For the next forty-five minutes, we actually had a normal time. It was the most normal I'd felt in days. Alex helped me with my form, offered tips on my grip, and didn't mention the word "assistant" once. It was just two guys at the gym.
But as we moved to the bench press, the tone shifted.
"You look stressed, Noah," Alex said, his voice dropping as he stood behind the bar. "Like, physically wound tighter than a spring."
I let out a bitter, jagged laugh. "That obvious? I thought I was doing a good job of hiding the impending stroke."
"You're not. Cassian is still being difficult, isn't he? Even with the injury?"
"You have no idea," I muttered, pushing the bar up. "He's… he's recovering. He's just a bit particular."
"Particular?" Alex scoffed, helping me rack the weight. He leaned against the rack, his expression turning serious. "Noah, you know you don't have to do this. You don't have to stay with him and put up with whatever psychological games he's playing."
