Javier’s voice hit the room before I could stop myself from reacting.
“Leave him. Come work for me. You’ll be safer. Professionally. Emotionally.”
I stepped forward before she even answered. I didn’t care how cool or composed I was supposed to be. My voice came out cold, sharp. “Find another trainer, Javier.”
Riley cut in fast. “You don’t decide for me, Rivera.”
I didn’t look at her. I couldn’t. Not while he was still standing there like he hadn’t just tried to steal her out from under me with one smug offer and that PR-polished smirk.
Javier didn’t even blink. “Think about it, Morgan,” he said, gaze flicking over her with a predator’s ease. And then he left—just like that. No apology. No shame.
But the words he dropped stayed behind. You’ll be safer. Safer from what? Me?
***
Later that evening, I sat slumped in the leather booth of a dim pub with Matteo—my oldest friend, my ex-agent, the only person who ever told me the truth straight to my face. The beer in front of me was untouched.
“She didn’t even hesitate,” I muttered.
Matteo raised an eyebrow. “To tell you off or to not take his offer?”
I glared at the table. “Both.”
He snorted. “You know, not every woman gets an offer from Javier freaking Santos and walks away. But she did. That tells you something.”
“Yeah,” I muttered. “That I don’t deserve her.”
He leaned in. “No. That she’s still here, Rivera. Despite everything. Even when you keep giving her reasons to run.”
I stared at the condensation dripping down my glass. “I keep messing it up.”
“Then stop,” Matteo said simply. “Or someone else—like Santos—is going to fix what you broke.”
***
The next day, I was at the facility early. Earlier than usual. Legs burning. Heart wired. I pushed through each drill like the pain was the price of something I still hadn’t earned.
Riley kept barking instructions, all clinical and detached. But I knew her voice too well. I could hear the crack behind the command.
“You think too highly of yourself,” I muttered when she made me repeat the same stretch again.
“And you think too much. Period,” she snapped, smirking without warmth.
I leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. My chest was tight. I’d meant to say nothing. Just get through the session. But her being this close and this distant at the same time—it made silence impossible.
“You know why I ended it back then, right?”
She looked at me. Her guard flickered for a second.
“I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” I said. “I was falling apart. I got to Madrid and everything started breaking—my body, my head. And you… you were still shining. Focused. Going places.”
I swallowed. “I didn’t want to be the guy who slowed you down.”
Her voice hit back fast. “So you thought vanishing would be kinder?”
I looked down at my shoes. “I thought if I stayed, you’d resent me. For needing you too much. For being a mess.”
She was quiet. Too quiet.
“I didn’t want you to miss your shot because you were too busy trying to save mine,” I said. “So I let go.”
“You didn’t let go,” she said. “You disappeared. Like I meant nothing.”
I stepped forward. I didn’t care if I was breaking rules or logic or whatever fragile peace we had. “That was never true. You were the only thing that felt real.”
She blinked, throat tight. I hated seeing her like that. Hated more that I caused it.
“I was drowning,” I said, voice shaking. “And I didn’t want to drag you down with me.”
She took a breath that cracked. “So you thought I’d be better off sobbing at an airport gate?”
I flinched. “I didn’t know how to say goodbye. So I didn’t.”
A long silence.
Then I tried to joke, half-hearted and broken. “Maybe you should’ve gone with Javier. He probably wouldn’t have left you crying at an airport.”
She gave a soft, bitter laugh. “Don’t flatter yourself. I cried for me.”
That stopped me.
She looked straight at me, calm but raw. “For the version of me that thought I wasn’t enough. That thought I could fix everything with love and ice packs.”
My chest tightened, painfully.
I stepped closer again. She didn’t move.
“You were always enough,” I said. “I just didn’t know how to be.”