Page 146 of Bitter When He Begs

I stare at him for a long second. My heart’s still pounding, my head’s still foggy, but the sharp panic has dulled a little, just enough to think. Just enough to nod.

“Fine.” I exhale. “But you’re buying me a smoothie after.”

“Deal.”

The gym’s not as packed as I expected when we get there. It’s mid-afternoon, in that weird lull between classes and practice hours, which means we mostly have the place to ourselves. Aside from a few regulars and, of course, half of my damn housemates in the weights section, acting like it’s a Sin Bin reunion.

Eli spots me first, eyes narrowing as I walk in with Sage. “Bout time, QB.”

Julian smirks. “You finally gonna put some real weight on the bar, or you still lifting like a little bitch?”

Killian snorts. “He’s been skipping leg day for months, don’t let him fool you.”

I roll my eyes, flipping them all off as I walk over. “Fuck all of you,” I say, but it doesn’t come with any real heat. There’s something about seeing them here, business as usual, that eases the tightness in my chest a little more.

Thorn looks at Sage. “You lifting or just here to look pretty?” he asks, already wiping down a bar.

Sage pats my back like a coach. “He’slifting.”

Ryan whistles. “Boy’s speaking for you now, huh?”

“Someone’s gotta make sure I don’t punch a hole in the floor.”

Sage shrugs, not even remotely fazed. “I figured if he doesn’t get a release valve, he’s gonna implode. You’re welcome, gentlemen.”

“Fair,” Eli says, tossing me a towel. “Come on. Let’s see if your frustration has gains.”

The next hour flies by in a way I didn’t expect. It’s like all the pressure I’ve been carrying starts bleeding out with every rep, every set, every slam of the weights. Sage stays close, leaning on machines, making dumb comments, and throwing a towel at me every time I start to sweat through my shirt.

He doesn’t hover or pity me, he just exists next to me like a tether I didn’t know I needed. The guys keep it light—talking shit, cracking jokes, talking about the next game like I’m still playing.

I catch Sage watching me between sets, arms crossed, a half-smile on his face that makes something soft bloom in my chest.

I should’ve known.

The second I walked in and saw my guys already here, already waiting, I should’ve known Sage was up to something. But I was too wound up, too caught up in the storm in my head, to put it together until now.

Somewhere between bicep curls and dodging another towel Julian half-assedly chucks at my head, it hits me.

Not the towel—though it’s close.

The way Sage walked in earlier, calm and sure, like he already knew exactly what I’d need before I did. How he didn’t ask me what I wanted or if I was okay with the gym—he just told me we were going. That quiet command in his voice, the stubborn set of his jaw, the way he refused to let me sink back into the pacing and panic that had been eating me alive all day.

He didn’t just drag me out to kill time, he planned this.

He knew I needed to burn something off, to slam it out of my system with iron and motion and sweat. He knew I’d neveradmit it. Knew I’d fight him on it if he made it about feelings or offered me a quiet night to “process.” That I’d stew, rage, bottle it all up, and end up breaking something, my own ribs included, before the retest even came back.

And instead of letting that happen, he got me out of the house. Got me moving. Got me here in a space where I could pull something heavy off the ground and feel a little less helpless. In a space where the guys are yelling and joking, and acting like the world hasn’t tried to kick me in the teeth this week. In a space where he could stay close enough to touch without smothering me.

He didn’t try to fix me. He just knew.

And now he’s sitting on the edge of the leg press machine next to me, swinging his feet a little like he’s the mascot of some secret emotional intervention.

I drop the dumbbell into the rack with a clang and lean forward, letting my elbows rest on my knees as I glance at him. “You planned this.”

Sage doesn’t even pretend to play dumb. He just looks up, brows arched in that deceptively innocent way. “Planned what?”

I roll my eyes, but there’s no heat behind it. “Don’t play cute. You knew exactly what this would do for me.”