Chapter 3
Wes
I’m scrolling through my Instagram as I bite into my tuna sandwich. Dennis’ post is the first I see on my feed. He’s squatting in front of a vegetable garden with his arm around Willow, his dog. He’s wearing a huge smile, and his dark brown waves are wet from sweat.
The caption says, ‘Wow, I actually learned to grow something. Who knew I had a green thumb!’
I smile at that. Dennis and I have been friends since high school, and if anyone is capable of anything, it’s him.
‘Well, no shit. You know literally every single plant that grows on the northwest coast,’ I comment. ‘Looking good, though. When I swing back into town, I expect a fancy salad with all those veggies.’
He and his husband, Mike, built a cabin together at Cannon Beach, though I think Mike did most of the work.
They finally tied the knot a year ago. Mike was Dennis’ brother’s best friend, and he’d had a crush on Mike forever.
Maybe ‘crush’ is too juvenile. Dennis had been in love since he was twelve.
When Dennis returned from college, Mike finally got his head out of his ass and realized how amazing Dennis is.
A few minutes later, Dennis likes my comment and responds with, ‘Dude, I’ve been trying to grow asparagus, but it hates me. I didn’t freaking know it takes, like, years.’
I smile and chuckle as I respond. ‘Look at you being so domesticated. Next, I’m going to wake up one day with you and Mike being dads or something.’
Instead of responding, he texts me.
Den: Mike and I have actually been talking about it.
Me: Holy shit. I think you and Mike would make great parents.
Den: You think?
Me: Definitely. Just don’t trust me to babysit.
Den: ??How’re things going down in Eugene?
I take another bite of my sandwich, then freeze. My mouth, which is full of food, falls open. Holy shit, is that… I quickly shut my mouth and swallow my bite.
Me: Text you later. Got a patient. Got news for you, too. Later!
Den: Oh, sure, just leave me hanging!
I wipe my hands and mouth with a napkin and stand to greet my hero, Jett, who’s just walked in. What are the odds of running into him at work after meeting him this past weekend? It’s got to be fate or some shit. Fate for what? Who knows?
My stomach does a weird twisting thing. “Settle down,” I tell it.
Jett’s wearing a coach’s track and field uniform and helping a girl limp over to me. Oh, hell! Does he actually work at the university? Jett vanished from the media spotlight for the past two years, only to turn up in Eugene of all places, and he works here?
The runner is clearly in pain, and her ankle is red and swollen, likely due to a torn ligament.
“Can we get some help over here?” he asks. His face is hard and tense, his brows set low over his dark brown eyes. “No one seems to be fu… around.” Recognition flashes in his eyes. “I remember you. Wilson, right?”
I swear to god, he’s intentionally getting my name wrong. What a dick. This is why they say to never meet your heroes in person. You’ll always be disappointed.
“You know it’s Wes.”
As soon as he opens his mouth, I look at the girl. “Why don’t you have a seat over on the treatment table in the corner there. I’ll take a look at your foot.”
“It looks like a sprain,” Jett says, looking around. “Where is everyone?”
“Lunch.”
He huffs as we help the runner walk to the table and sit. I squat in front of her, lift her leg by her calf, careful not to hurt her.
“So, they leave you in charge?” he asks. Jesus. What’s with this dude?
“Yep, the department felt the most useless person should be put in charge around here.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he mumbles.
“Yes, you did. Anyway, there are other people here, man. I’m just eating my lunch in the open.”
He doesn’t apologize, just squats next to the girl and me.
“What’s your name?” I ask her.
“Jenny.”
I gently feel around her ankle and foot. There’s heat coming off it, and it’s plenty swollen. “What exactly happened?”
“I… tripped over one of the hurdles,” she says. Her face blooms pink. “Rookie mistake.”
“You’re supposed to jump over them, not right into them.” I wink at her, and she smiles back.
Jett makes a low growl. “She said she tripped.”
