I look over, jaw tight. She’s watching me like she’s trying to measure my reaction.
“You act like you don’t see it,” she says. “But you do, don’t you? You know how she is.”
I press my lips together.
I’ve heard this kind of thing before. And I’m tired of it..
“I don’t like how you’re talking about my best friend,” I say, sharp and clear. “If you’ve got a problem with Céline, talk to her. Don’t come to me just to tear her down.”
I turn and start walking away.
But Tonia isn’t done.
“No wonder you defend her,” she says behind me. “You’re like every guy she’s ever sunk her claws into. So taken by the pretty face and sweet voice you can’t see what’s really there.”
That does it.
I throw my empty can in her direction. Hard. I don’t even care where it lands.
Céline’s been put through hell for years. People calling her names. Making her the villain in stories she never wrote. I thought that would stop now that we were friends. That I could shield her, maybe.
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But I guess I haven’t done a good job of protecting her at all.
She’s soft in ways most people don’t get. And some people see softness as weakness. As something to take advantage of.
Not on my watch. Not anymore.
“You don’t deserve it, but I’ll give you a piece of advice anyway,” Nook back and see my can landed at her feet, throwing her the most venomous glare I can muster, I continue. “Instead of always blaming her. Why don’t you break up with the bastard instead?”
―
I’m too irritated — and honestly, a little tipsy – for the gym. But I drag myself there anyway. Seeing hot, shirtless men has never failed to lift my spirits, and right now, I need that.
Eric was soft in the belly, no abs, and had this weird thing against deodorant. That’s what I remind myself every time I start to miss him. That I didn’t actually lose the love of my life. That I dodged a dad bod.
I swipe into the gym, adjust my cap, and hope no one notices the slight wobble in my step.
–
And then I see it.
Abs, Shoulders. Sweat, Glory.
Sweet mother of endorphins.
I almost drop my nonexistent water bottle. If heaven were real, it would smell like eucalyptus and protein bars and be filled with shirtless men lifting heavy things with perfect form. I’m about to
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do a very embarrassing little happy dance when I hear my name.
“Lacey?”
Of course it’s Liam.
I whip around, too fast, and nearly knock over a hand sanitiser station. He’s standing by the cable machine in a tank top, looking like he belongs on the cover of a fitness magazine for emotionally unavailable men who secretly read poetry.
“I literally told you I’d be here less than fifteen hours ago, dumbass,” Liam says, grinning.
His tank top clings in all the right places, and his arms look like they’ve been personally sculpted by divine intervention. I resist the urge to comment – not because I don’t want to, but
—
because Emilia already got there first. God, that woman hit the jackpot.
“I was distracted,” I say, waving it off. “Julie called to check in on you.”
He blinks. “Jules? Since when does she call you to check in on me?”
“Yeah, valid. She actually called to check on me,” I admit,
grabbing a towel off the rack beside us. “But I figured I’d kill two birds with one gym trip. Bribe you into convincing her to cool it with the maternal death grip.”
Liam chuckles and wipes his hands on his shorts. “You’re talking to the wrong person, I’m afraid. Julie only listens to God and her horoscope.”
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“Not even her horoscope,” I mutter. “She just cherry–picks whatever suits her mood.”
He raises an eyebrow. “So what’s the bribe?”
I shrug. “Emotional support. Company. Possibly snacks. And a deeply embarrassing confession if you say yes.”
“That last one’s tempting,” he says. “But you do realise she’s probably called me to ask if you’re spiralling, right?”
“She’s dramatic. I’m not spiralling. I’m… wobbling slightly. On a completely manageable emotional axis.”
Liam studies me for a beat longer than I’d like, and I already know he sees more than I want him to. “You smell like a beer.”
“It’s called a pre–workout.”
“Uh–huh. And it’s not even afternoon yet.” He tilts his head. “Lace… are you okay?”
I hate that question. Mostly because it’s coming from someone who actually cares.
“I’m fine,” I say quickly. “Just blowing off steam. Hydrating. With electrolytes. And beer.”
Liam walks over and bumps his shoulder against mine. “Instead of drinking more, come with me? I was going to look for Emilia anyway.”
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