Chapter 3

Sarah

The clang of weights and the steady hum of treadmills filled the air as I pushed the gym door open that evening. I scanned the room, my heart racing not from the workout ahead, but from the knowledge that Harper was here, somewhere among the grunts and the music.

Returning to Ravens Peak had been like stepping into a time capsule. Everywhere I looked, there were echoes of my past, fragments of a life I had almost forgotten. Initially, I left for New York because I felt confined here with the town's predictable rhythms and familiar faces. I longed for something more, something bigger. A place where I could reinvent myself. All of which now seemed so obsolete, in comparison to what I had left behind.

Looking back, one piece had always been missing, an unresolved chapter that haunted me more than I cared to admit. Harper. Our friendship had been the cornerstone of my youth, a bond that had shaped so much of who I was. When it fell apart, it felt like I had lost a part of myself. I had been angry, confused, and ultimately, too stubborn to see the truth she had tried to show me.

Now, about ten years later, with the clarity that distance and experience bring, I realized how much I had missed her. It wasn't just about closure; it was about reclaiming a part of my heart that had always belonged to her. Shane's betrayal had been a wake-up call, a harsh reminder of the trust and loyalty I had once shared with Harper. If I was truly going to start anew, I needed to mend that rift. I needed to know if we could still be a part of each other's lives.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself as I walked further into the gym. The familiar scent of sweat and determination filled my senses, grounding me. This was it. This was where I would take the first step towards healing, towards reconnecting with the person who had once been my other half.

My breath caught in my throat as I saw her, a rush of emotions flooding me. The years had been kind to her; she looked amazing. Her skin, tanned and radiant against the white tank top she wore, clinging to her form. Her dark hair, pulled into a high ponytail, swayed slightly as she moved.

I found her at the free weights, her focus absolute as she lifted. Watching her, a mix of admiration and something far more complicated twisted inside me. I approached, my confidence firming with each step.

As Harper looked up, her expression was hesitant. Her eyes, still the same vibrant shade of blue, sparkled with a mixture of surprise and curiosity. A few fine lines etched around them hinted at the years that had passed, but they only added to her allure, giving her a mature, confident look. My heart swelled with a strange combination of relief and nerves. It was like seeing a long-lost piece of myself, one that I had desperately missed and wasn't sure would ever return.

"Working hard, I see," I said, keeping my voice neutral, my hands tucked into the pockets of my sweatshirt. "Do you have a client right now?"

Harper didn't startle, didn't even pause her set. She finished, then placed the weights back on the rack before turning to me. "Sarah," she acknowledged, her forehead glistening. "No, I'm finished with my appointments for the day."

"Mind if I join?" The question was out before I could consider it fully.

She shrugged, a gesture that was both an invitation and a challenge. "Have at it."

We worked in silence at first, the tension between us a tangible thing. I found myself stealing glances at her, noting the changes time had wrought on us both. Harper's physical strength and definition reflected the changes she had undergone, of her journey of self-improvement and resilience. As I watched her lift weights with grace and power, I couldn't help but draw parallels to my own transformation. I was no longer the girl who had left all those years ago, na?ve and full of dreams. Life had shaped me, too, in different ways. The years had given me new perspectives, new scars, and new strengths. Our physical changes were symbolic of the deeper, internal growth we had both experienced, making it clear that we were different people now, with new stories to tell and new bridges to build.

"You're back in town then?" Harper's voice cut through my thoughts, casual yet loaded.

"Yeah, just arrived," I managed, focusing on the weight of the dumbbells.

The air was thick with unspoken words and memories, each rep and set a battle not just of physical strength but of wills, of emotions long suppressed.

"Why now?" she finally asked, her tone softer, as she took a break, wiping her face with a towel.

I hesitated, searching for the right words. "Had some personal things to take care of. And maybe... to fix some things that were left broken."

Her laugh was short, devoid of humor. "A lot of things were left broken, Sarah."

A pang of guilt twisted in my gut. Admitting the truth about Shane felt like a slap in the face, especially since Harper had seen through him from the start. It was embarrassing, acknowledging that I had ignored her warnings, that I had chosen to believe in a facade rather than my best friend.

"What can I say? You were right about Shane. I walked in on him with another woman. In our bed. It was... humiliating, devastating. And the worst part? When I confronted him, he blamed it on me. Said I was too focused on work, that he wasn't getting what he needed from me. I'm sorry, Harper. Your warnings about Shane. I should have listened. You just wanted to protect me."

As I admitted my fault, a wave of regret washed over me. I was so stubborn, so sure Harper was wrong. Maybe even thought she was jealous. "When you told me about seeing Shane with someone else, I thought... I thought maybe you were just being possessive, trying to sabotage things. It's clear now how off I was."

Harper's response was measured, but I could see the relief mixing with the hurt in her eyes. "I hated that it came between us. I missed you—so damn much. I always hoped you'd see the truth before it was too late."

Her voice softened even more, and she sighed deeply. "But it's not just about being right, Sarah. It's about losing you, losing us. The times I needed my best friend, and you weren't there because of this... this asshole. It killed me. I was angry, yeah, but mostly, I was just heartbroken."

I should have seen it, I thought. Harper had no reason to lie, and I let my trust in Shane blind me to her loyalty. She was looking out for me, and I shut her out. "You tried to make me see things I wasn't ready to face, pushing me to acknowledge truths I wanted to ignore. I didn't understand it then. I was so hurt. But now... I see how much you cared. I'm so sorry. I know my apologies can't change the past, but maybe we can work on building something new. Or try to." I said quietly.

