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Better late than never, right? If and when Tyler showed up wanting to work out, Josh would be ready. And who knew? Maybe this time, they’d meet each other properly.

After all, awful high school years might make for awesome reunions.

Chapter Three

THE MORNING sun was just beginning to peek above the horizon when Tyler arrived at the Hamilton High School track. The dew lay thick on the grass, and the sky above was still a deep blue that seemed to hold secrets. He needed this time alone, away from prying eyes and the relentless attention that came with being a pro athlete—especially one recovering from a very public heart attack.

For most of Tyler’s life, mornings had sucked. Now he loved them, enthusiastically. Since he’d woken up in the hospital, every damn one felt like a big, shiny wrapped present because it meant he’d woken up to another chance, another choice. Still alive. Still fighting. Infinite possibility, all laid out for anyone willing to wake up and claim it.

Since his Reynolds checkup, he’d gotten into a little habit of pausing to pay attention anytime he caught himself stuck in his head or replaying the past. Even though her three-three-three routine was for panic attacks and crisis mode, it had evolved into a touchstone; he tried to notice things as they appeared and to move intentionally around them rather than rushing. Stupid as it sounded, simple focus blunted all kinds of sharp edges. He’d started doing it yesterday by accident, to help him navigate the school hallways, all those people, but it worked wonders.

Inhaling deeply, he could smell the damp earth beneath him as he stepped onto the track. For some stupid reason, he felt too anxious to even bother stretching or warming up; he simply started running, almost stumbling into motion. With each stride, the rhythmic pounding of his footsteps echoed across the empty field. A cool breeze made his pitiful pace feel less embarrassing.

“Damn.” As Tyler trudged around the track, he discovered just how much his body had changed since the attack. In two months, his strength and reflexes had crumbled. His breath wheezed in his ribs. The consequences of hiding out on Nadia’s couch for a month, binge-watching Hallmark movies. He could feel the stiffness in his joints, the weakness and tightness that had crept across his once-powerful frame. His sinew felt slack, and his mood soured with each leaden step around the track. He couldn’t shake the worry that full recuperation would take much longer than anyone was willing to predict.

He muttered under his breath, pushing himself harder. “I’m not giving up.”

Growing up broke teaches you plenty. Tyler had never expected anything from anyone. He’d fought for scraps long before the NFL rescued him and saddled him with impossible expectations and pressures. Being number eighty-six for the Swells hadn’t come easy.

As a kid in this crappy town, football had been an escape from hurt and hunger, a way to channel his anger and frustration over an alcoholic father who had smacked them around and an over-gentle mother who made excuses about “God’s will” right up to the minute until the cancer took her. He’d gone to college for football and only studied sports medicine so the coaches would play him in front of the scouts. His degree had only ever been a way to stay on the team. The game was everything he did and was.

In the quiet of the morning, with only the sound of his own breathing and footfalls for company, Tyler found solace in the memories of simpler problems, smaller pain. His dad abandoned them when Tyler turned twelve, leaving the family buried in debt without warning or explanation. Secretly, he’d celebrated the departure, same as Nadia, although they never admitted that to their heartbroken mom.

Keep going, asshole, he told himself, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. You can do this.

More than anything, he hated feeling like a failure and a fake—all the names his dad had ever called him in anger when Tyler had been too small to fight back.

He knew that the track wouldn’t stay empty for more than an hour. By seven thirty the students and faculty would begin to arrive, and this quiet bubble of infinite possibility would come to an end. But for now he reveled in the solitude and the chance to focus on himself—a luxury he hadn’t known for years.

As the sky above began to lighten, Tyler couldn’t help but feel a renewed sense of determination. He would face the challenges and beat them, because that’s what he always did. He’d emerge stronger than ever.

“Come on,” he urged, feeling the burn of exertion in his legs. One step at a time.

As Tyler rounded the curve of the track, the first rays of sunlight began to streak the sky. Dew glistened on the grass like scattered crystal, and the air was still crisp and cool. He focused on his breathing, in and out, in time with each stride, trying to ignore the stiffness in his legs and the lingering weakness from his heart attack. Tree. Cloud. Man.

Because right then, Tyler saw him.

A tall figure in the distance caught his eye, a muscular guy wearing a coach’s uniform, jogging toward him onto the track with an easy confidence that seemed almost magnetic.

Damn, Tyler thought, his eyes tracing the stranger’s impossible build. Who is that?

The man moved in perfect balance, his chiseled body, square jaw, and sandy hair gleaming dark gold in the rising light. No dumb gym body either. This guy had a build like a professional athlete—not football, but more like baseball or hockey maybe. He gave off an aura of command, authority even, that looked effortless and earned. Nothing exaggerated, nothing fake, nothing for show.

Tyler thought, quite clearly, Now that right there is a man I’d follow into any kind of trouble.

He blinked in genuine desire, battling the urge to close the distance between them and get a better look. Was that even possible?

Curiosity aroused, he tried to quicken his lumbering pace. His heart pounded in his chest—not just from exertion but from honest-to-God excitement. It had been so long since he’d allowed himself to feel anything like this, to want someone real, and it thrilled him as much as it scared him.

Still, he knew good looks were an awful basis for any relationship. And heaven knew he’d dated plenty of hot jerks. This was something else.

Easy there, tiger, Tyler admonished himself, struggling to catch his wheezing breath as he closed in on the handsome figure. You’re still healing.

Still, he couldn’t help but push himself harder, driven by a sense of yearning he hadn’t experienced in years. As he drew closer, the tightness in his chest seemed to subside, replaced by an electric curiosity that both exhilarated and terrified him.

A sharp pain in his ribs made him falter. He couldn’t do it. His pace slowed to a humping trudge. Heart pounding, a stitch in his side, he eased up again. He’d pushed too hard, and he’d pay the price later. His racing heart struggled in his chest, and he fought to keep his breath deep and even to calm himself. He knew better. Pay attention.

In the end, the man closed the gap for him, coming up on his right flank, first as a steady pounding of the track, and then breaths, and then a presence.