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I’m in the gym, sweat dripping down my back as I grip the barbell in front of me, my body on autopilot as I push through another set of deadlifts. The weights clank against the ground, a heavy metallic sound that usually drowns out the noise in my head. But not today.

Today, my thoughts are louder than the clatter of iron, louder than the rhythmic pounding of my heart as I crank out rep after rep.

Natalie. I can’t stop thinking about her.

I don’t know what it is—what she is—but she’s burrowed herself into my mind, and I can’t shake her. It’s more than just the way she looked last night—though, fuck, that’s part of it. The sight of her vulnerable, her wide eyes locking with mine, the way her voice trembled when she tried to stand up to that piece of shit uncle of hers. She didn’t deserve that. No one does.

But it’s more than that. There’s something about her that pulls me in, something deeper. I want to know what her story is, what she’s been through, why the hell she’s had to deal with someone like him in her life. I want to protect her from it all, even though she’s not mine to protect. Yet the thought of her being mine? It’s intriguing. Hell, it’s more than that. It’s tempting .

I grind my teeth, pulling the barbell up to my chest before dropping it back down. The gym’s nearly empty, only a few people scattered around, but I’m not paying attention to anyone else. I’m in my own world, one filled with heavy metal and sweat, with the echo of Natalie’s voice replaying in my head. I need to shake this. I can’t afford to be distracted.

I push through another set, feeling the burn in my legs and back as the weight strains against my muscles. Each rep feels like an outlet, but no matter how hard I push myself, she’s still there, lingering in my mind.

The dumbbells in my hands are familiar, the weight of them comforting as I start into a set of curls, my biceps bulging with each contraction. I catch my reflection in the mirror—sweat dripping down my face, muscles straining under my skin, the tattoos on my arms stretching with each movement. I’m a fucking beast in here. This is my sanctuary, the one place I can control every rep, every set, every inch of progress.

But even here, I can’t control the thoughts racing through my head.

Maybe she’s different. Hell, I know she’s different. There’s something about her that’s soft but not weak, vulnerable but strong at the same time. I’ve sworn off love, relationships—anything that could tie me down. It’s been years since I even entertained the thought of getting close to someone. But with Natalie... maybe she’s the one to pull me out of this.

I clench the dumbbells tighter, my forearms flexing as I bring the weight up, then slowly lower it back down. My breathing is steady, controlled, but my mind is anything but. The feel of her pressed against me when I led her into the hotel last night still haunts me, the way her body fit so perfectly against mine, the scent of her hair lingering in my nostrils.

Would it really be so bad to give things a try? To let myself feel again? Maybe I do deserve something more than just this grind. Maybe everything does happen for a reason, and if things with my ex hadn’t fallen apart, I would’ve never met Natalie. Maybe it's true that everything happens for a reason. I heard that saying so many times when I was going through that breakup, I fucking hated it.

I rack the weights, moving to the bench press, my body a well-oiled machine that knows exactly what to do. My muscles ripple as I position myself under the bar, the weight already loaded up. I don’t hesitate as I push it off the rack and bring it down to my chest, feeling the strain as I press it back up. The intensity of the workout is supposed to clear my mind, but instead, it’s fueling my thoughts.

Her uncle’s words keep ringing in my head—degrading, pathetic. He doesn’t see her for what she is, doesn’t appreciate the strength she has. He only wants to drag her down, to keep her tied to the past. But I can see through his bullshit. Natalie is more than that. She deserves better, and goddammit, I want to be better for her.

I push the bar back onto the rack with a grunt, sitting up and wiping the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. My muscles are burning, the adrenaline coursing through my veins, but none of it can drown out what I’m feeling inside.

What if it could work?

The question hits me like a punch to the gut. I’ve spent so long convincing myself that I’m better off alone, that relationships are nothing but distractions, and pain, but maybe I’ve been wrong. Maybe I deserve more than just the grind, more than just empty nights and endless miles on the road.

I move to the pull-up bar, my hands gripping the cold metal as I haul myself up. My shoulders strain, the muscles in my back tightening with each rep, but all I can think about is her. She’s different. She’s the reason I’m even questioning all this, the reason I’m starting to think... maybe.

Maybe this could work.

I drop down from the bar, landing lightly on my feet. My chest rises and falls with each heavy breath, but my mind is already made up. I’m not going to fight this anymore. Not with her. I’ll see where it goes, see if there’s something real between us.

As I grab my towel and wipe the sweat off my neck, I make a silent vow. I’m going to see if there’s anything between us. If this pull, I feel is real or just some fleeting moment. Because deep down, I know it’s more than that.

And maybe, just maybe, this could actually work. Maybe I deserve a second chance,