Ten-mile runs suck. Running intervals sucks. Combining them, though? That’s a whole new level of suck.

Were it not for Olivia asking me to run a small portion of her 100-mile race with her, now only weeks away, there’s not a chance I’d be doing this. Even when we ran college cross-country together, enduring grueling two-a-day workouts, she was so much faster than me that it looked like I was walking. And in the years since we graduated, her training has only increased, whereas mine has dwindled to a few casual runs each week. But it’s impossible to tell a woman who has just given birth that you don’t think you can run one-tenth of a race with her. My pride won’t allow it.

By the time I get home it’s dark, and I’m so drained I barely have the energy to climb the stairs to my door. I shower quickly and slide into the hot tub, already so stiff I’m wondering how I’ll climb back out.

I close my eyes and lean back against the headrest. Rob and I practically lived in the hot tub when we first moved in, but I don’t think he’s been out here once in the past year. I understood it, because he had so little free time, but he sure seems to have plenty of free time now. Just this past weekend, he and a few colleagues went to Brussels, while I can’t remember the last time he didn’t work a weekend while he was home. That shouldn’t annoy me as much as it does.

I shut him out of my mind and begin to drift off. I might hate long runs, but this is one of my favorite things—the way exhaustion plus hot water lulls you to sleep.

“Hello, roomie.” My eyes fly open, catching on the tattoo on Brendan’s right shoulder, the definition of his chest, before I drag them away.

“Shouldn’t you be out?” My voice is clipped and barely civil.

“It’s 9 PM. That’s early for most people in our demographic. Not you, obviously. I didn’t know you were such a hot tub super-fan.”

“I’m not. I’m training to run part of Olivia’s race, and I’m stiff.”

He looks like he’s considering something, and then sighs. “I rented a car if you need a ride to Squaw Valley,” he says, “since we’re on the same flight.”

“We are?” My chagrin borders on despair. I didn’t realize Brendan was going at all, much less a day early like me. Even in another freaking state we need to be stuck in the same house?

He raises a brow. “Rob gave me his ticket to Reno. I thought he told you.”

My molars grind so hard I can hear them over the sound of the Jacuzzi jets. How could Rob not have mentioned this? As if it’s not bad enough that I have to live with this guy, I now have to sit right next to him for an entire flight?

“He didn’t mention that,” I reply between my teeth.

I’m no longer enjoying the hot tub. I only remain because I don’t want to give Brendan the satisfaction of knowing he’s driven me off. He barely restrains a smile, leaning his head back and stretching out his arms. “This is one hell of a set-up you’ve landed,” he says. “Big house, pool, hot tub. Rob’s quite the provider. I can’t believe you didn’t get all this shit locked down the minute he proposed.”

I’m no longer exhausted. I now have just enough strength to lunge across the hot tub and pummel him, and God knows I’d like to. “Fuck you, Brendan. You’ve known me for way too long to sit there and pretend you think I’m a gold digger.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “You’re right,” he admits. “I’m sorry.” His eyes close, as if this sudden burst of honesty has exhausted him. “Why are you dragging your feet, Erin?”

“Who says I’m dragging my feet?”

“Everyone. Everyone alive thinks you’re dragging your feet. I’m not judging you. I just want to know why.”

I shouldn’t answer. He just accused me of being a gold digger, and he’s definitely not on my side here. It’s insane to hand him more information about anything. But I appreciate his apology, and he’s also the only person who knows about my dad outside of my family. I guess I just want one other person alive know how I feel.

“It’s mostly my dad. He’ll drink at the ceremony, even if I ask him not to, and my mother will make an ass of herself trying to cover it up. And he’ll drink at everything leading up to it—any party, the rehearsal dinner. There are so many things that can go wrong, and I’m just…tired.” My voice catches a little, as if grief accompanies the realization.

I am tired. I’m so tired of those calls at night and the worry and the sense that I have to be on my guard every moment of the day to keep the world from falling in on us all.

I clear my throat. “It feels like too much right now.”

He gives me that careful, assessing look I’ve seen far too often. I sometimes get the sense that he hears ten extra words for every one I speak, drawing my secrets from me without my consent.

“And you’ve never told Rob any of this.”

I sigh. “No. He won’t understand. He won’t respect it. He won’t respect that my father has so little self-control. He won’t understand why I coddle him by going to Denver.”

“You spend so much time hiding shit from him,” Brendan says. “Wouldn’t it just be better to let him know who you are?”

His voice is gentle. It doesn’t sound like an accusation, yet it is one, and I can’t even blame him for it. His best friend is about to marry the biggest liar who ever lived.

“If I don’t like who I am and what my family is, Brendan, how can I expect Rob to like those things?”

“You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of,” he insists. “And you shouldn’t be with someone who doesn’t feel the same way.”

It almost sounds like he’s defending me, as if he thinks Rob’s the one in error, when obviously Rob can’t be because he knows none of this. I don’t get it.

“Olivia thinks that’s why you haven’t planned the wedding—because you know something’s wrong,” he adds.

“I can’t believe Olivia is discussing this with you,” I say.

“She’s worried.”

“Yeah, so worried that she told the guy who doesn’t want Rob to marry me all about it. That’s extremely helpful.”

The corner of his mouth tips upward. “She hates me slightly less than you do, so she’s not inclined to think the worst.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“You just pretend to,” he says softly, holding my eye.

He’s being serious, and there’s something in his tone that draws goose bumps to the surface of my skin. The moment he says it, I know he’s right. I am pretending. I have been forever.

“It’s too warm. I’m done,” I say, jumping to my feet. I glance up to find that he is not smirking, but staring at me as the water slides over my skin.

He looks away, and I’m out of the tub when I hear him speak.

“Don’t worry, Erin. I’m just pretending to hate you too.”