Chapter 24 #2
AJ taps his watch. “You good, man? You need to hit the zone, pronto.”
Ding. My iPad goes off again, agreeing with AJ. Time to start warming up unless I want to end up under the surgeon’s knife with a torn hamstring. I had a buddy in college that happened to, and those screams will always be my inner reminder to be diligent about warming up.
I head to the ‘backstage’ area set up behind the DJ booth and get on one of the bikes we’ve pulled out of the gym to start loosening my legs.
Looking at the truck pull setup, I’m going to be busting myself hard.
The supplied vehicle is a dealer tow truck with a brand-new F-150 on top, emblazoned with flags, one with the One Life logo and the other with the dealer logo.
Missy said the flags were better than a full wrap, and I hate to say it, but she was right.
There’s just enough wind to make them blow gallantly.
It looks pretty sweet. Other than the twenty-three thousand pounds on the tire I’m going to pull.
Head down and legs spinning, I hear happy chatter and look up to see the ‘crew.’
Violet, Abi, Archie, a stranger . . . and Courtney. I’m assuming the new guy is Archie’s latest. Violet mentioned that he’s been dating a bit recently. I’m happy for him. He deserves a good guy, and they do look mighty cozy.
“Hey, guys . . . everyone ready to run?”
Archie and his guy are dressed for a run in matching shorts, Nikes, and muscle compression shirts. Court, Abi, and Violet all have on yoga pants and One Life tees, supporting Ross and me, though Violet’s is a little more oversized, hiding the beginnings of her baby bump.
Archie laughs. “Absolutely not. I’m here to watch my man dance. And strut my stuff a bit too.” He flails his arms around, his expression going full stank-face. I think he’s trying to vogue, or bitch slap someone . . . one or the other, for sure.
Violet, who Ross says is no longer throwing up every day, shakes her head. “No running at all, and no stuff strutting for me. I got enough stuff in my strut for the next several months, maybe too much if I don’t lay off the ice cream.”
Abi locks her elbow through Violet’s. “No way. This is the time to eat ice cream, all the ice cream you could possibly want. You’ve got a total free pass.
And you should totally strut your stuff with me.
There’s no yoga today.” Abi glares at me frostily.
“So I’m planning a Zumba party in my pants instead. ”
Court eyes her sharply, and Abi corrects herself, standing straight and chanting military-style. “Keeping my last name in mind and doing nothing to embarrass One Life or our parents, ma’am.”
“It’s one thing to drop it like it’s hot in the relative privacy of a fitness class, quite another to do it when there’s a lineup of press waiting to take pictures and video at any rather awkward moments,” Courtney says calmly but sternly.
“I can see the headline now—Andrews Girls Gone Wild. And they’d be sure to get the angle just right so it looked like you and me were the only ones going hoochie mama out there. ”
“Fine, fine . . . jeez, you’re worse than Mom sometimes.” Abi crosses her arms and huffs, obviously playing.
“We can do a little,” Courtney concedes. “In the middle of the crowd and no Hello Kitty moves. Keep it press-friendly.”
“Yes!” Abi hisses, pumping her fist. But then she ruins it, thrusting her hips forward and throwing off a crotch chop that would leave any pro wrestling fan proud of her skills. “I’m always friendly for a press.”
Courtney huffs, but I can see the smile fighting to break free. We all know Abi’s just kidding and keeping things light.
Done with my first leg warm-up, I lean forward on the handlebars of the bike. “Thanks for being here, guys. It really means a lot to Ross and me.”
Archie answers for everyone. “Of course we’re here.
For you, Ross, and ahem . . . the strongman competition.
Actually, we need to get a front-row spot for that because I don’t want to miss a thing.
Come on!” He snaps his fingers, and Violet, Abi, and Archie’s new guy, who he never even introduced, follow Archie away like he’s the Pied Piper.
Courtney stays at my side. “Everything looks amazing. Is there anything I can do to help?”
She’s so beautiful, so open, that I let my guard down for a moment and take her hand.
Fuck, she feels good. I want more—to take her in my arms and kiss the shit out of her.
But I don’t. It’d be too dangerous, too risky to let myself forget my place again.
Instead, I ask, “Mind being at the finish line of the truck pull? I could use the motivation.”
Courtney smiles, and I hate that even this tiny bit of being let back in makes her so happy. She doesn’t ask for much, but she deserves everything. Definitely more than the way I’ve been shutting her out lately. “Of course.”
