Cord clapped my shoulder. “I’ve never seen you this nervous. Calm down, buddy.”
“You know how my last grand gesture went.” For the first time, I remembered my failed proposal to Kelsey without wincing and reaching for my pocket out of habit. Her dumping me had saved me from a lifetime of second-guessing everything.
“You’re one of the best people I know,” Pearl said. “And that woman is clearly in love with you. She’ll think you’re hot no matter what you’re wearing.”
“？‘Hot’ is a bit much.” Cord’s smile betrayed his mock indignation before he turned his eyes back to me. “You gave her your shirt. The one with your number on the back?”
Britta had worn it home the day we got caught in the rain, and I’d told her to keep it after she said she’d fallen asleep in it. I loved having something of mine close to her while she slept. “How did you know I gave her my shirt?”
Pearl and Cord exchanged a look. Cord shrugged. “She’s wearing it.”
My chest swelled as a grin swept across my face. I’d told her compression gear and tight-fitting clothes were best, but damn it if her in my shirt didn’t make me feel ten feet tall, my old number on her back. I grabbed the bouquet off the table.
“Okay. I’m ready. Let’s get to the finish line.”
63
I WILL NOT pass out. I will not pass out. I will not pass out . . . yet.
I glanced down at my running watch. One more mile.
Claire and I had started together, shuffling along at the back of the crowd. At first, I was content to stay with the other slow runners. Once we got going, though, I felt boxed in. Wes had pushed me to go a little farther and a little faster every time we trained, and soon I found myself passing people. Claire matched me step for step, and though we didn’t speak, I enjoyed having her next to me. I was reasonably sure she’d call for help if I passed out. Even if she didn’t, I’d kept up with her, and the foregone conclusion she’d come out on top wasn’t so foregone. I went around a woman in her seventies and then two middle-aged men and through a trio of teens. My heart leapt with every person I passed, and I expected someone to pop out and say, Hey! Get back to the end of the line. You can’t cut it up here.
No one did, though, and the first mile flew by.
After mile two, I stopped passing people, so I had to focus on something else. Music from my carefully orchestrated playlist flowed through my earbuds, and I remembered Wes handing them to me on the first morning at the gym. I smiled as I pictured the crooked grin on his face when he hit play, and remembered how I’d forgotten to feel self-conscious for just a minute on the treadmill.
Halfway through mile five, my breath came heavy and sweat poured down my body. Wes’s shirt was soaked, and I almost regretted wearing it. My feet hurt, my body ached, and I was sure someone had turned up the temperature to something rivaling mid-July instead of September. Why did I agree to this? Several of the people I’d passed earlier moved forward—a little stab of failure hit me in the gut every time someone pulled ahead of me.
When I wasn’t debating twisting an ankle as a gracious exit strategy, I thought of Wes. His smile, his voice, his bad jokes, and how nothing had changed—if anything, this job offer put us in a more precarious situation. I couldn’t believe he didn’t see what a conflict it was for him to not only hire me but create a job for me to do. I didn’t want a pity job, but it was the kind of position I’d love. I wanted to build an online community, I wanted to write, and I wanted to do it in a place like FitMi.
My playlist ticked over to the audio file Wes had sent me when I was at the spa. His voice filled my head.
“Pick up the pace.”
“Eyes forward.”
“You’re doing great.”
“One more mile.”
“I know you can do it.”
“Push.”
“I believe in you.”
I shook off the self-doubt and picked up my speed, pumping my arms to pull forward, and moved from a jog to a run. I caught Claire off guard as I pulled away from her—I had a finish line to reach, no matter if I took the job or not.
That gust of adrenaline lasted until the six-mile mark, when I reclaimed my position ahead of many of my competitors. My lungs threatened to quit on me. We’re done with this shit. My legs joined in with a chorus of We’re indoor people, remember? and the rest of me wheezed and creaked.
I could see that the finish line wasn’t far in the distance, and all around me, spectators cheered on the runners. The path was lined with tall trees, still full of wide green leaves with hints of orange signaling the onset of fall. I’m so close. My brain screamed at the rest of my body, but I slowed to a complete stop, staggering to the side to catch my breath. I bent with my hands on my knees, sucking in air. Running the last mile at that speed had been a mistake, but I was ready to go, ready to be there. Not just for Wes, but for me. I saw that finish line, and I wanted it.