Page 138 of With the Assist

“Nothing about this is fucking okay.” I whip my head toward him, panic etched into every muscle on my face.

“You’re right.” He nods, standing up off the bed.

“This isn’t a workout, Nathan. This is… this is everything.” My voice cracks.

“I know.” There’s no hesitation in his voice. He’s already pulling on his jeans, searching the room. “Where’s your phone?”

“I don’t know.” Tears are dangerously close to spilling over, but I block them out. “I can’t find it. It must’ve died last night.”

He crosses the room in two strides and bends down by the nightstand. “Found it.”

He holds up the black screen. “Dead,” he confirms.

I press my palms into my eyes for a second, wishing I could rewind time. This is my worst nightmare.

Nathan’s hands land on my shoulders, but they don’t settle me the way they normally would.

“Hey. It’s not over yet.” His voice is soft, but tight as if he’s already drawing conclusions in his head. “Where’s the session?”

“The field across town.” I meet his eyes, only to find too many questions hiding in their depths. This isn’t the time.

“Then we go,” he says simply, pulling open the hotel door. “Now.”

We’re out the door seconds later. My dress is half-zipped, and my fingers fumble with my car keys. The adrenaline buzzing between us could start a fire. The hotel hallway rushes past as we jog toward the elevator, neither of us saying what we’re both thinking.

Last night was supposed to be the end. This was never supposed to happen. I’d been a fool to think there would be any outcome other than this.

Now, morning has come crashing in, loud and unforgiving, demanding everything from me all over again.

I don’t know what it’s going to cost when it comes to my career, but I already know it'll cost me him. I can’t have that and him too. It was stupid to think I ever could.

We hit the garage at a near run, footsteps echoing off concrete. The air is cold and damp compared to the warmth we left behind upstairs. Rows of parked cars blur together until mine comes into view.

Nathan slows first.

“Let me drive you.” He’s already reaching for my door. “You’re shaking.”

I stop short, keys clenched in my fist so tight it hurts.

“No,” I snap.

The word comes out harsher than I mean it to, sharp enough that his hand freezes midair.

“I need to drive myself,” I add quickly, but the damage is already done. My chest is tight, and my breath shallow. “I can’t show up with you. Not late. It looks bad enough without you there.”

The underlying implication passes between us. His presence makes this worse.

He blinks. “Wes, I just meant I can get you there faster.”

“This is the reason I’m late in the first place.” I motion between us.

The second the words leave my mouth, I want them back.

It’s not his fault. I know that. Rationally, I know this is on me. I didn’t set an alarm. I didn’t charge my phone. I let myself forget who I’m supposed to be. But panic has taken the wheel, and it’s not interested in fairness.

Nathan’s face falls, and I ignore the way my heart squeezes in my chest. He doesn’t bother to mask the hurt in his eyes, and I wish I could be the one to fix it. I wish I could go back two hours and make sure I didn’t screw everything up. It’s too late for all of it.

He straightens, shoulders squaring. It takes him a second, but then he nods once.