Ella

I open my balcony door, the mist of evening rain coating my exposed skin. It's relaxing after rehearsing the exercises for tomorrow's strength training class. The temperature is perfect. We're in the last week of September, and everything points towards autumn.

The low-hanging fog, cooler breeze, salty air, and the falling leaves. Even the streaked lights of Vancouver remind me of autumn.

I tilt my face to the sky, enjoying the cool droplets against my heated skin. Rain has always been a good friend. It grants you privacy. Ryland and I live in a denser area of the City of Vancouver. The best time to enjoy privacy on your balcony is when it's pouring rain. Rain makes up for the privacy Vancouver lacks.

Yet I still adore the city. The high density makes it diverse; everywhere you look, you can see different cultures through the portrayal of restaurants and art, people of different ethnicities walking down the streets. Living near the ocean is an experience, too. There's a constant smell of ocean; something musky with a hint of salt. Plus, there are communities within the community, and it reminds me of West Kelowna. The same group comes to my exercise classes every morning. I'm a personal trainer for the same people who come for their weekly appointments. The same people work at my favourite restaurant, and I see plenty of familiar faces.

After sipping my hot water with honey and lemon, I take a deep breath of the musky air. The humidity isn't thick tonight, which is a blessing. When the humidity hits, it's difficult to contain my hair. It becomes frizzy and a tangled mess of natural curls.

Just then, the door slides open behind me. Ryland steps outside with my phone blaring a Taylor Swift ringtone. "There's a call for you." He glances at the screen. "It's Brenna."

I set my mug down and take the phone from Ryland, mouthing him a silent Thank you while I tap the accept button.

"Brenna," I say, "hey. What's up? Did Kaleb arrive safely?"

"Yeah," she replies. "We're heading over to the building now. He's got a shit-ton of unpacking to do. Do you think you and Ryland could help with the unpacking? Shea and I will order pizza and grab some drinks. We can have a little welcome back party for KJ. But only if you're willing and not busy."

Ryland is still standing in the doorway. He's leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. Strands of his curly brown hair obscure his forehead and his cheeks are flushed. He raises his eyebrows, as if to ask, What does she want?

"I'll ask him. Give me a second."

Removing the phone from my ear, I relay the information to Ryland. His face lights up and he expresses his excitement. Although he plays soccer, he's a major hockey fanatic. When the trade happened, he was almost jumping up and down. And with my confirmation about Shea and Kaleb's chemistry (I grew up watching them play together and develop their skills), Ryland was ecstatic.

Although Ryland has already met Shea and Kaleb (several times), he can never seem to adapt to knowing professional athletes.

"Yeah," I laugh, bringing the phone back to my ear. "Ryland wants to hang out with Shea and Kaleb again."

Brenna chuckles. "Of course he does. Tell Ryland they're nothing special. Off the ice at least."

"Will do," I reply. "We'll see you later. If you can, tell Kaleb to send a message to Abbey. She worked her ass off getting him an apartment room here."

When the trade went through, Kaleb was on a mission to find a place to stay while the house he bought was being processed. Meaning, people were living in it and they have until November first to move out. Kaleb needed a place to stay in the city and close to Rogers Arena since Melody has their vehicle. Abbey pulled some strings and found a room on the same floor as Ryland and I. Right now, she's Kaleb's saviour. Finding a place to live in Vancouver, within the depths of the city, is tricky.

I can hear the smile in Brenna's voice as she speaks. "He's drafting a text message as we speak. We'll see you later, Ella."

"Bye, Brenna."

Hanging up, I slip the phone into the back pocket of my sweaty workout shorts. Ryland is embracing me before I turn around to address our new plans for the evening. He buries his face in my neck and kisses my sensitive skin, then he rests his chin on my shoulder. His arms are wrapped around my waist as we stare at the foggy view of Vancouver. The atmosphere and the scene before us send shivers down my spine.

Ryland is a romantic. One that can be very cheesy, but he knows how to treat a woman. He never takes more than he gives, and nor do I. Our relationship is built on trust and respect, and we value each other as equals.

"So much for the romantic dinner I had planned," he murmurs.

"Please," I snort. "It's a Tuesday night. You had nothing romantic planned, aside from tacos and watching reruns of Schitt's Creek."