Her eyes meet mine, and I wish I could communicate everything I want to tell her. But this isn’t the time. There may never be a time. And damn me to hell for it, but I’ll take her strength and support for a while longer, greedily sipping from her fountain in order to get through all of this.
She pops up on her toes to give me a kiss on the cheek, and I give in, catching her jaw in my hand and guiding her back for a deeper kiss.
She’s surprised, which guts me, but when she opens her mouth, I dive in, trying to tell her, to make her understand, to show her what’s in my heart. “Thank you.”
She’s silent as her chin drops, but I see the soft smile. With so little, she easily and utterly melts for me again.
You don’t deserve her.
“Kaede . . . I’ll be there for you,” she says, her spine and strength returning as she walks off. Does she mean at the finish line or the end of this arrangement? Both? Fuck, I want it to be both.
Coming out of the backstage area, I look around for Ross and head over to him for one last check-in before we officially begin, though the DJ is already playing tunes and welcoming everyone.
“We’re ready,” I tell him. He nods and introduces me to the reporter he’s talking to.
He offers his hand, and as we shake, he catches me up. “I was just telling Ross that we’ll do about one minute with him, then you get to do your thing. Good?”
I look down at the end of the course, and I see Courtney already in position for me. “Let’s get it started.”
The DJ turns the music down and asks everyone to gather around Ross in a loose circle for the opening interview. They wander over and the reporter welcomes them, and Ross says a word before they kick into interview mode, but I’m already checked out on that, letting Ross do his part.
Instead, I’m in the zone. It’s the same zone that I remember from football, where the crowd’s a dull background hiss and everything becomes simple and narrow.
Twenty-five yards.
The rope to help with the pull.
Courtney at the end, flashing me a double thumbs-up.
AJ taps my shoulder, bringing my attention back enough to hear Ross. I wave to the crowd and the camera.
“So for our first event, my best friend and co-owner of One Life, Kaede McWarren, is going to demonstrate the truck pull. Twenty-three thousand pounds are going to be pulled down the track by pure human muscle. Today’s ref and One Life’s head trainer, AJ Bradford. AJ?”
This was a conversation AJ and I had during the planning process.
He said he would feel better overseeing the competition and not competing, giving an impassioned speech about safety and keeping everything running smoothly.
I’d been convinced. And when we got a good number of contestants lined up, we came up with the idea for me to do a demo and then let the real pros get at it.
I’m relieved, to be honest, because now I don’t have to kill myself against AJ or any of his guys. The challenge is just me, the truck, and the finish line.
AJ squares himself up next to me, a whistle in his hand. “Take your grip!”
I reach down, and with one of AJ’s helpers, pull up the slack on the inch-thick rope. Leaning forward, I give AJ a nod. I’m ready.
AJ blows the whistle, and it’s on. I drive forward as hard as I can, knowing that momentum is the key to this. Once I get the wheels on this fucker moving, I can’t stop. Because if I do, I won’t get going again.
Like life, I suppose.
The world narrows, my pulse pounding in my temples and my breath heaving as I pull with my arms and drive with my feet. I’ve done the prep, the sprints, the sled pushes and drags, the squats, the deadlifts . . . but nothing can prepare me for this agony.
My back’s screaming. My biceps are screaming. My legs are on fire, my lungs burn, and I can barely see. But there’s Courtney, an angel at the end of this torture, and if this is the last moment I can indulge in our fantasy, then all the demons of hell can’t stop me from getting to her.
Strap me to a truck, a semi, a 747 . . . I’m going to reach her.
I see her clapping, the rest of the world going hazy except for her. Her voice cheers me on, and I dig deeper, push harder, finding that extra few feet to get closer to her . . . five yards . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one.
The whistle blows, and Courtney steps forward to catch me as I collapse, utterly shattered.
AJ and the trainer staff unhook me, getting the harness detached and pulling my belts off to give me more air.
Someone offers oxygen, and I take a few grateful pulls, Courtney still holding me up until I can stand on my own.
Damn, she’s strong.
Sound comes back slowly, and I hear AJ calling out my time. “31.64 seconds!”
The newscaster and Ross gush over my time, and moments later, there’s a roar from the crowd. I hear the newscaster say a few words, and then the camera cuts off and Ross is pounding me on the back.
“Awesome job, man, awesome job!” Ross says, helping me down into a folding chair backstage. “Captain America, pulling a truck!”
“Not blonde,” I gasp, grinning as we pound fists. “Everything else?”