I exhale a long breath; otherwise, I’m going to snap at him. “Yeah, I know.” What’s with this dude? Nice to know famous athletes are as arrogant as other famous people. It kind of dims his light for me. “Can you give me some space to work, please? You’re breathing all over me.”
Jett stands and sits on one of the stools. He’s stiff, his arms crossed, exposing well-defined muscles. I glance away and focus on Jenny.
“It could be the anterior talofibular ligament, but we won’t know for sure until you can get some scans. For now, I can get it wrapped up to limit movement.”
I grab an ace bandage from storage and wrap her ankle with it.
“Will I be able to race?” she asks.
“It depends on the severity.”
“We’ll make sure you get the best treatment,” Jett says.
“Thanks, Coach Cordier.”
Once her ankle is wrapped, I stand. “How does that feel?”
She tentatively wiggles her foot. “Good. It doesn’t hurt as much.”
“I want you to ice it for the next couple of days, every two to four hours as needed. Once the swelling goes down, switch to heat for up to twenty minutes, three times a day. Use a wet towel that’s been microwaved. The damp heat will penetrate better than a heating pad.”
“Okay.”
I turn my attention to Jett. “She needs to get some scans, then she can come back for some PT. I’ve got a good treatment plan that helps keep athletes out of the OR. But until I have results on the status of her ankle, I can’t do much more than this.”
Before Jett can respond, Jenny says, “I’m in my third year and haven’t seen you before. Are you new around here?”
“Yep, this is my first year. Just wrapped up my doctorate.”
“That’s so cool.”
I help her stand as she gingerly puts pressure on her foot. She leans into me and looks at me with large doe eyes. I swear, she’s fluttering her lashes at me. “Are you new to Eugene? I could show you the hot spots around town.”
Oh boy. “I actually got my bachelor’s here. I’m very familiar with Eugene. I was on the cross-country team… Wes Ellison.”
Her pretty tawny eyes grow wide. “You’re that Wes Ellison?
You and Dennis Holbrook put Oregon’s track and field team on the map again.
The Ducks hadn’t had the male cross-country team win a championship since 2008.
You clocked in at 8:31.8, and Dennis was right behind you.
God, I’d love to talk your ear off about that. ”
Well, shit. Now, I feel famous. That was a fucking good race. As much as I’d love to talk about it, she seems to have more interest in me than running. “You can swing by here, and we can talk shop anytime.”
“Awesome! Well, I hope I see you around.”
Jett stands and takes over, helping her to walk. “Oh-kay, we’re done here,” he says with narrowed eyes and thick brows sitting low as if I’m the one hitting on Jenny.
“Not so fast. She needs crutches to keep the pressure off.”
I head to the storage room and find a pair of crutches that should work for her. She’s pretty tall, so she needs some that fit her. I sign out the crutches and bring them over. She tests them out, and they seem to work well.
Jett’s eyes don’t leave me for one second while I talk to Jenny. The staring is starting to weird me out. I raise my brows and mouth ‘what?’ and when he glances away, I shake my head. We clearly got off on the wrong foot or something. Jesus.
The early October morning is still dark.
Sunrise doesn’t happen until after 7 am, but the stadium lights are all on.
It’s a crisp 40°F, and I’m only in a pair of running shorts and a tank.
I have to get to the university track before practice begins, and before I start work.
Generally, when I practice my cross-country running, I stick with hiking trails or the beach, but the track works well enough since it’s so close to my job.
Goosebumps blanket my skin as I roll my ankles on the track. After that, I stand on my toes, then roll back onto my heels. I spend the next five minutes working on all my joints and stretching my leg muscles.
I face the track, jogging in place as I shake out my hands. Then I’m off. I start slow and steady, then pick up the pace, using my belly rather than my chest to breathe.
It doesn’t take long before I find my pace. I know my body and running more than I know anything, since I’ve been running for my entire life.
