth one today.”
“Your point?” I’m starving again. I’m always starving.
He shakes his head but doesn’t push it. That’s one of the things I tolerate about Zayden—he knows when to let things go. Zayden’s been through a lot. He was a single father before Tori came into his life, and he’s one of my best friends on the team.
“So,” he says, stretching out the word. “Tori’s friend started today.”
I chew. Swallow. “The yoga instructor?”
“Yeah. Winnie.”
“I noticed.” I take another bite. “So did everyone else.”
Zayden’s quiet for a moment. I can feel him studying me, trying to read something in my expression. Good luck. I’ve spent years perfecting the art of giving nothing away.
“She’s good people,” he says finally. “Been through some shit recently. Bad breakup. She’s trying to start over.”
I don’t respond. It’s not my business. I don’t care about her bad breakup or her fresh start or any of the other details Zayden is clearly trying to feed me.
“I’m just saying,” he continues, “she could use people in her corner. The guys can be a lot.”
“Not my problem.”
“Never said it was.”
We sit in silence for a minute. I finish my protein bar and crumple the wrapper, tossing it toward the trash can.
Movement catches my eye through the glass partition.
She’s out there. Winnie. Standing by the water fountain, talking to one of the equipment managers. She’s laughing at something he said, head thrown back, hand touching his arm in that easy way some people have. Like physical contact is natural, simple—not something that has to be calculated and controlled.
