Chapter 23
Eden
It’s been several manic days since Sloane and I spent over twenty-four hours in my bed reacquainting ourselves with each other’s bodies. I’d like to say we’ve done nothing but fuck ever since, but that would be a tragic lie.
First, Bella and Becca happened, and by that, I mean they caught Slone coming out of the bathroom in one of my band tees and lost their shit.
They hijacked her, leaving me in bed alone and waiting while they interrogated her for information.
Eventually, I joined them and confirmed that, yes, Sloane and I were officially back together and staying that way.
Bella tried to get us to throw a party, but with the news about my gran still lingering in the periphery of my brain, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
Of course, the decision got taken out of my hands when Bella texted my gran.
When the bloody hell they exchanged numbers is beyond me.
I gave Jenna strict instructions never to let it happen.
Bella and my Gran are not a good combination… for me.
After our sex bubble was thoroughly popped, we decided to visit my parents’ house and check in on everyone. Big mistake. Pia was throwing an almighty fit over something I never actually got to the bottom of. Let’s just say Todd looked as if his balls retracted into his body. Poor bloke.
After Mum calmed Pia down, we all took it in turns to rotate between looking after Meena and Pia. I tried to spend as much time with my gran as possible, but she got pissy at me “mollycoddling” her and buggered off with Becca to the Mall.
In between all that, my mum and dad got far too excited about me and Sloane. The interrogation lasted for a whole hour until I finally made my escape, totally throwing my girlfriend under the bus.
She got her own back though, because when I finally came out of hiding I found her parents sitting in my parents’ living room. Sloane had no qualms about feeding me to the metaphorical lions. It was bloody pandemonium! God, what happened to my dream of living in silence by the sea?
We cycled through several days like that until Mum finally had enough of a crowded house and told us in no uncertain terms to sod off for a few days. Pia needed rest, and it was impossible with half of Colorado traipsing through the house. Her words, not mine.
To be fair, she was right, and I absolutely needed to get back to some sort of routine. I’d not painted in days. So last night, Sloane and I had our first night in. I thought we’d get sexy, but Sloane swatted away my wandering hands and shoved me into the spare room to paint. God, I love her.
I spent hours finishing off a piece before falling into bed, where Sloane was already sleeping. Ideally, I should have gotten an early night. Currently, I’m sat at the breakfast table, barely able to keep my eyes open, and expected to run a charity race in just under two hours.
Oh, not forgetting today is the day I get to see Alex again. Can’t wait for that.
“Eden, you look terrible,” Becca says, sitting opposite me. She looks fresh as a daisy, and I hate her.
“Painting,” I mumble through a trap full of jam on toast.
“Did you at least finish it?”
I nod and pick up my bucket of coffee. Sloane waltzes in smelling of my shower gel and, even though I’m dead on my feet, my lady bits are standing to attention, hoping I’ll sweep her up and steal her away to my bed.
“Easy, tiger.” Becca laughs, clocking my wandering eyes.
“Baby, maybe you should sit this one out,” Sloane says, draping her arms over my shoulders and kissing my head.
“I’m fine. I’ll drink my body weight in coffee, and I’ll be on top form.”
“Sounds healthy.” She giggles.
“Are you bitches ready?” Bella hollers through the apartment. She looks as tired as me, so I’m guessing she was up late coding, or whatever it is she does.
“Give me ten.” I yawn, dragging my arse from the chair to the shower. The water helps wake me up a little, and by the time I’m dressed in another set of neon running shorts and tank top I can almost convince myself I’m going to finish the race on a high.
We’ve only got twenty minutes to travel to get to the race, so there’s a positive. It’s about the only one I can come up with, because the closer we get, the more I realise how badly I do not want to see Alex.
It’s not that she slept with Sloane. That’s over and done with, and Sloane will only ever be smushing sexy bits with me from now on.
It’s the gall of the woman. I mean, surely she knows how she behaved when Sloane and I were still together in college was bang out of order.
