Page 57 of Cross Checked
“I came here for research.”
“You wore workout clothes.”
“For immersion.”
“You got on the treadmill.”
“For atmosphere.”
“You complained the entire time.”
“To preserve my brand.”
Against my will, I smiled, and the relief that crossed her face made something in my chest ache.
The rest of the workout moved around us, but the ease from before never came all the way back. Bliss still talked. I stillanswered. She told me Briggs had invited her to a team study night freshman year and then brought no books, only snacks and the firm belief that vibes could carry a person through biology. I told her that sounded exactly like Briggs. She said he once called mitochondria “the battery guys,” and I had to turn away because I laughed harder than I wanted to.
But every few minutes, my attention returned to her wrist. To the bruise. To the lie. To the fact that she had been scared of my reaction before she had been scared of the injury itself.
By the time she finished stretching, I had already built and destroyed four different theories, and every single one ended with somebody’s teeth on the floor. I knew it was Luke. I didn’t know how yet, but I knew. Not somebody who hurt her once and disappeared. Not some random asshole from a party. This was bigger than that. It explained too much. Her distrust around athletes. The way she watched men before deciding whether to relax. The way she treated hockey players like a species she had already survived and didn’t intend to study too closely unless she was holding a notebook between them and her body.
If it wasn’t Luke I’d put money on him being one of us. Hockey. The thought turned my blood glacial.
“What?” Bliss asked.
I looked at her. She was standing near the mats, one hand on her hip, the other holding her water bottle. Her face had softened again, but not enough. There was still strain around her mouth. A carefulness in her eyes.
“What?” she repeated, quieter.
I shook my head. “Nothing.”
She narrowed her eyes. “That is my lie.”
“You copyrighted it?”
“I perfected it.”
The words should have been funny. They weren’t. She realized it as soon as they left her mouth, her expression changing before she looked away and bent to grab her hoodie from the floor.
I crossed the room before I could think better of it, slow enough not to crowd her, close enough that she knew I was there.
“Pip.”
Her fingers tightened around the hoodie.
“I’m not asking again tonight,” I said, and the air between us changed so quickly it felt physical. “I know you lied. You know I know you lied. I’m letting you have it because you clearly need me to, not because I believe you.”
Her throat moved.
I kept my voice low and even. “But don’t mistake me backing off for not seeing you.”
Her eyes lifted to mine then, and for one second, the look there nearly put me on my knees. Fear. Relief. Frustration. Something softer she tried to hide before I could name it.
“You see too much,” she whispered.
“No,” I said. “Everyone else doesn’t see enough.”
Her lips parted, and I wanted to touch her. Not the way my body had wanted all night. Not with heat. Not with the filthy, selfish hunger I had been fighting since she walked through the door in those leggings and attitude. I wanted to take her wrist and cover the bruise with my hand like I could undo it by putting something gentler there.