"Don't forget the jalapeño grapefruit margaritas." Despite his chuckle, his tone holds a serious note. "How is that not romantic? It's something we do as a couple. That's romantic enough for me."

Turning around, I lace my arms around his neck. He rests his forehead against mine. "Always the romantic one, eh?"

He flashes me a grin. "Romance is my middle name."

I give his side a soft pinch, then push away. "Come on, Romance, let's get ready. Brenna, Shea, and Kaleb'll be here soon with lots of boxes to unpack."

Ryland gives off an ignorant snort. "Don't know why he's bothering to unpack. He'll be moving to a house in a month. He could've stayed at Shea's house."

Shea did offer KJ that option, but KJ declined. He didn't want to intrude. Not only because Brenna and Shea have personal lives but also because they're trying to have a kid. Eight months after the wedding, Shea had his vasectomy reversed. Brenna told me his sperm count is present and that the reversal was successful, but it needs to normalize before a pregnancy is possible. And the doctor has stated several times everything is looking good; that it should normalize soon.

Although it's been too much information for me and Melody, Brenna needs someone to confide in aside from Shea. Talking to an outer source helps with the issues, plus we can provide her some support where she needs it.

They're trying IUI, known as intrauterine insemination, with the sperm they had preserved. Both wanted to get the ball rolling as soon as possible.

Shaking my head, I pull myself from these thoughts regarding Shea and Brenna. Like I said, too much information. However, I would probably do the same if I were in Brenna's position. There's a lot of pressure on Shea and Brenna (if his preserved sperm will work and Brenna's eggs are fertile enough) at the moment, and both of them want kids.

"Trust me," I say, patting his arm. "You would not want to move in with Shea and Brenna right now. They're stressed enough as it is."

Ryland's brows furrow, but he doesn't press for more answers. Instead, he slides the sliding glass door open and gestures for me to enter. I do, and we head to our small ensuite. I showered after I arrived home from work, so I head straight to the closet. I'll need a different outfit. And a good pair of shoes. The elevator in our apartment has been broken for months, which means slip-ons won't work.

From the top shelf of our crowded closet, I grab a worn pair of runners and toss them onto the bed. Then I change into some different workout clothes.

Just as I'm exiting the closet and gathering my shoes, Ryland exits the bathroom. A towel is wrapped around his waist and droplets of water contour his firm stomach. There's a subtle outline of his stomach muscles, but they're not defined to an extreme.

He saved that for his arms and legs, both of which are veiny and muscular. It's a reflection of his job. Ryland is a chef at a high-end restaurant blocks away from our apartment. He spends hours jogging around the kitchen and lifting heavy deliveries while creating exquisite food.

He's a talented chef, but he doesn't compare to Hunter Tucker, who's opened a restaurant back home in West Kelowna. I'll never tell Ryland that, but sometimes I find his food too technical and fancy. Hunter's food is more the feel-good, nostalgic, home-cooked type. But my opinion doesn't de-credit his skills. Ryland's food is always on Instagram, and the reviews are nothing less than five stars.

He wrinkles his nose when he looks me over. "Are you sure you want to wear that?"

I glance at my black leggings and grey cameo sports bra. Slung across my arm is a ratty crop top. It's grey and weathered, with several tears long on the collar. In my other hand are the worn runners. "What's wrong with this? It's my typical workout gear."

Sauntering over to me, Ryland rubs his hands up and down my arms in a reassuring motion. Water slides down his face from his soaked curls. "I'm just saying. We're unpacking boxes—not running a marathon. Don't you think it's a little overkill?"

"No," I reply, pushing Ryland away. The towel around his waist loosens, and he grabs it, preventing it from falling. The last thing our neighbours across the street need to see his is bare ass through the window. "And if you have a problem with my attire, go take some lessons, Ry. Quit sexualizing my clothing. Your testosterone is getting to your head. Kaleb and I used to date. He's set on marrying Melody—if he ever has the courage to propose. Me?" I rest a hand on his cheek. "I'm set on being with you. You and me? We're exclusive to each other."

I'm stealing one of Shea's famous lines, but I don't care. That line makes a good point, and it doesn't subject anyone to ownership.

