The Weight of Secrets

17

Ethan

That night, as Riley and I spread out the wedding essentials across his coffee table, I found myself watching him more closely than usual. It wasn’t intentional at first, but something about the way he moved caught my attention. He was quick, deliberate, like he already knew where everything belonged before I even voiced a preference.

“Pass me the cufflinks,” I said, holding out a hand.

Riley didn’t even glance up from the pile he was sorting. He slid them across the table toward me, perfectly aligned with my fingers. “Already ahead of you,” he said, a small smirk playing on his lips.

I stared at him for a beat longer than I should have. “How did you…?”

“Intuition,” he replied, his tone light as he picked up a tie and began folding it. “You’re predictable, Ethan.”

“Predictable?” I scoffed, grabbing the cufflinks. “I’ll have you know I’m full of surprises.”

Riley snorted, giving me a sidelong glance. “Sure you are. Like the time you ‘surprised’ me by ordering the exact same coffee three days in a row? Real wild card, you.”

“That’s different,” I muttered, my ears burning. “I like what I like.”

“Exactly my point,” he teased, holding up the folded tie like it was a trophy. “Predictable.”

I rolled my eyes, but a smile tugged at my lips despite myself. Riley always had this way of defusing my nerves without even trying, like he could sense when I was about to spiral and knew exactly how to pull me back. It was… weird. Comforting, but weird.

We worked in silence for a while, the only sounds coming from the rustle of fabric and the occasional click of a clasp. I caught myself glancing at Riley more than once, watching the way his hands moved—deft and precise—as he adjusted the straps on a watch. His fingers brushed against mine when he handed it to me, and I noticed for the first time how steady his touch was.

“You’re good at this,” I said before I could stop myself.

He looked up, his brow quirking. “At what?”

“This,” I gestured vaguely to the chaos on the table. “Knowing what to do. Keeping everything under control.”

Riley shrugged, leaning back against the couch. “I’ve had practice. Weddings aren’t that different from… other high-stakes situations.”

I frowned at his choice of words. “Other high-stakes situations? What are you, a spy?”

He laughed, the sound low and rich. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

“Ha-ha, very funny,” I said, rolling my eyes. But the thought lingered. Riley was sharp—sharper than anyone I’d ever met. And he didn’t just react to things; it was like he anticipated them. Every time I stumbled, he was there to catch me, figuratively and literally. Like earlier at the mall, when I nearly tripped over a display, and he’d grabbed my arm before I even realized I was falling.

“Seriously, though,” I pressed, leaning forward. “How do you do it? It’s like you’re… I don’t know, psychic or something.”

Riley tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “Maybe I’m just good at reading people.”

“Or maybe you’ve got some kind of sixth sense,” I joked, though part of me wasn’t entirely kidding. “Are you secretly a superhero?”

“Caught me,” he said dryly, leaning in conspiratorially. “I’m actually Batman.”

“Batman doesn’t have superpowers,” I pointed out.

“Fine,” he said, smirking. “Superman, then.”

I chuckled, shaking my head. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” he shot back, grinning. “Stuck with me.”

The banter eased some of the tension that had been coiling in my chest all day, but as the night wore on, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Riley than he let on. His uncanny reflexes, his ability to predict things before they happened—it wasn’t just intuition. It was something else. Something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

The peaceful rhythm broke when I accidentally knocked a box of decorations off the edge of the coffee table. It fell with a dull *thud*, spilling ribbons and pins everywhere. I groaned, leaning forward to grab it, but Riley beat me to it.

“Hold on,” he said, kneeling down.

As I reached out, I froze mid-motion. Riley didn’t just pick up the box—he lifted the entire coffee table *with one hand*. The heavy wooden table that took both of us to carry in when he was moving in now hovered in the air as if it weighed nothing. He moved it aside effortlessly to retrieve the box, his muscles taut but controlled.

“What the…” I trailed off, staring in disbelief. “How are you…?”

Riley’s head shot up, and when our eyes met, something shifted in his expression. Panic. His grip on the table faltered, and it crashed down onto the floor, narrowly missing his feet. Except, it didn’t. One of the edges slammed down onto his toes.

“Ah, damn it!” he hissed, immediately clutching his foot as he sank to the ground.

“Riley!” I scrambled to his side, unsure if I should check his foot or his face. “Are you okay? That looked—wait, *what just happened*?”

He didn’t answer. His head dropped, and his shoulders began to shake. For a horrifying moment, I thought he was laughing—mocking me, maybe—but then I saw his hands trembling. Riley was crying.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” I asked, my voice softening. “It’s just a table. It wasn’t—”

“It’s not about the table,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.

I sat back, utterly at a loss. Riley never cried. He was the guy who held it together when everyone else fell apart. Seeing him like this was… unnerving. And yet, in that moment, I knew better than to push him. Whatever had just happened—his inexplicable strength, his reaction afterward—it wasn’t something he wanted to explain.

We sat in silence for a while, the only sounds coming from his uneven breaths and the ticking of the wall clock. Eventually, he straightened, wiping his face with the sleeve of his hoodie.

“Sorry,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I didn’t mean to lose it.”

“Riley, you lifted the table. Like, actually lifted it. With one hand,” I said, still struggling to wrap my head around it. “How is that even possible?”

He avoided my gaze, standing up carefully. “I think you’re imagining things.”

“Imagining things?” I echoed, incredulous. “You’re not going to explain—”

“Enough, Ethan,” he snapped, his tone sharp enough to cut through my words. Then, as quickly as it came, his frustration dissolved. “I’m sorry. I just… I need a minute.”

He limped off toward the bathroom, leaving me alone with the mess. My mind raced as I tried to piece together what I’d just witnessed. Riley’s uncanny reflexes, his strength, his ability to anticipate things—it wasn’t just intuition. It was something else. Something I couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

---

Later, as we finished prepping, cleaning up and started winding down, Riley had regained his usual calm demeanor, but the vulnerability I’d glimpsed earlier lingered in my mind. We sat on the couch, me stretched out and him cross-legged on the floor beside me, scrolling through his phone.

“You ever get tired of being so… perfect?” I asked, half-joking.

He looked up, his brow furrowing. “Perfect? Me?”

“Yeah,” I said, gesturing vaguely. “You’re always so calm, so in control. It’s annoying.”

Riley laughed, leaning back against the couch. “Trust me, Ethan. I’m far from perfect.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” I muttered, folding my arms behind my head.

For a moment, Riley didn’t respond. When I glanced down at him, his expression had shifted—softened. “You give me too much credit,” he said quietly. “I’m just good at faking it.”

Something in his tone caught me off guard. It wasn’t like Riley to sound… vulnerable. Before I could press further, he stood, stretching his arms over his head.

“Alright, enough overthinking for one night,” he said, his usual teasing grin back in place. “Get some sleep, Ethan. Big day tomorrow.”

I nodded, watching as he headed to his room. But even after he was gone, his words lingered in my mind. *I’m just good at faking it.*

Maybe Riley wasn’t as unshakable as I thought.