Hunter’s hand shot toward the treadmill rail. He caught himself before he grabbed it, but barely. His stride shortened, his jaw locked, and the controlled expression he had worn since I walked in cracked clean through.
“What?” he asked, as if he hadn’t heard me right.
I kept my gaze forward. “My ex. We were together for two years.”
Hunter slowed his treadmill, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. If I stopped moving, the confession would settle too heavily, and I didn’t want to stand still under the weight of it.
“He was a resident,” I continued. “Which, at the time, I thought was a good thing. I thought he understood what my life looked like. The hours, the pressure, the way medicine can take over everything if you let it. I thought we were both ambitious and tired and trying to build something.”
Hunter didn’t interrupt. That made it easier to keep going and harder at the same time.
“I went looking for him one night while we were both on shift. I thought we could steal a few minutes together.” My voice went flatter, and I hated that. “I found him in an on-call room with a nurse.”
Hunter stopped running. The treadmill slowed under him until he stood still, one hand braced on the rail, his body tight with a kind of anger that felt too intense for a story that wasn’t his. I kept jogging.
“It wasn’t dramatic the way people think it would be,” I said. “I didn’t throw anything or scream. I just stood there for a second, trying to understand how something so ugly could happen in such a normal place.”
I swallowed, focusing on my pace.
Hunter’s voice came out rough. “What did you do?”
“I closed the door and didn’t turn back.” I was out of breath now from the speed I was running.
He was quiet.
“I finished my shift. I answered questions, reviewed charts, smiled when people spoke to me, and went home. Then I started running because if I moved fast enough, I didn’t have to think about how humiliated I felt.” There it was in a nutshell. I had always looked up to my parents, who had a great marriage. Dad supported all of Mom’s dreams and vice versa. There was never a time when Mom had to worry about a puck bunny or Dad’s eyes wandering.
“You weren’t the one who should’ve felt humiliated,” he said, his jaw so taut I thought it might snap.
I finally slowed my treadmill to a walk and looked over at him. My breaths were fast, and my body was coated in a sheen of sweat. Hunter’s expression was different now. His usual restraint was still there, but underneath it was something rawer.
“You sound sure,” I said.
“I am.”
“I was a fool, Hunter. I had these great parents who set the bar high, and I thought every man would be devoted in the same way.” I huffed and took a sip from the water bottle I’d brought down with me.
“I know all about that. My parents are still madly in love,” he said with a crooked smile. “But someone else’s betrayal doesn’t make you a fool. It means you trusted someone who didn’t deserve it.”
“That’s what I hated most,” I admitted. “Not losing him. By the end, I don’t even think I wanted him anymore. I hated that he made me question myself. My judgment. My instincts. I hated wondering if everyone else knew before I did. I hated feeling like the last person to understand my own relationship.”
Hunter’s eyes stayed on me. I felt them even when I didn’t look.
After a moment, he said, “That part messes with your head.”
My fingers tightened around the treadmill rail. He hadn’t said it like a guess.
He said it like memory.
I turned my head slowly. “Yeah. It does.”
Something passed between us then, heavier than flirtation and more dangerous than attraction. I knew pieces of Hunter’s past. Everyone in my father’s world knew pieces, whether they admitted it or not. The disastrous wedding. The ex who lied. I had been younger then, old enough to know adults whispered when they thought teenagers weren’t listening, but not old enough to understand all the ways a betrayal like that could brand a person. Now I was old enough. And standing in front of Hunter, I understood more than I wanted to.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
His brow creased. “For what?”
“For whatever made you learn that,” I said with a frown.