Page 233 of The Fall

What can I do but smile back?

How many times have we done this exact dance? His eyes meeting mine across a crowded room, a look that saysyes, youandalways youwithout words.

Some truths run deeper than time.

Hayes squeezes my shoulder before turning to his skates with a barely-hidden grin.

Blair pulls on his shorts, then yanks a navy Mutineers hoodie over his head. He stands, scoops his phone and water bottle from his locker shelf, and strides toward us.

“Come on, Kicks,” Hayes teases when Blair reaches us. “Let’s get you moving. Old man Calle here’s got to stretch those hammies.”

Blair rolls his eyes.

We peel away from the noise—Hayes launching into some story behind us about Axel’s “tragic” flexibility—and step into the corridor, side by side.

He nudges open the door to the training room with his shoulder and gestures for me to go first. It’s the same room: the big blue mat is in the center of the floor, a stack of kettlebells beside it. He drops to his knees on the mat and stretches his arms overhead, then folds forward at the waist. His spine lets go with a quick, quiet sequence of pops.

“Come on, babe. Let’s do this. You’ll feel better.”

I mirror Blair’s stretch, arms reaching for the ceiling tiles.

“Hurt?” His voice rumbles between us.

“No.”

I lean forward until hamstrings burn and tension unwinds in reluctant increments. Blair shifts beside me; his palm slides up behind my knee, guiding me deeper. “Good,” Blair breathes. “Just like that.” His lips brush my temple.

Everything in me splits. I know he’s going to take my hand and tangle our fingers together, and he does. His thumb strokes my knuckles before his fingers slide between mine. We’re connected, palm to palm, past and future colliding in the now.

His breath stirs hair near my ear as he moves behind me. I built this. I chose this. I fell in love with him through a thousand small moments. Didn’t I? I walk back through memory after memory: his smile across the locker room, his voice beneath the fireworks on a rooftop in Dallas, our eyes meeting across the ice, the way he says my name when no one else is listening. The snapshots flicker behind my eyes, faster and faster; I’m drowning in memories of loving him.

“Breathe, Torey.”

He guides me to the next position. I move with him, letting my body lead while my mind fractures.

“Tell me if you need to stop,” he says quietly.

What would stopping even mean? Pausing time here forever? Hiding in this room where nothing has broken?

His hand settles at the base of my skull, digging in deeper than muscle, deeper than bone.

“You’re doing great. Keep grounding yourself until you feel the release.”

He shifts closer, his knee brushing mine. Every second we spend like this is another second toward whatever’s coming, another moment I’ll have to lose.

The way he watches me—God, the way he watches me, like I’m the first clean breath after drowning, as if I’m proof that good things still exist in a world that took his brother.

His hand cups my cheek. His thumb strokes my jaw. “Torey...”

Blair has always been able to pack entire conversations into the way he says my name.

“I’m okay,” I tell him.

How many times have I watched the light fall and fade from his eyes?

If this is all I’m given, if this loop is the last time I get to love him whole, let it matter.

“We’re going to get through this,” he breathes.