Soon, my mind clears, and I’m only focused on the sound of my feet on the pavement and my steady breathing. That’s one thing I absolutely love about running. It clears my head. No worries. No stress.
There weren’t any runners on the track when I started, but now I hear footfalls behind me, and they’re moving fast. My pace is quick, but I pace myself for the 3k run.
Whoever’s running slows down to run by my side. I glance over at my companion, shocked to see it’s Jett.
I don’t let him distract me as I start to pull away. I prefer to practice alone, thank you very much, unless it’s with Dennis.
My legs are burning, and my lungs are tight. Generally, I’d reach my second wind by now, but Jett has messed up my rhythm.
He pulls alongside me as we make the turn around the track. I try to pull away again, but he keeps up with me. Of course, he would.
I push myself harder and faster, but he’s right there, next to me, as if he’s not straining at all.
Fuck it.
My run is ruined, and I’m not in the mood for some weird dick measuring contest as if I have something to fucking prove. Usually, I’d be honored to run next to him, but he’s been a dick since we first met.
I make a turn through the grassy field in the center of the track, and back to my bag and water.
I slow down my pace until I’ve reached a walk, then I pace back and forth with my hands on my hips, taking deep breaths and exhaling slowly to calm my heart rate.
When I feel like I’m not going to vomit, I grab my bottle of water and chug some back. Still panting, I run a hand through my sweaty hair. Once I’ve had my fill of water, I work on some stretches.
I sit on the track, spread my legs, and pull my toes back when I see Jett jogging, headed my way. That’s when I realize his bag is next to mine. Fucking awesome.
When he reaches me, he starts his own stretches. He says nothing or acknowledges me in any way, but we’re both staring at each other. There’s this weird tension between us. The air crackles with it, and I have no idea what that means or why.
This is my third encounter with him, and it’s making me tense as fuck. I hate it. Back in high school, I used to fawn over him. I went to all his track meets. Now, I want him to leave me alone.
A flash of memory hits me from when I watched his first race.
Emma’s hand is in mine as we thread our way through the bleachers to find the closest spot to watch the meet. I’m tense with anticipation. I’ve just started racing on the junior varsity cross-country team, and I still have a lot to learn.
Watching Jared Cordier, the popular senior, run the 1500-meters is amazing. I’m in fucking awe. Everyone in town is talking about him, including me. They say he’s good enough to reach the Olympics. Everyone in Cannon Beach is obsessed with him.
Emma nags at me. “Can’t we just go to the movies instead?”
She’s cute with her green eyes and nearly white-blonde hair, but her complaining is starting to annoy me. It’s not the first time, either. I love running, and I want her to love it, too.
The race starts, and I stand, yelling and cheering for Jared. Lately, the school has started calling him ‘Jett’ because of how fast he is. It’s a perfect nickname.
“Go! Go! You got this, Jett!”
Of course, being a freshman, he doesn’t even know I exist.
Emma dumped my ass the next day out of boredom, but who cared? He won that race and many others after that day, and I was there to watch them all. God, Jett will never learn that little tidbit about me. He’s dismissed me enough.
I hate being so tightly wound and on guard around him. It annoys the hell out of me.
Instead of pouting about it, I stand, amble his way, and reach out my hand, trying politeness again. “Nice run,” I say.
He reaches for me and shakes it. It’s firm and confident. A strange tingle travels up my arm and along my spine. I chalk it up to hero worship, which hasn’t exactly diminished. “You’ve got a good form, Wilson.”
“God, you did not—”
His smirk stops me. He leans back on his hands, long, muscular legs stretched out. “I’m messing with you.”
Instead of smiling or joking back, I’m just fucking done. I grab my bag, toss it over my shoulder, and walk off.
Jett says nothing, so fuck him. I hope it’s not going to be like this every morning. Otherwise, I’m going to have to find a new time or place to run.
“What a dick,” I mumble to myself as I walk away.