She showed absolutely no respect for me or my place in Sloane’s life.
And now, after all that, she still wants to see Sloane, knowing I’ll be there too.
Well, I’m not going to stand back this time.
There’s no doubt in my mind Alex wants to meet up with Sloane in a bid to get with her again.
Sloane Bishop isn’t someone you simply let go of.
I’ve always prided myself on not being a jealous person.
I’d never dream of telling Sloane who she could or couldn’t be friends with, and I won’t start now.
However, I also have no issue telling Alex to sling her hook.
Alex picked the wrong time to reappear. I’ll concede that most of what I’m feeling right now has nothing to do with Alex and our history and everything to do with frustration at the world in general.
Unfortunately for Alex, she’s the one who will get the brunt of it if she tries to pull any shit at the race.
On the drive over, Bella blasts incoherent noise, which is something coming from a lover of heavy metal. This shit is completely nuts, though. I’m not even sure what language it’s in! Bella knows though, because that girl is screeching the lyrics out the window at 8 a.m. traffic.
Sloane sits shotgun, scrolling through her phone and flinching every time the GPS lady tries to override the music, which in turns causes Bella to glare but continue bellowing the words sans backup noise.
Becca looks up from her knitting—yes, she knits in the car, it’s her latest thing apparently—only to grumble she forgot her morning Doritos for the millionth time.
I watch all of it with a jittery, wide awake, yet completely fatigued curiosity.
Today is going to be interesting, I can feel it in my water.
The park is already a carnival of Lycra, race numbers, and ugly custom team t-shirts.
Every fifth person is filming a sodding TikTok.
I’d rather carve my eyeballs out than do that, just fyi.
Our charity team shirts are slightly less hideous than most, thanks to Bella’s design, which features a baby Meena in Ray-Bans and a diaper sprinting through a field of flamingos.
I’m not sure what the flamingos have to do with supporting LGBTQ+ charities, but nobody questions Bella’s branding decisions. Her mind terrifies me, to be honest.
We pile out and immediately get herded through registration by volunteers in oversized yellow vests and black leggings.
Sloane collects the numbers and pins mine on for me, her fingers grazing my ribcage just enough times to make me think she’s messing with me on purpose.
I hold her face and kiss her quick, because she’s mine and I can.
Also, because when she touches any part of me, even innocently, I have to touch her back. Sickening really.
Alex’s team is already loitering near the starting pen, all six feet of Alex resplendent in a crop top and spandex shorts the colour of sunstroke.
She sees us, holds up both hands, then drops them immediately when it registers that Sloane is holding my hand.
I can’t help but feel a little vindicated.
Her little entourage, which consists of two women I vaguely recognise from Sloane’s college, both named Jess I think, starts whispering, but I ignore them and focus on the pure rage ball in my gut pretending to be butterflies.
My tiredness and pent-up anger at the world are trying hard to projectile vomit out of my mouth and right onto Alex.
I manage to keep myself in check though, because at the end of the day, Sloane is here with me and the last thing I want to do is hurt her by being a dick to Alex, who is by all accounts her old friend.
“Ready to burn some rubber?” Bella bellows, landing between me and Sloane, nearly separating our still-clasped hands.
“Let’s just make it to the finish line,” says Becca, rolling her eyes so hard she nearly loses her contact lens. I love her.
We shuffle into position near the middle of the pack.
There’s a DJ on a folding table spinning remixes of nineties hits, and an emcee in a banana suit yelling at everyone to stretch their—groins.
Umm, groins? Nope. Sloane and I do a gentle warm-up jog, which mainly consists of me pulling down my shorts and pretending to moon her until she smacks my ass.
I have zero recollection of the emcee’s speech, the gun going off, or even the first full kilometre. All I know is suddenly we’re running. A sea of bodies, sweaty and a little feral. I swear it happens anytime a bunch of queers get together and dress up.
My legs feel like concrete, and I wish with all my heart I was curled up in a ball in my bed, sleeping.
