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Paige swivels from me to Julien, who’s still pushing Levi’s stroller. Then she takes in our running clothes and my sweaty, flushed face.

Shit. I’m busted.

“What are you doing?” she asks like it’s not completely obvious.

“I’ve been ... It’s just that ... You see ...” I’m fumbling around, not sure what to say.

Mateo and I haven’t shared our plans with Paige and Adam yet—it’s supposed to be a bit of a surprise, so I can’t tell her it’s because of her. But I see the hurt written all over her face.

“We’re running,” Julien answers for me. I pin him with my glare, but he meets my anger with his calm attitude that does not match my own.

“Together? Why? Are you—” She gestures between us and I see how she might take it. Especially since Julien has the stroller.

“No,” I blurt out too quickly. I can’t see the look on Julien’s face, but he sucks in a breath.

“No, Paige,” he says a little more gently. “I’m just helping her run.”

Though I’m the one who said no first, his words sting a little. Just helping me run.

“Okay.” She looks at me as if waiting for further explanation. When I don’t give her one, she sighs. “You always said if I found you running, it would be because you were in a race against all your exes for the most delicious doughnut and you didn’t want any of them to have it.”

Julien snorts at this, but I don’t laugh. Not when she’s so hurt. She’s asked me to go running with her countless times, and I’ve always turned her down.

Even since I moved here, she’s suggested it a few times because the cooler weather makes it easier. I’ve always said no way in hell could she get me to run.

She doesn’t know she is the reason.

“I have a good reason,” I tell her. “But I can’t tell you.”

“You can’t tell me?”

“Nope.” My attempt at levity doesn’t work.

There’s a long pause and something dark akin to pain washes over Paige’s face.

“We don’t keep secrets from each other.” Her breathing starts coming fast.

Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit.

Our mom.

She didn’t tell us she was having surgery, keeping it a secret so we wouldn’t worry. We never got to say goodbye because she didn’t make it off the table. Paige was out on a run when it happened, and I had to call her.

But she was so far away from home and the only way back was running. It traumatized her, and she wasn’t able to run for almost two years—not until she moved here and reconnected with Adam.

She’s still going to therapy to manage her triggers, and I can see she’s trying to take deep breaths. I didn’t realize it was still this bad. Julien’s eyes bounce between us, and I know he’s trying to figure out why her reaction seems so strong.

I want to defend my sister, stick up for her. This is all my fault. I should have known this would be hard for her. Secrets, no matter how small, are not something we do. Unable to stand the grief in her expression, I rush forward to wrap my arms around her, but she takes a step back.

Ouch.

My arms drop to my sides as she stares. I’m the one who triggered her, and right now, she doesn’t want my help. This is my baby sister, and I’ve hurt her. Her face is going to haunt me—my eyes well up with tears but I choke them down.

“Paige, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you. It’s not a bad secret. Fuck.” I turn to Julien, who has moved closer to me. He nods in reassurance, and I take some strength from him.

I sigh. “We’re planning a surprise stag and doe weekend for you and Adam, and this jackass”—I jab a thumb at Julien—“suggested we all do a race together during the weekend since you two are crazy and love running. I wanted to be able to do the race with you, so I started running. I didn’t ask you for help because you would’ve been so suspicious of why I wanted to start running without Kanye West chasing me.” My smile is weak.

She nods, understanding softening the edges of her pain, but she’s still triggered. I can’t blame her.

“I need to get home,” she says, glancing at her running watch. I forgot she comes out here sometimes to run in the city.

“Okay. Call me later?” I plead.

She nods again and leans to give Levi a kiss. With a last glance at Julien, confusion returning to her face, she continues her run.

I let out a huge breath. “Fuck.”

“Are you alright?” Julien asks, intent on assessing my face.

“No,” I breathe, immediately surprised by my honest answer.

“There’s more to this, isn’t there?”

“Yes, but it’s not my place.”

“Of course. I hope she’s okay.”

When I look up, he’s watching Paige run down the path, concern pinching his features. They’re friends, but I doubt Paige has ever had a panic attack in front of him. I bet Adam and I, and possibly her best friend Shay, are the only ones who’ve seen her like that.

“She will be. She’ll need to process—talk to Adam about it first, and then she’ll be open to talking to me.” It stung at first when she made the switch from me to Adam as her first call, but after watching them grow as a couple, I can’t blame her. He’s exactly what she needs.

Ninety-five percent happy for her.

“It’s not your fault,” he says, his attention back on me .

