Endurance

The night before his wedding, Michael paced the length of his apartment, his footsteps tracing a nervous path across the hardwood floors. The Chicago skyline glittered beyond his windows, but he barely noticed it, too consumed by the knot of anxiety tightening in his chest.

A knock at the door startled him from his thoughts. He checked his watch—nearly midnight. Who would visit at this hour?

"Jamie?" Michael's surprise was evident as he opened the door to find her standing in his hallway, her brown hair slightly windblown, as if she'd rushed over.

"Hey," she said, offering a small smile. "I hope it's not too late. I just... wanted to check on you."

Michael stepped aside to let her in, running a hand through his hair. "No, it's fine. I wasn't sleeping anyway."

Jamie moved into his living room with the familiarity of someone who'd been there many times before. She shrugged off her coat, draping it over the back of his couch. Her eyes took in the disarray of his usually tidy apartment—wedding preparations scattered across every surface.

"Pre-wedding jitters?" she asked, gesturing to the empty coffee mug on the table, clearly not his first of the night.

Michael let out a hollow laugh. "Something like that."

He collapsed onto the couch, and Jamie settled beside him, leaving just enough space between them to maintain the boundary they'd silently agreed upon years ago.

"Want to talk about it?" she offered.

Michael's mind flashed to the image of his mother kissing Lawrence Beeks, Abby's father. The betrayal felt like a physical weight pressing down on him. Lawrence's threat echoed in his ears: *If you say anything, I'll make sure you never marry my daughter.*

"Just nervous," he said instead. "It's a big step."

Jamie nodded, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve. Behind her glasses, her eyes held something—knowledge, concern, something she wasn't saying.

"You know," she began carefully, "it's normal to have doubts. Even the night before."

Michael looked at her sharply. "I didn't say I had doubts."

"You didn't have to." Jamie's voice was gentle. "I've known you long enough to read between the lines, Michael."

Silence stretched between them, filled with unspoken truths. Jamie's mind replayed the scene at Club Euphoria—Abby, clearly drugged, wrapped around a stranger. The disgust and anger she'd felt watching it happen.

She could tell him. Right now. Inform everyone else of Abby's betrayal and spare him the public humiliation tomorrow. But something held her back—the same something that had always kept her from crossing the line with Michael.

"Whatever you're thinking," Michael said, breaking the silence, "just say it."

Jamie took a deep breath. "I care about you, Michael. More than—" She paused, recalibrating. "Our friendship means more to me than you know. I just want you to be happy."

He studied her face, searching for the meaning behind her words. "But?"

"No buts," she said, forcing a smile. "I'm here for you. That's all."

Michael reached out and squeezed her hand, a gesture of gratitude that sent an unwelcome flutter through Jamie's chest.

"Thank you," he said. "For checking on me. For being here."

Jamie nodded, withdrawing her hand perhaps too quickly. She stood, reaching for her coat. "I should let you get some rest. Big day tomorrow."

Michael walked her to the door, the weight of everything unsaid making the short distance feel like miles.

"Jamie," he said as she stepped into the hallway. "Are you okay?"

She turned, the hallway light casting shadows across her face. For a moment, it looked like she might break, might tell him everything she knew, everything she felt.

Instead, she smiled. "I'm fine. I'll see you at the church."

As Michael closed the door behind her, they both knew it was a lie. Neither of them was fine. And tomorrow, everything would change in ways neither could fully anticipate.

Jamie leaned against the wall outside his apartment, closing her eyes. The image of Abby etched in her memory like a plaque in a memorial. By this time tomorrow, Michael would know the truth—just not from her. And maybe that was for the best. Some truths were too painful to come from a friend.

Especially a friend who wanted to be more.