Chapter 10 #2
"When I graduated," he continues, leaning against the back of the bench, "couldn't find steady work in Minnesota. LA seemed like the answer. Had some connections here, figured it was worth a shot."
"And it worked," I say, stating the obvious as I stretch my calves.
His expression turns wry. "It worked too well. Minor roles at first, then bigger ones. Networking got my foot in the door, but I worked my ass off to keep it there."
He turns to face me, his eyes finding mine in the growing daylight. "But I was never home. Never there for dinner, for school plays, for the million little things that make up a family."
"That's when everything fell apart," his voice drops, losing its teasing edge completely. "She started acting paranoid, convinced I was cheating. Put a tracker on my car, monitored my phone, even showed up to a taping once to 'catch' me."
I stay quiet, letting him continue.
"Then she put hidden cameras in the house. That was it for me. I filed for divorce, but she wouldn't sign. Said she didn't believe me, didn't believe I wasn't cheating."
Years later, she still hasn't signed. Vince refuses to force the issue. He wants closure, sure, but he wants it to be mutual. In the meantime, he keeps their weekends sacred. His girls are his priority.
I can't help but admire how much he cares.
Despite everything, he doesn't sound bitter. If anything, he still has hope Kaitlynn will come around someday and the split will be mutual. Vince is a mess, sure, but he's a soft mess. He's a bleeding heart.
"You're doing the best you can," I offer after he finishes. I'm not sure if it helps. I pushed for this story out of curiosity, and now I feel like a jerk for asking.
A few raindrops hit my face. Then my shirt.
Of course it would rain on this run, of all days.
"Do you still love her?" The question slips out before I can stop myself, and I immediately regret it.
Vince glances at me, smirking, and I stammer, "I'm sorry. That's way too personal."
"Yeah, it is," he teases, his tone light despite the subject.
He looks ahead again, the rain starting to soak through both of our clothes. "I still love her, sure, but not in the same way. I miss who she was. We were kids. I don't blame her, if that's what you're asking. I changed too much. She couldn't handle it. I really did try, though."
I nod, unsure what to say to his confession about still loving his ex-wife, the rain turning into a steady drumbeat against the pavement.
By now, my shirt is soaked through, clinging uncomfortably to my skin like a second, colder layer.
I peel it off, the fabric making a soft suction sound as it separates from my body, and use it to wipe the rain from my face, the rough cotton doing little to stem the steady trickle down my neck.
In the process of moving to the side of the path, I step into a mud puddle I hadn't seen, the dark water splattering up my legs in a series of cold, wet bursts. I cringe as the mud drips down toward my ankles, hoping Vince won't notice how thoroughly I've managed to make a mess of myself.
Despite my missteps, this is fun.
I'm not used to sharing my routine with someone.
The rain falls in a steady rhythm against the pavement, a rare and magical occurrence in this sun-soaked city. I can't remember the last time a run felt this alive, this real—every breath sharp in my lungs, every muscle responding to the challenge of the slick path beneath our feet.
Back at the car, Vince blasts the heater and activates the heated seats with a press of a button.
I scrape the worst of the mud from my sneakers against the curb, but it's a losing battle.
The only sounds are the engine's low hum, the roar of warm air from the vents, and the faint squeak of our wet bodies against the pristine leather seats.
The car becomes a mess, and I feel like a walking disaster sitting there.
I buckle my seatbelt, holding my soaked shirt in my lap, hoping it won't drip too much. Not that it matters. My shorts are equally drenched, and Vince's pristine interior is beyond saving at this point.
"Hey, Andy?" His voice cuts through the steady rhythm of the rain on the windshield.
"Yeah?"
"You know how you can tell that I like you?"
"Huh?"
"I let you sit in my brand new Porsche, half naked, dripping water all over my seats, with your legs covered in mud."
He turns to look at me, his smirk making my stomach flip.
"Oh." I grin sheepishly. "Sorry."
He pauses for a moment, then chuckles as he backs out of the parking lot.