Sloane is perfectly in step with me, shortening her stride to match mine even though I’m taller than her.
Every other block, a volunteer lobs a cup of water in my direction, and I spill it all over my chest, managing to hydrate my running top and nothing else.
There’s a weird euphoria to the whole thing.
Somewhere around kilometre four, the ache in my thighs merges with the ache in my chest. I’m having a swell time of it so far.
Sloane pushes ahead a little, then drops back to run beside me again.
By the halfway point, the adrenaline peaks and I forget all about Alex and the impending emotional shitshow at the finish.
Which, of course, is when Alex reappears. She glances over her shoulder, sees us, then deliberately slows.
“Here we go,” I mutter.
“Let’s just…run,” says Sloane, low enough that only I can hear.
Alex jogs in place, exaggerating her stretch until we catch up. “Hey stranger,” she says to Sloane, her eyes flicking over me as if I’m a sweat-stained piece of sidewalk sludge.
“Hi, Alex,” says Sloane, polite, but her hand finds mine again, which is a little awkward considering we’re running.
Alex starts running backwards, effortlessly. I feel my eyes roll of their own volition. “I’m really pleased you guys worked it out. Honestly. I know that’s crazy, coming from me.” She flashes a wild-eyed smile at Sloane. “You good? After everything?”
“Yeah,” says Sloane. “I’m good.” She looks at me, and her smile is small but honest. “Better than good.”
Shit. That gets me. I squeeze her hand, and Sloane beams.
Alex turns back around and quickens her pace, jogging ahead and not looking back.
Her shoulders are a little hunched. She’s not the villain in this story, even if I’d like her to be.
I’m pretty surprised she didn’t make a play for Sloane, and that she seemed genuine with her happiness that we’re together again.
Huh, maybe time has healed some old wounds for all of us.
“Was that as weird for you as it was for me?” I pant.
“Maybe weirder,” says Sloane. “It kind of feels…over now. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah,” I say, and it does. My body hurts, but the rest of me is flying high. I think that really was the last hurdle we needed to overcome.
On the last third of the run, everything lost—minutes of sleep and acrobatic sex I’ve shared with Sloane recently—catches up with me.
My body is wrecked. I lose feeling in my right toe and weirdly my nose.
Every muscle in my legs is seizing up, and I have sweat pouring from places it has no business coming from.
I’m not the only one suffering though because Becca sprains her ankle, yet insists on hopping the rest of the way.
Bella’s playlist somehow syncs with the stadium’s, and the final stretch is a full-on shitshow of queers trying to party to Bella’s weird arse music. Sloane is the only one who looks semi-okay. Finally, we all cross the finish line, giving each other half-arsed high-fives.
For a few minutes, we just stand there heaving in oxygen, bent in half. Bella pushes cups of mystery sports drink into our hands, which look like car windshield fluid. It tastes like it too.
“We fucking slayed,” she shouts with a beaming smile. Sometimes I miss the quiet snarky girl from high school. Damn Becca for bringing her out of her shell.
Even Alex comes over, hands on her hips, winded but smiling, and offers a fist bump. I fist her.
…Poor choice of words.
Then, out of nowhere, Sloane hugs me. Not a polite, quick, “thanks for running with me” kind of hug, but a full-body, don’t-let-go bear hug that makes everyone around us hoot.
“I love you,” she says, right there, in front of everybody. And it’s not even a question. Not even a thing to be nervous about.
“I love you back,” I say, and my voice cracks, but I don’t care. It’s taken way too long to get back to my happy place, and I’m so fucking happy I’m finally here.
On the walk back to the car, Sloane’s hand is in mine the whole time. Becca limps ahead, and Bella dances like a feral toddler. I’m going to put her down for a nap when we get home. Maybe confiscate her work laptop for a while so she actually sleeps through the night.
We drive home with the windows down, music blaring, and the worry from this morning already seems like ancient history. And yeah, I’m still tired.