Chapter two

Chapter Two: Cole pov

Three days after dinner, Maya showed up at my door with red eyes.

I knew that look. She'd been crying.

"What happened?" I stepped aside so she could come in. My apartment over the garage wasn't much but it was mine, away from my father's main house.

"It's Jay." She dropped onto my couch. "His gym flooded. Entire basement. His landlord says it'll be two weeks minimum."

"So?"

"So he can't work out for two weeks." She looked at me like I was stupid. "He's training for a charity marathon. His knee needs strengthening. If he stops now, he's out the registration f*e and the donations he collected."

I leaned against the kitchen counter. "Not my problem."

"It could be your problem." Maya stood up. "You have a private gym. Right here. The Ashford gym. Dad never uses it. You barely use it."

"No."

"Cole —"

"I said no." My voice came out harder than I meant. "I'm not letting him in my space."

"Why? Because you don't like him? Get over it." She threw her hands up. "He's not asking to borrow money. He's asking to use a treadmill for an hour a day."

I crossed my arms. "He can find another gym."

"There isn't one. The next closest is thirty minutes away and he doesn't have a car." Maya's voice cracked. "Please. I'm begging you."

I looked at her. My little sister. The only person in my family who still talked to me like I was human. Mom used to do that. Now it was just Maya.

"Fine," I said. "But he comes when I'm not here."

"You're always here."

"Then he doesn't come."

Maya pulled out her phone. Texted someone. "Too late. He's already on his way."

I stared at her. "You planned this."

She smiled the same smile she used when we were kids and she talked me into building a fort in the living room. "I love you. You'll survive."

She kissed my cheek and walked out.

I stood there for a full minute. Then I went to the gym and cleaned it like I was preparing for a inspection. I didn't ask myself why.

Twenty minutes later, Jay Menisa was standing in my gym.

He wore old sweatpants and a faded hoodie with a rip on the left sleeve. His sneakers were worn at the heels. His hair was messier than at dinner. He looked tired — the kind of tired that comes from working two jobs and still not having enough.

"Your sister is manipulative," he said.

"I know."

"She said you agreed enthusiastically."

"I didn't."

Jay nodded. Walked past me toward the treadmill. Didn't ask where anything was. Just found it. Adjusted the speed. Hopped on.

I should have left. I had practice in two hours. My father would call if I was late. But I didn't move.

Jay started running. Slow at first, then faster. His breathing stayed steady. His form was good better than I expected from someone who wasn't an athlete. His arms pumped. His jaw was set.

I sat on the weight bench and watched.

Three minutes passed. Five.

"Why are you staring?" he asked without looking at me.

"I'm making sure you don't break anything."

"I won't break your rich people machines, Ashford. Relax."

The word "rich" landed like a slap. I stood up. "You have a problem with my family having money?"

Jay didn't stop running. "I have a problem with you acting like that money makes you better than me."

"I never said I'm better than you."

"You don't have to say it." He finally looked at me. "It's in the way you lean. The way you look at my clothes. The way you said 'not my problem' when Maya told you about my gym. You think I don't feel that? Every second?"

I opened my mouth. Closed it.

Jay slowed the treadmill to a walk. Wiped his forehead with his hoodie sleeve. He was breathing harder now not from the run. From anger.

"You think I want to be here?" He stepped off. "You think I like asking for help? I've been on my own since I was eighteen. I don't take handouts. But this marathon is for a kid in my neighborhood who needs a wheelchair. So yeah, I'm using your stupid treadmill. Get over it."

I didn't say anything.

Jay walked toward me. Not threatening. Just... close. Too close.

"You know what else I notice?" He tilted his head. "You say you hate me. But you haven't left. You sat on that bench for fifteen minutes just watching me sweat. Why?"

My pulse hammered. "Because I don't trust you."

"No." Jay shook his head. "You don't trust yourself."

I froze.

He was three feet away. I could see a small scar on his jaw. A bead of sweat roll down his neck. His chest was still rising and falling fast.

"You're not as hard to read as you think, captain," he said quietly.

My hands curled into fists. Not to hit him. To stop myself from reaching out.

Jay held my gaze for five more seconds. Then he smiled — but it wasn't mean. It was sad. Tired.

"Same time tomorrow?"

I didn't answer.

"Didn't think so." He walked past me toward the door. Paused with his hand on the frame. "For what it's worth... I don't hate you either. That's the problem."

He left.

The door clicked shut.

I stood alone in the gym. The treadmill was still running a soft whirr filling the silence. I turned it off.

My hands were shaking.

I leaned against the wall and slid down until I was sitting on the floor. I pressed the heels of my palms into my eyes.

For the first time in my life, someone made me feel small. Not because they were cruel. Because they saw right through me.

And I didn't hate him for it.

I hated myself.

Because I wanted him to come back.