My boyfriend can get very protective. It's not something I like, but we all have flaws. Plus, I've seen Ryland putting effort in. He acknowledges what he's doing wrong and aims to fix it in any situation.

Ryland sighs and stares at the floor. Shakes his head. "You're right. Fuck. I'm sorry. Every time Kaleb comes around, it's difficult to forget the history between you two. Like, it's great you can be friends, but it's still weird. Ex-couples rarely hang out that often."

He has a point, but Kaleb and I were never an average couple. Our relationship was a constant push and pull, with external factors affecting us. My dad is a prime example. He threatened to ruin Kaleb's future career in hockey if I continued to date him. Dad was always pushing me to achieve greatness; he wanted me to be a law student and become a lawyer. Then take over his company in the future. That was never something I wanted. Ever since Kaleb invited me to workout with him, way back in grade seven, my heart was set on becoming a personal trainer. Which I now am. After a year of testing law school, I dropped the program and took a different route.

Dad was furious. He disowned me and blamed my 'shitty' decisions on dating that boy in high school.

All I did was roll my eyes. While I was in love with Kaleb during high school, he did not determine my future or help me make decisions that led to what I wanted. We broke up again after graduation, and had grown apart by the time I decided law wasn't for me.

"Well," I say, keeping my voice light. "Kaleb and I could push our differences aside. We weren't meant for each other. Besides, we never had sex or anything. All we did was enjoy each other's company."

Ryland snorts. Like he always does when I provide that piece of information. "Ella. Previous sexual encounters don't make me think any less of you."

I cross my arms, cocking an eyebrow. "Is that what you think? That I'm lying."

He shrugs, which doesn't look good on him. Especially with his skeptical expression. "It's Kaleb Jones."

Sitting down on the foot of the bed, I pull my shoes on. They're supple, fitting with the shape of my foot. When I stand up, I glare at him. "Maybe it's best you don't come tonight, Ryland. If you can't get your head out of your ass, then

"Can you blame me?" he frowns. "Kaleb is our neighbour now. You'll see each other every day. What if that stirs up some old feelings?"

I throw my hands up in exasperation. "I'm friends with his girlfriend, Ryland! You and I have hung out with them and Brenna and Shea many times! Don't you dare try to shift the spotlight to me. I have no interest in hooking up with Kaleb. He has a girlfriend, and she's one of my best friends. In case you forgot about that."

A sheepish expression encompasses his face. He rubs the back of his neck. "Right. I'm sorry."

I shake my head. Now I'm pissed. He does this every time Kaleb visits (or, in this case, moves to) Vancouver alone. He's allowed to feel jealous—Kaleb and I still have a fantastic relationship based on the premise of friendship—but he's not allowed to act off of it. I'm loyal to him. If he can't believe that, then I don't want him around until he fixes his misconception. "Stay home, Ryland. If you think I'm untrustworthy, I don't want you there."

Before he can respond, I collect my phone and keys, and exit the bedroom. Brenna, Shea, and Kaleb will arrive soon. I don't mind waiting in the foyer for a few minutes.

"Ella!"

His hand grabs my shoulder, and he turns me around. His light-blue eyes are filled with remorse. I keep my chin held high and my posture straight. "What?"

He runs a hand through his curls. Droplets of water fly in every direction. "I'm sorry."

I cock an eyebrow, arms crossed. "You already said that."

Ryland looks away, pressing his lips together. "What else do you want me to say?"

"Nothing. Go reflect on what just happened. You're gaslighting me. Trying to make me feel like the villain, despite you being out of line."

With his nose wrinkled, he asks, "How?"

Rolling my eyes, I jerk away from his touch. Just as I'm doing that, my phone chimes. When I glance at the screen, I see Brenna's name. They're here with Kaleb and his belongings and a couple of boxes of pizza. I send her a thumbs-up emoji, then I return my attention to Ryland.

"You sexualized my clothing. You questioned where my loyalty lies. You're flipping everything on me instead of focusing on your internal turmoil and insecurities. Which are things I'm not responsible for. Go deal with your shit, Ryland. I have somewhere to be. Don't expect me to come home. I'll stay the night at Brenna's or I'll go to Abbey's apartment."

