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For a week, Tyler had stayed up most nights reading, and now he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t remember the last time a book took hold of him this way. The story felt like a key unlocking some dusty, rusted part of him. During their run he’d wanted to ask Josh questions, but then he decided that he needed to finish before he made himself sound stupid.

When Josh gave him the book last Saturday, it had felt thoughtful, but once Tyler started reading, it seemed important—as though Josh was trying to tell him something secret and pivotal.

A grin played on his lips as he ran his finger over the pages, pondering Josh’s reasons.

From what he could tell, Musketeers was all about manliness—honor and duty, balls and brains. Obviously that meant Josh’s gift was some kind of a message about football or high school, facing your fears. Tyler wasn’t smart enough to make sense of it.

Seventeenth century or seventeen years old, trying to be a good guy was a mess: expectations and anger, macho posturing and trying not to think with your dick. The merit of all things lies in their difficulty.

Was Athos supposed to be Tyler? Or perhaps cocky Porthos? Tyler chuckled to himself. Which would make Josh into Aramis, scholarly and romantic.

I wish.

He shook his head, amused by his own musing.

Tyler reminded himself that the thing in his lap was a book and nothing more. No need to read too much into it or pick it apart. This trip home to recuperate was just a temporary time-out. Josh was just a nice guy with good taste in fiction. Nothing could happen between them anyway. Drastic career changes aside, in a couple of months, he’d be back in San Diego.

Still, flirting wasn’t hurting anybody.

And yet, Tyler couldn’t help but return again and again to their trip to the farmer’s market. Everything they’d done, said, and seen. He’d leaned into Josh’s calm strength and quiet humor and let him guide him through the stalls and the streets of Ocotillo Heights. Tyler replayed it constantly in his mind, trying to make sense of it: eating tamales and laughing at nothing, the dusty bookstore and that last wild view from the peak. He had a suspicion Josh had even subtly shielded him from the fans.

The whole day echoed inside Tyler, that patient quiet kindness Josh offered so easily. Like Tyler deserved something better than fame.

His time with Josh worked on him in ways he didn’t fully understand, easing his restlessness and doubts, replacing them with a quirky, sturdy hope he’d never felt before. He knew it couldn’t last, but every day felt like gratitude.

Tyler grinned and closed the book with a shushed snap, squinting out at the day as he ran his hand over the binding. How could he show Josh his gratitude? Maybe even return the favor? There had to be some way to help with the library, at least. PR was low-hanging fruit for him. But he also wanted to do something special, personal, for Josh himself, some special gesture to express the exhilaration he felt.

He’d just have to come up with something spectacular. He tucked the book under his arm and stood, twisting to crack his back. Josh deserved so much more than he knew how to give.

“Hey, bud. I think I stink.” Tyler turned to Mr. Poops on the fence. “Wanna go inside?”

Poops blinked at him and flicked his enormous tail. But when Tyler picked him up and carried him into the dim and cool house, he was purring.

Tyler took a leisurely midday shower and even jerked off just to make sure things were operational. He didn’t even bother to feel guilty about his fantasies about Coach Ayres.

Over the past six days, Tyler had fallen into a healthy routine: morning runs, therapy twice a week, reading his Dumas somewhere out of doors or in a café, walking the familiar streets in his hometown, light weights at the Hamilton gym, then quiet evenings with his sister and Poops.

In this tranquil space, Tyler had time to reflect on his heart attack, his stalled career, and life beyond sports. And also on the tender and tenacious connection between himself and Josh.

By degrees, Tyler caught himself opening up about his fears, failures, and secrets he’d kept tucked out of sight a long time. And Josh listened with the understanding of shared humanity, not pity.

With Josh, Tyler didn’t have to be a celebrity or a football hero. He could just be himself, fragile and flawed. If anything, that made him even more confident. Josh had said it a couple of days ago: “Bones are strongest where the break mended.”

At some point, almost by accident, Tyler had remembered how to heal.

The morning runs with Josh were still Tyler’s favorite part of the day, the perfect sync, breathing in unison, stealing glances, talking about stuff he hadn’t even told his therapist. They’d taken a couple short hikes, a couple lunches. Just being near Josh anchored him and energized him. He started to feel confident again, more like himself and less like a cardboard standee held together with masking tape.

After the past weeks, surely Josh had to feel the chemistry between them, even if neither of them wanted anything to happen. Right?

Tell that to his heart. Tyler knew he was falling for Josh, and maybe Josh felt the same way.

NFL players take risks for a living, right? He was determined to take a chance and let Josh know how he felt before reality came crashing back in. He only hoped that Josh felt something close.

THE NEXT day, Tyler pulled a little too fast into the parking lot of Dr. Reynolds’s office, gripping the steering wheel with clammy hands.

So much for swashbuckling heroism.

He slowed as he navigated the lot toward the lobby doors, his stomach knotting with nerves and his hackles raised. A muscle in his jaw ticked with tension because apparently he’d been unconsciously grinding his teeth the whole way. He wiped his mouth.