Chapter 17 Mile Seventeen
MILE SEVENTEEN
IS HE…
I stand, my pulse thudding and fingers curled tight around my cane, soaking it all in. How on earth will Garrett and I hear each other over this?
“Never thought I’d be cheering you on at a race.” Anker bumps my shoulder with his. “It’s like we’ve done some Freaky Friday sibling swap.”
I smirk. “Guess that means I’ll kill my official time by stopping to flirt with the woman handing me a bottle of water on the track.”
“One time… And you won’t let me live it down. If you’d seen her, you would have got it.” He loops his arm around my shoulders. “She had these big brown eyes.”
“I don’t think it was her big brown eyes that caught your attention.” I bump his hip with mine.
“My dear sister, you may be so shallow to only check out a woman’s bump dots but I am an eyes man. They’re the window into the soul, and the prettiest part of a lady.”
“Is that why mom and dad put child blocker software on the computer when we were teens? Because of your fascination with eyes?” I poke him.
“Women who live in erotic audio houses shouldn’t toss stones.” His tut is laced with humor. “By the way, Sonora told me to wish you luck today.”
My mouth lifts. Anker, indeed, got his head out of his ass and reached out to Sonora. From what I’ve observed in the runner/guide group since then, they appear to have fallen back into their playful exchanges.
“Tell her I said thanks.” I twist to face him; my face flexed into a wry expression. “What color are Sonora’s eyes, by the way?”
“Brown, and drop it.” He points at me. “We’re just friends.”
“Stupid men.” I roll my eyes. “Friends, but you want more.”
Anker may have fucked up, but I don’t think he’s down and out.
Not only are his and Sonora’s interactions in the runner’s group more frequent, but I know they are texting almost daily again.
He was twenty minutes late for our celebratory dinner for Catherine last week because he was on the phone with Sonora.
“Her boyfriend wouldn’t appreciate anything more than just friendly intentions,” he says, a hint of a frown in his admission.
“Boyfriend? Since when?”
“She told me last week, after it became official. They met at the marathon.”
My stomach drops at that. No doubt this is salt in Anker’s wounds about the marathon. Not only did he not get to run it, but the woman I know he wants—even if he won’t admit it—met someone else there.
“He’s a reporter who interviewed her. Guess he reached out to do some follow-up, which led to a friendship, which led to…” He clears his throat. “She’s happy, and that’s all that matters.”
“I’m so sorry.” I reach out, squeezing his forearm.
He shrugs me off. “It’s not a big deal. Just wasn’t meant to be.”
“It’s not like they’re married. Couples break up all the time. You never know what will happen.”
He snorts a dismissive laugh. “I’d prefer not to hope for Sonora’s heartbreak.”
It’s not exactly what I’m hoping for. Though, isn’t it?
For Anker to get a second chance at a first chance, someone’s heart will need to break—Sonora’s or her new boyfriend.
While not all breakups equate to heartbreak, it still comes with a little sadness.
I wouldn’t want that for them, but I want my brother’s happiness more.
“Plus, there are other big brown-eyed women out there,” he says.
I see past his false bravado. Anker may wear the carefree cad mask, but I know what’s underneath. With past failed relationships—or a prospect of one—Anker moved on. Despite the bevy of brown-eyed women out there, I suspect there’s only one for my brother.
“You ready for this?” He motions around the race.
Cupid Course consists of a children’s 1K and an adult 10K course looping through downtown Seal Beach.
The course winds through neighborhoods, runs along the coast, and ends near the pier.
Kayla and Catherine are at the ready with their phones to capture video at the finish line to send to my parents.
Anker will join them there after Garrett arrives before our start time.
“Yup.” I inhale deeply, allowing the kinetic energy of the race to wash over me.
I still can’t believe I’m doing this. It’s not like I wasn’t aware that this would be today’s environment.
I’ve been at the finish lines for some of Anker’s races, but it’s so different when you’re the one running it.
Cupid Course is on a whole other level, with hundreds of participants broken into different running groups and start times throughout the day.
“This is just practice. It’s just part of your training to prepare you for the big show with me in October.” Anker squeezes my shoulder, pulling my attention to him. “Nobody expects you to set a course record.”
Setting a record isn’t the goal, but I do have expectations.