Spinning on my heel, I turn the door handle and step out into the hallway. The door closes behind me, and I pause in front of it, staring at the wall across from me. Gaudy green wallpaper is peeling from the moisture caused by humidity and the carpets are stained with years of neglect. Good thing they're starting renovations on our floor next year. Otherwise, I'd be moving out. The lower floors look fantastic, with a more modern look and no stained carpet.

My heart is out of sync as I walk down the hallway to the stairs. The conversation I had with Ryland is becoming more and more frequent, and I'm seeing a side of him that raises red flags. Perhaps it's the news of Kaleb's arrival that's sending him into a tizzy. Or maybe he's having a difficult time at work. Either way, Ryland should be transparent with me and stop reflecting his issues onto me. As a couple, we're supposed to discuss what's bothering us. And if he can't take my word for it, then maybe it's time to reevaluate where we stand.

* * *

Kaleb wrinkles his nose. "Sounds like Ryland's being an asshole again."

I take a sip of my margarita. Brenna makes a mean classic margarita. And that's what I feel like I need tonight. Classic and simple. Hanging out with my friends from high school feels like that. Without Ryland here, I don't have to explain inside jokes or feel bad for unintentionally excluding Ryland from our conversations about memories.

Brenna nods in agreement. "He needs a tune-up."

Reaching over the counter, I tear away a piece of pizza crust and pop it in my mouth. The lighting in Kaleb's kitchen is almost orange, giving us all an unhealthy tan glow, and the leftover pizza we continue to pick at looks otherworldly.

As I'm chewing, I process their reactions. Kaleb, Brenna, and Shea are like family; I love them because they never fluctuate. They're always there for me. We're always there for each other.

Shea flexes his left hand, his ring glinting beneath the gaudy lighting. He makes eye contact with me, raising his eyebrows. "I could knock some sense into him."

Brenna chuckles, squeezes her husband's shoulders. "Okay, Hockey Hero. Tone down the ego a little. There'll be no punching. Even if it would be funny to watch Ryland piss his pants. You intimidate him." Brenna doesn't notice Shea's egotistical smile broaden. Instead, she locks her gaze with mine. "If Ryland is gaslighting you, Ella, don't stand for that shit."

"Be honest with me," I say, setting my margarita down. KJ helps guide my hand to the island. Of the four of us, Shea and I are the tipsy ones. Plus, I'm not sure how much tequila Brenna's been putting in my drink. She makes strong margaritas, but the buzz has made me less susceptible to the potent taste. Everything I drink tastes like water. "Do you like Ryland? Do you think he's a good fit?"

Shea doesn't make eye contact with me. From day one, he hasn't liked Ryland. He's never spoken aloud, but I can tell by his demeanour when Ryland's around. His posture is tense and his jaw is set. I think he dislikes the facade Ryland presents himself with. It's like he believes in a hierarchy and thinks he needs to amount to Shea and Kaleb, when that's not the case. Shea and Kaleb are the most laid-back guys ever. They've never let fame and money get to their heads.

Brenna and Kaleb exchange a glance.

Here we go.

"He's not a bad person," Brenna begins.

Kaleb takes a slow sip of his beer. The glass clinks against the counter as he sets it down. "Don't you think you've given him too many chances, Ella? This conversation is repetitive. He says something, you get upset, he apologizes and promises to do better, and then it happens all over again. There's nothing wrong with second chances."

"And we have seen him try to remedy his behaviour," Brenna nods.

"But," Kaleb continues. His brown eyes are heavy with sympathy. "How many chances do you get before it's ineffective?"

My lips press into a firm line. They have a point. However, they don't live with Ryland. Which means they don't see the effort he's putting in to preventing himself from acting on his impulsive emotions. Sure, there are slip-ups, but he acknowledges what he's done wrong. Plus, I don't take shit from him. I called him out tonight, which is why he's not here.

I relay that information to the group, and they take it into consideration.

"You have a point," Brenna nods. When she says this, she looks at Shea. He's staring at the drink before him. It's half-empty, and he pushes it away. "We're not part of your daily life and it's unfair for us to be so judgemental. Like you said, you're calling him out and you've noticed a difference. That counts for something."

Shea snorts. "And it sounds awfully familiar."