That pulls me up short. How did he know? That seed of guilt began blooming as soon as I heard her call my name. It is my fault—I should’ve told her. She doesn’t like surprises, and I’m supposed to protect her, not hurt her.

“It is.”

“No, it’s not. You’re doing something nice for her and something nice for yourself.”

“I shouldn’t have kept it a secret.”

“Your heart was in the right place.”

“Intention doesn’t matter.”

He doesn’t respond right away, thinking over his answer.

“Sometimes it doesn’t.” That’s a loaded sentence. “But sometimes it does, and she’ll know that. Paige is a reasonable person.” He says it so earnestly I almost believe him.

I take a few deep breaths. I have to get to work, but I don’t want to go. Julien accepts my silence and gestures with his head back the way we came. We didn’t make it far today, so it’s faster to turn around than finish our loop.

Our loop.

How am I going to explain this to Paige? Julien and I are ... friends. I don’t think she’s going to believe me. Do I even believe myself? Before today I would have said yes, but the feeling of his hands on my legs is seared into my memory.

Friends don’t do what he does for me. Paige would, but she’s a massage therapist and my sister. I’ve never had a friend treat me the way Julien does .

We’re back to the path that leads to my apartment way too soon. There’s a tense silence, and Julien inhales as though he’s about to say something. But he shuts his mouth and passes the stroller back to me. With a small wave I’m too slow to return, he runs off.

Do I linger, watching him from behind as he runs away from me?

Yes, yes I do.

I’d love to bounce a quarter off his ass. God damn. Like he senses me watching him, his head turns and our eyes connect for a second before I turn away, flushing at getting caught staring.

Something shifted between us today, and I can’t say I hate him. He still says all the wrong things, but sometimes he says the right things. And I’m starting to suspect when he says the wrong things, it’s with the right intentions.

And sometimes, maybe, intentions do matter.

I anxiously wait all day for Paige to call. My phone plays tricks on me because I swear it buzzes in my pocket every few minutes, but when I check, no one is calling and there are no new messages.

“Dr. Harrison.” My boss comes up to me while I’m researching medical tech developed for gymnastics. It’s a promising new piece of equipment, meant to make stretching safer and more efficient.

“Yes?” My eyes are glued to the screen so I don’t realize how close she is.

“Is that what you’re working on?” she asks from over my shoulder .

“I was wondering if we could tweak this device, or make a bigger one, to accommodate athletes who have larger bodies—football or rugby players, even runners, with their longer legs. This has been proven to help gymnasts, but I think changing a few of the mechanics and adjusting the scale could be beneficial.”

“Interesting,” she says. Her tone of voice is always so flat, I can never tell what she’s thinking. Even her face is blank. She scans it for a few moments and then gestures to the stack of notes in front of me. When I hand them to her, her brows pinch.

A few years ago, my nerves would’ve been frayed if a boss had scrutinized my work, but I’ve been doing this a while now, and I’m confident I’m onto something.

“It’s good,” she says, handing the papers back to me. “Keep me updated on your progress.”

“Of course.” My smile is wide as I turn back to my research. I’m so absorbed in my work that when my alarm blares, alerting me that my class is starting, I have to bolt to the other side of campus. And I can say bolt, because apparently hell has frozen over and I’m now a runner.

That still feels weird to say.

My contract with the university requires me to teach two classes a semester. I don’t mind though—I enjoy teaching. I have one undergrad class, calculus, which I can do in my sleep. Apparently, so can my students, because there are a few resting their heads on their desks.

The second class I teach is a bit smaller. It’s an advanced biomedical design class. Which is perfect because that’s my main field of study as a PhD in Biomedical Design and Biomechanical Engineering.

I love this class because most of these students are on track to pursue even higher education, and I love seeing more women than there were when I was in school. It’s not quite half, but it’s close.

The class goes by in a blur, my lesson stretching into more of a discussion as my current research bleeds into my teaching. It was helpful to get some fresh perspectives. Some professors are too proud to get ideas and feedback from their students, but I find their more basic knowledge helps me get back to the fundamentals of what I’m trying to achieve.

Oftentimes my colleagues are reaching for more complex research, diving deep into complicated and hard to prove theories and designs.

I think that’s bullshit. There is so much to be said for the basics. The fundamentals are what our field is built on, and utilizing the base ideas is what propels my research forward.

The last student leaves my class, head buried in their book, and I breathe a sigh of relief as I take out my phone.

I have one text from a number I don’t recognize.

Unknown

Paige is on the warpath, watch out

What the hell?