Picking Up the Pieces by Elizabeth Hayley

weeks.
    ***
    Work passed rather quickly, and I knew that later that day I’d have the luxury of focusing on someone else’s problems instead of my own , namely Amanda’s problem with coming to terms with her feelings for Shane.
    Scratch that. Maybe Amanda's problem was my problem too. She burst through the door at 5:30, clearly irritated I was dragging her to CrossFit that night. She tried to recover by putting on a brave face and remaining stoic as she changed for the gym. “Ready to go,” she nearly sang, plastering a fake smile across her face as she headed for the door.
    I followed her out , donning a grin that I hoped mirrored hers to show her how ridiculous she looked. For someone with such a hard exterior, Amanda could be so damn transparent sometimes. After she’d called me last Sunday morning to “rescue” her from her night at Shane’s, she’d spent the remainder of the week freaking out. She couldn’t handle her feelings for him, so she’d run. And as far as I could tell, she was content to keep running.
    But last night, I’d finally called her out on avoiding him, which she denied. In an effort to prove that she didn’t have real feelings for Shane, she’d agreed to go to CrossFit, a place she’d been trying to avoid like some sort of airborne STD for the past four days.
    Though, the thing I should have remembered about Amanda was that, when she felt backed into a corner, she came at you like a pitbull. So when Shane pulled her into his office for an airing out of their bullshit, she fought back in the most effective way possible: she said whatever she thought would hurt him the most with complete indifference.
    From my protective perch a few feet away from the office door, I’d been too busy sending threatening glares to the nosy CrossFitters to thoroughly eavesdrop. But what I did hear made me cringe. She denied all feelings for him. Denied all connection. He put himself out there for her, and she trounced all over every ounce of his ego. It was . . . terrible.
    And as I watched her storm out of his office, I knew I was looking at a facade —a protective mask that she’d adorned to aid in her escape from Shane. But the thing about a mask is, it doesn’t cover the eyes. And that’s where I saw it: regret. Her eyes swam with it. So I followed her silently back out to my car, knowing that I was in for one hell of a ride home.
    It wasn’t until we pulled away from CrossFit that Amanda finally let go of all the tears she’d been holding back for the last week. As much as I wanted to talk to her, I couldn’t bring myself to try. What could I say that would make her feel better? That she was an idiot for running? That she should accept her feelings for what they were instead of pretending she felt nothing?
    Over the past few months, she’d been hanging out with Shane more frequently. I could see their relationship slowly progressing from a friendship to something more intimate, especially over the past few weeks. I knew they had kissed after the pool hall, but I didn’t know anything more had happened until she had called me from his house the morning after the wedding they’d gone to together. Though she would never admit it, Shane was perfect for her. He was witty, playful, kind, and smoking hot. Ultimately, he was a male version of Amanda, minus the intense fear of commitment.
    W hy did she have to be so dense; so blind to what the rest of us could see? She could claim they were just friends all she wanted—that theirs was nothing more than a platonic relationship that had gone a step too far. I knew all about taking a friendship where it should never go. And while I would never make that mistake again, Amanda's situation wasn't the same.
    Because I realized what Amanda didn’t. She loved him. She had to. Because your heart doesn’t break like that for someone you don’t love. I knew what it was like to lose someone you loved when it could have been prevented. It was the kind of pain