Brenna smiles and dips her head down, pressing a small kiss to his lips. Shea threads his fingers with hers, giving her hand a tight, comforting squeeze.

The exchange brings a smile to my face. There's nothing better than seeing everyone happy. Seeing how far we've come since high school. It's funny how everything seems so important in high school, when it's worth nothing. High school is an insignificant dot on the map.

"So," I say, tearing off another piece of pizza crust. "Any baby news?"

Shea and Brenna exchange a glance. They're grinning at each other.

My mouth drops open. "Shut up!"

"We weren't going to tell anyone until the twelve-week mark," Brenna sighs. "But..."

Shea's face brightens, and he pulls Brenna into a big hug. He buries his face in her neck and takes a deep breath before breaking the news. "She's pregnant!"

A squeal of excitement escapes my lips.

Kaleb lets out a loud whoop.

"I'm only a month-and-a-half in," she says. A hand is pressed against her stomach as she speaks. "Don't get too excited. Be optimistic, but don't let the excitement blind you. Six weeks isn't a milestone. When we hit the three-month mark, we'll celebrate."

"Fuck that! You're pregnant!" Kaleb raises his beer. "To baby Smith."

Shea doesn't look up. He's too busy fiddling with his drink, his cheeks pink.

I pick up my margarita, knocking it against his bottle of beer. Brenna and Shea follow suit, despite Brenna's logical point. It doesn't matter. We're living in the moment. And, at this moment, we're excited for Brenna and Shea.

"To baby Smith," we echo.

* * *

I return to the apartment near midnight. The lights are out in the kitchen, save for the small lamp Ryland left on. Judging by the lack of activity, I'm assuming he's gone to bed. Not that I'm surprised. Before leaving, I mentioned something about staying at Brenna's house or a few blocks over with Abbey. Shea and Brenna left before I did, and after having a few drinks, sauntering through the streets of downtown Vancouver at night isn't a safe choice.

After tossing my keys into a bowl on the counter, I sit at the island and rub my temples. My stomach doesn't feel good and my head feels foggy, and I wonder if Shea feels the same way. He was pretty buzzed by the time he and Brenna left. Plus, he's not good with dairy, which is the same for me. Later, I'll be feeling the effects of it.

Spending time with my friends gave me a healthy dose of adrenaline. Now that it's worn off, I feel bloated and buzzed. Which isn't a good combination. I also want to storm into the bedroom and demand answers from Ryland. Why he's acting like such a jerk. Why he continues to question me, despite being loyal. Nothing makes sense.

Sighing, I push away from the counter and slide down from the stool. While my decisions are fuelled by a bit of liquid confidence, I'm waking him up. This is a conversation we need to have.

When I press my ear against the door, I hear someone giggle. Then someone replies, shushing them. The voices are very muffled and low through the closed door. I'm assuming Ryland's awake and watching TV, so I push through the door.

My heart sinks to the floor.

Ryland's in bed with someone.

No, not just someone. Janae—one of my best friends.

They jerk away from each other, staring at me. There's a moment of silence while we process this, and in that time I survey the surroundings. Janae's slacks and blouse are forgotton on the carpet, her name tag contrasting against the white fabric. Her naked body is visible from the waist up, and Ryland's hand rests on the small of her back. His chest is peppered with hot-pink lipstick. There's also a smudge of it against his hipbone. The messy sheets and the smell of her perfume permeating the air.

Gasping, she pulls the covers up—the covers I sleep under in the bed I sleep in with Ryland at night—and around her body. "Ella! It's not what it looks like."

Shock is coursing through my veins, and my reaction time feels like it's lagging. My mind is still processing the scene before me. The clothes. My boyfriend with my best friend in the best I sleep in.

Then the world comes crashing down on me. The pieces are clicking together, making me realize why Ryland has been acting so strange. Why he's been gaslighting me. He's been reflecting his guilt on me, making me believe I'm doing something wrong in our relationship.

When it's been him this whole time.

I've been a victim of gaslighting, despite standing up for myself.

That's what hurts more. Being fooled into thinking Ryland actually loved me.

I run a hand through my hair, expelling a deep breath. "I have to go."

"Ella!" Ryland shouts.

