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I jumped a little at the noise, not expecting the sound. My head lifted, and I groaned, reaching for the phone on my bedside table and dragging it off the edge onto the comforter.

I read the notification glowing on my screen.

ROVE: Are you okay?

I fell back down, burying my face in my quilt and letting out an audible groan.

When I found the strength, I looked up again and typed back a message.

ME: I’m fine.

The three little dots appeared almost immediately.

ROVE: Really?

I stared at the screen.

No.

I wasn't okay. But if I told him that, would it really change anything? What could he do for me?

ME: I’ll be okay.

He texted back pretty quickly again.

ROVE: Number?

ME: Six.

It was a lie, but I didn't want to admit how bad it was.

ROVE: Honest number, Red.

I groaned, wondering if I should just not answer, but something inside me had my fingers typing a response. Maybe the small part of me that didn’t want to be alone right now?

ME: Eight.

ROVE: Do you need to take the day off tomorrow?

ME: I can’t.

ROVE: Do you need me to respond as a friend or as a coach right now?

And it was at that moment the most bizarre thought entered my mind.

Neither.

I dropped the phone onto the bed and rolled onto my back, staring through the porthole in my ceiling at the stars blinking back at me. It looked awfully similar to the view I’d had earlier during my bar routine.

Suddenly, the image of Rove pulling me into his arms filled my head. I pictured him holding me against his chest until the pain passed.

I clenched my eyes shut, trying to force the thought away.

We were friends. That's all we could be.

But it wouldn't go away.

It was like the pain was making me hallucinate, like I needed to find a way through it.