"I'm the one that's sorry. I dumped all my damn personal baggage on you," he adds after a moment.
Does he regret telling me all those things? My stomach sinks at the thought.
"You didn't dump anything. I pried until you told me," I reply quickly. "Let me know if you want to back out of weekday runs, it's cool—"
"Whoa, whoa. What the fuck are you talking about, Andy?"
I freeze, wide-eyed.
"It was clearly a good time. I'll send you the cleaning bill once I get the car detailed. And you owe me for gas," he jokes, his teasing tone lightening the mood.
I bite my lip, trying not to smile. "You're ridiculous, seriously."
Vince laughs, and I find myself laughing along with him, the awkwardness melting away.
"It rained on us," I say, holding up my soggy shirt like it's evidence of some miracle. "Can you believe that? It's always sunny here. I don't think I've checked the weather once since I moved. Do you realize how insane that is, not checking the weather every day?"
He pulls up to a red light and turns to look at me, his expression unreadable. The steady rhythm of the windshield wipers fills the silence. The weight of his gaze sets my face on fire.
Am I rambling?
Do I have mud on my face?
Why the hell is he staring at me like that?
"Will you run with me again tomorrow?" he asks suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence.
I blink, caught off guard. "Really?"
He laughs as the light turns green. "Yeah. Really."
I hesitate, glancing out the window. "I don't like you having to drive me back and forth like this. It seems ridiculous."
He shoots me a mock glare, his smirk betraying him. "Get over it."
I laugh nervously as he pulls up in front of my apartment and unlocks the doors.
He looks at me expectantly. "Well? Will you?"
I search his face for any sign he's kidding, but his expression is sincere. Slowly, I smile. "Alright. I'll run with you on weekdays. Running buds."
The grin that spreads across his face is like he's just won the lottery, and I have to fight the blush creeping up my cheeks.
Clearing my throat, I search for my keys in the drenched pocket of my shorts and open the car door, trying not to let more water drip onto the pristine interior.
As I step onto the curb, the passenger window rolls down behind me.
"Hey, Andrew."
I freeze, my heart skipping a beat at the sound of my full name. Slowly, I turn, grinning like an idiot. "Yeah?"
Vince stares at me blankly, his mouth twitching into a playful smirk. "Nothing. Don't worry about it."
My brows furrow as I laugh nervously, leaning against the car. His smile is so infuriatingly smug it makes me want to climb back in and... well, something. I don't even know what.
"Bye," he says simply, the word hanging in the air.
I shake my head, grinning as I turn toward my building. "Bye. See you later?"
His hand lifts in a gesture somewhere between a wave and a dismissal, two fingers raised in casual farewell. The tinted glass rises with a soft whir, sealing him away in his world of leather and luxury as his car idles at the curb, a low, contented purr that seems to hold its breath alongside me.
My fingers fumble with the keys, the metal slippery against my rain-damp skin.
The lock resists for a moment before finally yielding with a satisfying click.
Only when the door swings open, revealing the familiar chaos of my small apartment, does the Porsche's engine finally respond—a deep, throaty rumble that echoes down the street as he pulls away from the curb, his red taillights shrinking to pinpricks before disappearing around the corner.
I lean against the doorframe, my legs trembling from exertion.
The hallway light catches the water still dripping from my hair, creating tiny puddles on the worn linoleum at my feet.
My heart hasn't slowed; if anything, it beats faster now, a frantic rhythm against my ribs that has nothing to do with our morning run.
The scent of rain and expensive leather still clings to my skin, a phantom reminder of his presence.
This whole thing is getting dangerous.
Not the kind of danger you can see coming, but something slower, more insidious.
It's in the way his laughter sounds different from anyone else's, in the unexpected vulnerability behind his teasing smirk, in the way he looks at me when he thinks I'm not paying attention.
It's dangerous for my heart, at least—this fragile, newly awakened thing that has spent too many years dormant.
And as I step inside, dripping mud and possibility onto my own floor, I realize with a jolt that I might not want to pull away from this danger at all.