Harper nodded, her eyes softening as she processed my words.

The silence that followed was heavy, filled with the echoes of our past and the uncertainty of our future. We resumed our workout, the rhythm of our movements a kind of dialogue, an exploration of the tentative ground between us.

As we moved through the gym, challenging each other with each exercise, I felt something shift. With every lift, every sprint, the layers of resentment and hurt began to peel away, leaving raw but clean wounds.

"Damn, Sarah, I'm pretty impressed! Where'd you learn to lift like that?" Harper grunted, as we squared off on the bench press, a semblance of our old camaraderie flickering to life.

"Life…" I gasped out, pushing the bar up one last time. "Along with a lot of shitty apartment gyms and physical therapy after I busted my shoulder trying to build the HEMNES Ikea bookshelf by myself. Can you believe that?"

Harper, who had been spotting me, burst into laughter. "Wait, I think I have that bookshelf. The one with a million pieces and instructions that look like a bad game of Pictionary?"

I nodded, grinning despite the effort. "Yep, that's the one. I thought, 'How hard can it be?' Next thing I know, I'm lying on the floor, pinned by a rogue shelf panel and contemplating my life choices."

Harper shook her head, still chuckling. "Well, at least it wasn't the dresser. You might have ended up in a full body cast."

"Don't remind me," I said, racking the weights and wiping the sweat from my brow. "I swear, next time I'm hiring a professional."

We ended our session with some cardio, side by side on the treadmills, the pace a silent agreement that pushed both of us to our limits. The physical exhaustion was a balm, smoothing over the earlier sharper edges of our interaction, grounding us in the present.

"Drinks? My treat," Harper offered as we cooled down, her voice hesitant but hopeful.

I considered her, the sweat-drenched hair, the flush of exertion on her cheeks, and the openness in her eyes I hadn't seen in years. "I'd like that."

The walk to the locker room was a bridge, each step taking us further from the past and closer to whatever lay ahead. We changed in silence, the air between us lighter, the ghosts of our past receding with each passing moment. I caught glimpses of Harper out of the corner of my eye, her movements steady and deliberate, and I marveled at how much we had both changed and grown. The prospect of reconnecting with her, filled me with a sense of hope I hadn't felt in years. Butterflies danced in my stomach, a physical manifestation of the emotions swirling within me.

As we left the gym, the setting sun cast long shadows on the street, a reminder of the time that had passed and the evenings we'd once spent lost in conversation and laughter. The prospect of drinks, of sitting across from Harper, not as the people we had once been, but as who we were now, was just as nerve-racking as it was exhilarating.

The bar was a dive we'd frequented in our youth, its familiar dinginess a comforting backdrop to the new chapter we were tentatively beginning. The dim lighting provides a warm, nostalgic glow over the worn wooden tables and mismatched chairs. The jukebox in the corner, its lights flickering intermittently, played a mix of old rock and country tunes.

The walls were adorned with faded posters and photographs, remnants of past patrons and forgotten nights. The bar itself, a long stretch of scuffed wood, was manned by a grizzled bartender I didn't recognize. The booths along the walls offered a semblance of privacy, their cracked vinyl seats showing the bar's age and the countless conversations they had hosted.

As we settled into one of the booths, the cheap beer in our hands, the familiar surroundings made it easier to let our guards down. The barriers between us continued to crumble, the flow of conversation becoming more natural, more honest. The hum of chatter from other patrons and the occasional clink of glasses created a soothing backdrop.

"I missed this," Harper admitted, her guard down, her smile genuine.

"Me too. A lot," I confessed, the admission freeing a part of me I hadn't realized was still chained.

"We've both been through so much in the last decade. Sitting here, I feel more at home than I have in a long time. There's something about sharing with someone who knows you from way back, isn't there?"

"Exactly. You know all my history, my quirks. And despite everything, you were willing to welcome me back. It means a lot, Harper. There's no place I'd rather be right now." I paused, taking a deep breath and letting the words settle in the air between us, the weight of my next admission pressing down on me. "It was quick, my decision to leave New York," I said, glancing over at her. "I think Shane had been seeing someone else for a while."

Harper stilled, her eyes locking with mine, conveying a depth of understanding that seemed to close the distance our past conflicts had created. She set her drink down gently, her voice soft but earnest. "I'm really sorry you're going through this, Sarah," she murmured, the sympathy in her voice unmistakably genuine. "But I'm here for you now, and honestly, I'm just glad I can be here to support you through this." Her hand reached out, touching mine briefly, a simple gesture that felt like an anchor in the swirl of my tumultuous return.

We sat in silence for a moment, letting the warmth of the connection sink in. My heart felt lighter, buoyed by the strength of our shared history. The reality of my life in New York and my crumbling marriage seemed to momentarily fade into the background, replaced by the comforting knowledge that I wasn't alone. I realized how grateful I was for the chance to reconnect with Harper in a way that felt genuine and uncomplicated.

"You should train me," I blurted out, changing the subject before I got too emotional.

"Pardon?" Harper questioned.

"At the gym. I've plateaued and gotten as far as I can on my own. I could use your help."

"That would be great! I'd love to!"

The night deepened around us, the bar growing louder, but our bubble remained intact, a space where we could explore the new dynamics between us, where I could confront the feelings seeing Harper again had stirred within me.