CHAPTER 4 ~ KYLE'S POV

Two hundred and twenty-five pounds. That was the number. It was heavy enough to hurt, but light enough that I could make it look easy. And that was the whole point, wasn't it? Making the impossible look effortless.

I lowered the bar to my chest, feeling the familiar burn tear through my pecs, controlled the pause for exactly one second, and then pressed it back up. One. Two. Three.

"Easy money, Bennett!" someone shouted from the squat racks.

I didn't look to see who it was. I just flashed a thumbs-up, keeping my eyes locked on the ceiling tiles of the campus gym. Sweat was stinging my eyes, blurring my vision, but I didn't blink. I couldn't. There were at least three people filming stories near the dumbbell rack, and if I struggled, if my face twisted into anything other than focused determination, it would be a gif on the campus discord server by dinner time.

Kyle Bennett struggling? Impossible.

I racked the weight with a loud metallic clatter and sat up. The blood rushed out of my head, leaving me lightheaded for a split second, but I forced the smile onto my face before I even wiped the sweat from my forehead. The smile was muscle memory by now. It was like breathing.

"Looking huge, man," a guy named Tyler—or maybe Taylor—said, walking past with a protein shaker.

"Trying to keep up with you, bro," I lied smoothly, grabbing my towel. I didn't know his name, but I knew he was a sophomore and desperate for validation. My comment made him stand a little taller.

"Yeah, well, getting there," he grinned, puffing out his chest.

I stood up and walked toward the water fountain. The gym was packed for a Sunday evening. It smelled like rubber mats, stale adrenaline, and the sharp, chemical tang of pre-workout. To most people, it was hell. To me, it was the only place where the noise in my head matched the noise in the room.

I caught my reflection in the wall-to-wall mirrors. I looked good. I knew I looked good. Broad shoulders, defined abs visible through the damp fabric of my grey t-shirt, hair that somehow looked stylish even when messy. I had spent four years curating this version of Kyle Bennett. The Kyle who was Student Body President. The Kyle who rushed the best frat but was "cool enough" to hang out with the artsy crowd. The Kyle who never, ever lost.

But as I leaned down to drink, the image in the mirror flickered. I looked tired. There were dark circles under my eyes that no amount of charm could fully hide.

I wiped my mouth and headed for the locker room, dodging a few more high-fives and "Hey Kyles" along the way. Being popular was a full-time job. It was exhausting. You had to be ‘on’ from the moment you stepped out of your dorm room. You had to remember names, ask about sick grandmothers, and laugh at jokes that weren't funny.

I pushed through the heavy locker room doors, the humid heat hitting me like a wall. Thankfully, it was mostly empty. I found my locker, spun the combination lock, and yanked it open.

I sat down on the wooden bench and let the smile drop. It slid off my face like heavy makeup. I rested my elbows on my knees and put my head in my hands, taking a deep, shuddering breath.

Just get through the week, I told myself. Just get through the semester.

I reached for my phone. It was a mistake. I knew it was a mistake before my fingers even unlocked the screen. It was a form of emotional self-harm, but I couldn't stop myself.

I opened I*******m.

There she was.

Vanessa.

It had been three weeks since she dumped me. Three weeks since she told me I was "too curated" and "emotionally hollow," which was rich coming from a girl who planned her outfits based on the lighting at the coffee shop.

The photo was new. Posted ten minutes ago.

It was a picture of her at a bonfire on the beach. She was wearing his hoodie. I knew it was his because it was three sizes too big and ugly as sin. And there he was, standing behind her, arms wrapped around her waist, chin resting on her shoulder.

Travis.

He was a transfer student. He played guitar. He had tattoos that looked like he did them himself with a sewing needle. He was everything I wasn't. "Authentic," she had called him. "Raw."

The caption read: Finally found someone who sees the real me. ❤️ #NewBeginnings #RealLove

I felt a sharp, hot spike of jealousy twist in my gut. It wasn't even that I missed her—we argued constantly, and she hated my friends. It was the public nature of it. It was the hashtag. It was the fact that she had replaced me in less than a month and was broadcasting it to the entire campus.

I scrolled down to the comments.

OMG so cute! Way better than the last guy lol. Finally you look happy!

I gripped the phone so hard I thought the screen might crack. Way better than the last guy.

That was the narrative now. Kyle Bennett was the mistake. Kyle Bennett was the starter boyfriend you discarded before you found something "real."

I tossed the phone into my locker with a loud clang. I started stripping off my gym clothes aggressively, angry at myself for caring. I shouldn't care. I was Kyle Bennett. I could have any guy or girl on this campus. My DMs were full of people trying to get my attention.

But it wasn't about them. It was about winning. And right now, I was losing.

I grabbed my shower caddy and marched toward the showers, turning the water onto the coldest setting. I stood under the freezing spray, letting it shock the heat out of my skin.

I needed a plan. I couldn't just walk around campus looking like the sad, dumped ex-boyfriend while Vanessa paraded Travis around like a prize pony. I needed to show everyone that I was fine. Better than fine. I needed to show them that I was thriving.

I turned the water off and grabbed my towel, drying my hair roughly.

As I walked back to my locker, my phone buzzed again. A text from Justin, my roommate.

Justin: Bro, you coming to the mixer tonight? Everyone’s asking where you are. Also, Vanessa is here with Guitar Hero. They’re being gross.

I stared at the screen. Of course they were there. Of course she brought him to the one event she knew I had to attend as Student Body President.

I could stay here. I could go back to my dorm, order a pizza, and pretend I was sick.

But Kyle Bennett didn't get sick. And he definitely didn't hide.

I typed back: On my way. Tell them to save me a drink.

I pulled on a fresh pair of jeans and a crisp white t-shirt. I checked the mirror one last time. The tiredness was still there, but I layered the charm over it, thick and impenetrable. I fixed my hair, flashed a practice smile at my reflection, and slammed the locker shut.

I was going to that mixer. I was going to smile. I was going to shake hands.

And I was going to figure out how to burn that #NewBeginnings hashtag to the ground.