“Yeah, we’re cool,” I say. “Obviously, I know things have been kind of… weird? Between us? For a while now. But I miss how easily we used to get along, and I’d like to go back to that.”

I can feel my heart pounding as I tell him how I really feel; vulnerability is fucking scary. But then, a smile spreads across his face, and I’m flooded with relief. It’s the exact same exhilarating sensation you get when you’re flying upside down above the high bar on a release move and catch it solidly. It’s a dangerous thrill, but then you know you’re safe.

“Avery, you have no idea how much I feel the same way,” he says. He looks down apologetically at his sweat-drenched T-shirt. “I’d want to hug you right now, but…”

“Yeah, no, I’m good without it,” I tease.

“Your loss. I smell…” He sniffs his shirt and makes a sour face. “…amazing right now.”

“Please just promise to shower before I have to spend the rest of the day with you today, okay?” I ask.

“I promise,” he says earnestly.

“Now, back to work. Don’t slack on those biceps, okay?” I joke.

He flexes one arm, and the muscle swells. I resist my instinct to look impressed, and instead say goodbye and walk out of the gym with my head held high.

I get some coffee, fruit, and yogurt at a café near the hotel, and then return to my hotel room to make myself look a little more presentable for the day. I know the cameras will catch at least a few glimpses of me, and some concealer and mascara will go a long way. I’m blending the makeup under my eyes when I see my phone light up with an incoming text. My stomach drops when I catch the name on the screen—it’s Tyler. We haven’t spoken once since I left LA.

Hey. I just wanted to say that I heard you’re doing really well now, coaching and launching that organization. It all sounds really impressive. Congratulations!

I laugh, dumbfounded. I can’t believe he reached out at all, especially to praise my accomplishments. He never expected me to make anything of myself again; he didn’t think I had the drive to dream, achieve, or succeed anymore. It’s deliciously satisfying to see him recognize how wrong he was. I wish I could travel back in time to that fight, the one a few months before our breakup, when he found me sitting on the kitchen floor with my wineglass in the middle of the afternoon and criticized what looked like a lack of ambition. If only that version of myself could see my life now.