Page 37 of Break the Ice
He grabs another rope, sets his feet, and swings to the beat. I just… stare. Rhythm is not my native language. At least not this kind. Panic scratches in my throat when he returns to me.
But he doesn’t rush. He breaks the motion into pieces, showing me the timing, the little hop, the tiny wrist flick that keeps the rope invisible. I trip more times than a grown woman should. The grace I was praised and punished for feels nowhere in reach. He just waits for me to breathe, then starts again—slower—until I finally catch that first sequence and ride over it without snagging.
“See, you got it!”
The praise sparks through me, a surprised fizz that almost trips my feet all over again. I laugh instead.
“Are you going to spot me or what?” Elijah asks, stopping his treadmill and hopping down.
His smile is boyish and bright.God, I’ve missed that face.
“Man, you haven’t even broken out a sweat,” Jayden teases.
I notice the way he slows when Elijah stops in front of him. The way his eyes sharpen, his teeth catching his lower lip as color climbs his neck. It makes me pause, take note.
“I’m good,” Elijah says, moving past him toward the benches. Their shoulders brush. Elijah falters—just a half-step—but his whole body goes taut.The same wary coil as when I touched him the other day—want and fear tangled up tight.
“I already went for a run this morning,” he adds, catching himself as he loads plates onto the bar. “Coming or what?”
Jayden joins him, sliding on a collar, and I drift to Elijah’s treadmill and start it slow, watching them through the mirror. Their voices rumble under the music, a counterpoint I feel more than hear.
They move together in an easy, practiced rhythm. Jayden’s hands there at the rack, Elijah’s breathing cued to the lift, the set, the lockout. It’s a choreography. A push and pull that fits.
And the conversation I overheard in the hotel threads back through my thoughts.
You and him… you go where he goes, he goes where you go. You’re always together. Always freakishly in sync…
Elijah settles on the bench, head just shy of tucking between Jayden’s knees and drives the bar up. His biceps bunch, forearms cord, and Jayden’s hands float near the bar, ready. It squeezes something in me—ribs, lungs, heart—this simple trust.This safety.
I know envy is a sin. And I feel it anyway.
Not because I want to take anything from them, but because this—this effortless belonging—is what Elijah and I used to hold between us. I want it back so badly my throat goes tight. The treadmill matches my restlessness and nudges the speed up.
I stumble, catch myself, then keep going.
“Don’t pussy out on me,” Jayden grits, taking some of the load. “You got at least another four in you.”
“Are you trying to kill me?” Elijah pants through a hoarse chuckle.
The raw sound coils heat low in my belly. My stride quickens. My breath runs ragged.
“Come on,” Jayden orders, gentle-rough. “One more, Eli. Gimme one more.”
“Ugh… I hate you,” Elijah groans, voice frayed and breathless.
It shouldn’t do what it does to me, that rough music of their effort. I close my eyes and try to match my feet to the beat, to anything steady.
“Whoa, going somewhere?” Jayden’s suddenly at my side.
“Where are you trying to run?” Elijah asks, appearing with a sweat rag in his hand.
I hop off and stop the belt. Elijah offers the rag, and I take it, bending over the rail while Jayden’s neon sneakers blur in my lowered view.
A cool towel lands soft across my nape and shoulders. “Take it slow, Finley.”
I tip my face up and Elijah shifts aside so Jayden can press a water bottle into my palm.
“Slow sips. I’m great at many things, but vomit isn’t one of them,” he says with that boyish laugh.
