Page 19 of Deep Cover

Every thought earned another rep. Every rep hurt worse than the last.

He finished and loaded one more plate onto each side. Maybe more weight could crush six years of guilt out of him.

He pushed upward…and stalled with the bar an inch above his sternum. Arms shaking, his air ran out. And for one genuinely stupid second he considered just letting it fall.

Then hands closed around the bar from behind and hauled it up and back into the rack with a clang loud enough to echo off the concrete walls.

“What the hell is going on with you?” Rorke stood over him, breathing hard from the assist that also tested him, his face screwed up between concern and fury.

Rivers sat up slow and planted his elbows on his knees, chest heaving. “She thinks I’d rather be dead than be with her.” He scrubbed both hands down his face. “I have to explain—”

“Explain what?” Rorke dropped his voice and glanced at the closed gym door before he crouched down to Rivers’s level. “That pending strike against Philly? You planning to walk her through that over dinner? You can’t tell people, man. That’s the job. That’s always been the job.”

“She’s FBI.”

“Exactly.” Rorke delivered the word with enough finality to end the argument. “Exactly, Rivers. She’s FBI, and you specifically can’t tell her things. We’ve got a breach—remember? That’s not theoretical. Intel’s been buried in the Bureau for months. That’s the whole reason the private Blackout network was created in the first place—because we can’t trust the normal channels anymore. And until we know who compromised it, everybody outside this building is a question mark.”

He threw Rivers a look and pushed to his feet. “Including her. Especially her, given where she works.”

He dropped his face into his hands, elbows digging into his knees. He said nothing. What was there to say that wasn’t a whiny excuse for what he’d done to her, even if his walking away from his whole life saved so many others, including everyone he ever cared about?

Rorke sank to the bench across from him. “I know it’s not fair. I know exactly how much it’s not fair. But this is the job we signed up for. We shoulder the things nobody else gets to know about so the rest of them can go on believing the world isn’t on fire. That’s the whole deal, man. We don’t get to hand people the truth just because it would make our lives easier.”

He jerked upright, glaring at his teammate. “I know that, goddammit! It doesn’t mean I like watching her look at me as if I chose this because I didn’t want her. Fuck!” He jolted to his feet and strode to the punching bag, delivering a brutal blow that stung his bare knuckles as they split under the force.

“You did choose it.” Rorke didn’t say it unkindly, but he didn’t soften it either. “Difference is, you chose it to keep her alive.”

Rivers opened his mouth, but he didn’t even know what was left to say. Maybe talking was better than sitting in silence with the heavy truth. The gym door swung open, cutting off any attempt he’d make anyway.

Caryssa stood in the doorway, wearing running shorts that showcased her toned legs and a tank top that hugged every inch of her torso.

Her gaze swept the room once—Rorke on the bench, Rivers shirtless and sweating in front of the punching bag that still swayed from his blow.

When she spotted him, she snapped her arms over her chest in a protective gesture and her jaw tightened.

All at once, the kiss crashed into his mind. Feeling Caryssa again—tasting her. Fuck. Need surged through his body.

She dragged her gaze over his body, settling for a brief heartbeat on his scar.

“Am I interrupting?” Her tone made it clear she didn’t care either way.

“Nope.” Rorke strode to the door as if he suddenly remembered he had urgent business elsewhere. “I was just leaving. Rivers, hydrate. You look like hell.”

He was gone before Rivers could call him back, the door swinging shut with a cruel finality.

Silence fogged the air, thick and thorny. Rivers grabbed a pair of boxing gloves and faced the heavy bag again, slightly turned so he could watch Caryssa out of the corner of his eye.

She stood there, looking unsure whether to leave or stay. He could leave and save her the trouble, but he’d spent every second since she walked onto base wanting to be in the same room with her.

He pretended to study the leather bag and the grain veining over the surface that had seen more blows than he wanted to count. He didn’t trust himself to move because his body was urging him to walk over there, cup Caryssa’s beautiful face and slam his mouth over hers.

The silence stretched so long it become a third presence in the room.

Dammit.

He swung on the bag, glove connecting with a thud that jarred his whole body.

To.