Spinning on my heel, I head for the kitchen to collect my keys. I'll take the risk on Vancouver's downtown streets. All I know is that I have to leave.

Tears stream down my face as I swipe the keys and stuff them into my pocket. Then I head for the front door, which feels like it's kilometres away. Everything feels like it's stuck in slow motion: walking, the text I send to Abbey, the moment Ryland's hand comes down on my shoulder and spins me around.

My phone tumbles to the ground, laying amongst my worn runners.

"Ella," he pleads, cupping my face. "Please listen to me."

I shove Ryland away. "No! Let go of me. It's obvious what's been happening." I rub the heel of my hand against my forehead. Fuck! I feel like such an idiot!"

His grip tightens. "You're not giving me as chance to explain, Ella. Come on. You can't do that."

Snorting, I give him another shove. He still doesn't let go, and it makes an alarm sound in the back of my head. "And you can fuck my best friend? The audacity you have is impeccable, Ryland. Seriously, fuck you."

"This isn't my fault!" he exclaims. "You've been distant, Ella! What am I supposed to do? Besides, she flirted with me."

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Shea was right the whole time. Ryland is an asshole. He's toxic and ignorant, and he likes to gaslight people. And I took his silly attempts to 'change' himself as progress.

"It doesn't matter who flirted with who. You made the decision to sleep with her. Do you not have any self-control? Did you think about how this would affect me? Fault is allocated to both of you. That's how a relationship works. Even if you're just friends with benefits."

His posture slouches in defeat. "You weren't supposed to find out this way." The silence that follows is like a dagger to the heart. They're more than friends with benefits.

"How long?" I choke. "How long, Ryland?"

He releases my forearm and runs a hand through his brown curls. They're damp with sweat. "Nine months."

Any foundation I had left crumbles to dust. My shoulders slump and the tears fall harder. I feel like my chest has been split open and someone's torn my heart out.

"Wow." I release a high-pitched laugh. "Wow. That's just... wow. You know what? Fuck you, Ryland. Fuck both of you. I'm leaving."

Ryland reaches for me and his lips part, ready to plead his case.

Suddenly, there's a knock on the door. Without thinking, I open it. On the other side, I see Kaleb. He's holding my sweater. "Ella, you..."

He trails off when he makes eye contact with me. My eyes are puffy and my face is blotchy. "What happened? Are you okay?"

I choke on another sob. "I'm fine."

Kaleb loops an arm beneath my shoulders. Glances at me. "Is this okay?"

I nod, then Kaleb turns to Ryland. His gaze is dark and piercing, and his jaw is set in a firm line. "What the fuck did you do, Ryland?"

Ryland snorts. "What do you care? You're just friends."

"Exactly!" Kaleb snaps. "Ella is my friend, and I love her like family. In case you didn't know, I fuck people over who fuck with my family. So let's hope whatever you did doesn't result in me kicking your ass."

Fear flitters across Ryland's gaze before it hardens again. "Whatever. I don't want to deal with this shit. Ella's overreacting. Tell her to come talk to me when she calms down."

Just as those words are leaving his mouth, Janae steps out of the bedroom. She's dressed in one of Ryland's T-shirts. "Ella, please let us explain. We—"

She cuts herself off when she sees Kaleb. Her cheeks turn pink and she casts her gaze to the ground.

Kaleb's gaze flicks between them a few times. Then the pieces click. Kaleb sits me down on the hallway bench, and I watch as he pins Ryland to the wall, fisting his T-shirt and yelling at him.

I'm too distraught to comprehend what he's saying, but judging by his expression, it's malicious. As it should be. Ryland deserves to have his ass kicked.

Sure enough, Kaleb's fist connects with Ryland's jaw and then he's back by my side. He asks me where my clothes and a bag are, and I give him the answer he's looking for.

The next several minutes are a blur. I sit on the bench while Kaleb collects some of my belongings. Janae tends to Ryland's bloody nose at the counter, shooting me dirty glares while I sob. Unable to look at them, I turn away and rest my head against the wall. I squeeze my eyes shut.

Despite the issues within our relationship, this was the last thing I was expecting.

When Kaleb returns with my bag, he helps me to my feet and guides me out the door.

And I force myself to not look back.