Chapter 19 #2
Jack shouldn’t know any of it. The problem was that the dark and the cold and the hours of moving through the wilderness together had done something to the careful distance she kept.
“I owe you an apology.”
He shifted next to her.
“I’ve been unfair.” She kept her eyes forward. “You showed up with a name people recognized, and you started building something in my county, and I decided you were the enemy. It was easier than admitting that I was jealous.”
“Of what?”
“Everything.” The word was harder to say than she expected.
“I’ve been trying for years to put together a paid race.
Not a fundraiser. Something real, with a real budget that would cause people to take notice of Irma, Wyoming.
Of the Basin County Running Club. Some of the most popular races started as club events, you know.
I’ve had plans drawn up, course ideas, everything. But the money never comes together.”
She paused, aware it wasn’t entirely true, though it was as much as she was willing to admit for now. “I’ve looked for sponsors, but unless you already have a successful event, it’s impossible.”
Steph had a decent savings account, enough that she could put on a race.
It would drain her, but if she did it right, she could get those sponsors for the next year.
But if she wiped out her savings, then she’d have to start over.
And that account was earmarked for something that had a hard deadline.
A baby.
Originally, it was a regular baby fund. The kind a husband and wife might start.
She’d put the first few dollars in it when she realized she and Chris were serious, that their relationship could realistically lead to marriage.
She’d dated others over the years, but it was always more casual than potential.
Now the money was still there, a tidy sum, with the potential of raising a child on her own.
Adoption wasn’t cheap and would take every cent she had and then some. With adoption, she didn’t have to worry about her biological clock giving way, but she wanted to have a child before she was too old to be a proper mom, and she knew that time was rapidly approaching.
Her plan was to get past The Frozen Divide, then start the process. That was what the mark on her calendar was for and why she wanted a personal best this year. A baby would make such a race impossible for the near future.
Jocelyn had teased about packing the baby around, and she would for running club and group runs, but she knew better than to think her life wouldn’t change drastically.
She didn’t say anything about the baby plans. Instead, she said, “You came in and did in a matter of months what I couldn’t do in six years, and I resented you for it. That wasn’t your fault.”
He was quiet for a moment. The snowmobile had moved farther off now, the sound barely carrying.
“The money isn’t mine,” he said.
“Right. You’re partnering with Liam Dixon.”
“I mean— ” He stopped and started again.
“Without Liam, I don’t have a running club or an event or any of it.
I have a name that means something in a sport most Americans don’t follow and an injury that ended not only my career but my dreams.” His voice was matter of fact.
Not self-pitying. Just precise. “Biathletes in this country don’t get rich.
There are almost no sponsorships. I’ve been living on side jobs and hope for years. ”
She hadn’t known that, only assumed it, as she had so many other things about him that the internet had done nothing to correct.
“When Liam came to me with the idea, it wasn’t just a business opportunity.
It was the first time since the injury that I could see a way to stay connected to something I actually loved.
To keep being outside. To keep competing, at least in some form.
” He was quiet for a beat. “This matters to me. Not because of what it could become. Because of what it is.”
She understood that, probably more than most people would.
He wasn’t the man she’d built in her mind. The one who had everything handed to him, who showed up with a checkbook and a famous face and helped himself to what she’d spent years trying to build. That man had been easier to deal with. Simpler. Easier to keep at a distance.
This man was someone who had rebuilt himself after losing everything he thought his life was going to be, using the only tools available to him, in a small Wyoming town where he didn’t know anyone and didn’t belong yet.
She recognized that kind of determination.
It looked familiar because she saw it every time she looked in a mirror.
The mylar crinkled faintly as she moved.
The space between them wasn’t large. The crevice hadn’t gotten any wider in the past hour and a half.
But the way she was aware of the space had changed.
His arm against hers under the emergency blanket.
The line of his shoulder. The way his breath came out quiet and even in the cold, the same rhythm it had been when they were running.
She had stopped trying to look anywhere that wasn’t directly ahead about twenty minutes ago, and the effort of not looking was becoming its own kind of obvious.
He turned his head slightly. She knew it without confirming it.
The snowmobile was barely audible now. The wind had dropped off, leaving the dark very still and the silence very complete and the cold pressing in from all sides except the one where Jack was.
She was going to blame the dark and the hours and the adrenaline, and she was going to be wrong about all of it.
She turned her head.
He was already looking at her. Not the way someone looked at another person across a table or a room.
He looked at her like the space between them had already disappeared.
His eyes were steady and dark, and there was nothing unreadable in them for the first time since the morning he’d pulled her off Grand Avenue.
She leaned toward him.
Something cracked in the darkness beyond the rock. Loud. Close.