Over the last few months, I’ve ramped up to a steady jog on the treadmill or with Garrett, hitting four to five miles without stopping to power walk.
While I haven’t yet run the 6.2 miles—without stopping—that make up a 10K, I’m determined to do that today.
I know I’ll have a second chance in March after I run my second of two planned 10Ks, but I want to knock this out of the park my first time at bat.
I want to not just meet my own expectations, but have my friends have some for me beyond just finishing.
I pout. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“This isn’t about doubting you. You’ve got this. You’re my sister after all.”
“Your modesty is boundless.” I shake my head.
“It’s probably one of my top ten features,” he says cheekily. “But I know you have this. I just don’t want you to put extra pressure on yourself. Whether you power walk or run it, finishing is the goal. You don’t need to push yourself.”
“The whole point of this is about pushing past my boundaries.” I tip my head up to take in his face, my hat’s brim further obscuring my vision, requiring me to scan a little more than usual.
“First, I thought the point of this was to help me prove the existence of the Larsen lore. Who knows, somewhere here may be the love of your life. It is the year you turn thirty, my dear sister.”
“No thanks. I’m on hiatus.” I roll my eyes.
Laughing, he loops his arm around my shoulder. “Also, the fact that you’re even here is already far past the boundaries you once had. I just don’t want you to put too much pressure on yourself. That’s how mistakes happen.”
That’s how people get hurt is what he’s not saying. It’s the quiet warning beneath his words. Garrett. Me. Other runners. Any of us could get hurt if I make a mistake. Like weeds poking through sidewalk cracks, dread slinks through me.
“Don’t get it twisted, sister”—he unzips his hoodie and points to his T-shirt—“I’m team Jensen all the way.”
Squinting, I take in his shirt. “Is that…”
“Yup.” He waves to himself. “It’s your face below the words See Her Run.”
“You are such a dork.” I guffaw, wrapping my arms around him.
I know he says I just need to finish, but imagine his face if I run every mile of this race.
If I place in the top fifty for my age/gender category.
Better yet, if I match the times of some of the more experienced blind runners in the group.
Though, given the fifty-two minute time Sonora ran in her New Year’s Day race a month ago, it seems far-fetched for me to match or exceed that time.
“Speaking of shirts, I see your guide has his own special one on.” Anker snorts.
“Oh god.” I cringe, “Please tell me you did not make Garrett wear a shirt with my face on it.”
Mortification blazes through me at the idea of my face on Garrett’s body.
Although, something else ignites at the image of my actual face pressed against his naked chest. The last week of only seeing each other for training hasn’t cooled off my crush.
On the contrary, it’s gotten worse. I find myself making up the stupidest reasons to text him, and checking the weather report multiple times a day, hoping for rain and not as a means to end the drought.
Stupid sunny Southern California. Even more stupid me to set this boundary of limiting my time with Garrett.
Even if I know it’s for the best, I don’t like it.
This experience may be about pushing my boundaries, but it’s also about adhering to the new ones I’ve set.
The ones in place to avoid past mistakes.
“Hey,” Garrett says, reaching us.
“Hey.” I bite the inside of my cheek, hoping to slap down the flutter in my chest. The man says, “hey” and I may fucking swoon. I am so pathetic. “So, what shirt did he talk you into wearing?”
“May I?” He reaches out and takes my hand, and I comply.
He takes my fingers and brushes them across his chest. The swooning may commence at any minute, and not just by the rock-hard feel of his sculpted chest, but from the raised letters spelling out Service Human.
Laughter skips out of me. “Oh my god! How?”
“The woman I commissioned for your Christmas card made it.”
It’s standard practice for blind/guide duos to wear special shirts to let other runners know. It helps keep everyone safe on the course. I have a shirt that says Watch Out: Blind Girl in Motion that my parents gave me for Christmas. They can’t be here today, but plan to come down for the marathon.
“Nice, and you got it in pink. Jensen’s favorite color,” Anker says with a loud slap against Garrett’s back.
“This wasn’t Anker’s doing? You did this?” A gooeyness fills my chest at that.
“I also got you one,” he says bashfully as he hands me a gift bag. “I know you have the shirt from your parents, but this won’t be our last race.”