Epilogue
Brooke’s legs had stopped feeling like legs somewhere around mile eighty. Now they were just these things attached to her body that moved when she told them to, more or less. Each step sent protests through muscles she didn’t know she had.
“You’re doing great,” Tyler said. He’d seen her off yesterday morning at nine and met her at Antler Creek Outbound around noon. He’d wanted to be at the Rendezvous aid station, the turnaround point, at midnight, but Gina insisted he rest so he could pace her today.
“I’m dying.”
“You’re not dying. You’re finishing.”
Having him run next to her for the rest of the way had been amazing. Every time she thought she couldn’t take one more step, he’d say something or do something that kept her going.
“Look there,” he said. She could hear the smile in his voice.
Brooke looked up to see a young girl waving an Otter Pop. Almost There aid station, the last one before the finish. She was starting to think she just might make it.
“You’re almost finished,” the little girl said as she handed them each their frozen treat.
Tears stung Brooke’s eyes. She was doing it. She was really doing it. Only two miles remained. She’d been running for thirty-three hours. Through daylight and darkness and daylight again. Through pain and doubt and moments where she’d wanted to quit so badly she could taste it.
But she hadn’t quit.
“We’re getting close,” Tyler said as they raced down the sidewalk toward the finish line at Freedom Park.
“You keep saying that.” They picked up speed. She didn’t think she had anything left, but they were definitely moving faster.
“Because it’s the truth. You are doing this, Brooke.”
She nodded and kept moving, her shoes pounding on the sidewalk in rhythm with Tyler’s.
“Turn here,” Tyler said, guiding her left into the park. She was grateful for the cue; she was so tired she could barely tell where she was supposed to go, even with all the signs and cheering. At this point, she was moving almost entirely on instinct.
“There.” Tyler pointed ahead, where a small crowd had gathered. “See them?”
Brooke squinted. Her vision had gone fuzzy around the edges hours ago, but she could make out familiar shapes.
Gina jumped up and down. Nick was beside her, his arm around her waist. Joe had his camera. Steph was clapping. There were others from the running club, too, who’d crewed for her through the night, sleeping in shifts so someone was always there when she needed them.
When she arrived at an aid station exhausted, hungry, and disoriented, they were there to take care of her.
“They’ve been waiting,” Tyler said.
“For hours probably.”
“They’d wait days if they had to. You’ve got this. The finish is just ahead. Can you see it?”
Brooke wanted to cry. Or laugh. Maybe both. She’d dreamed about this moment for years. Obsessed over it. Failed at it. Almost gave up on it entirely.
And now she was here.
“I can see it,” she whispered.
“That’s right, babe.”
“I’m going to make it.”
“You’re going to make it.”
The crowd was louder now. Gina’s voice cut through the noise, shouting Brooke’s name. Nick whistled. Joe moved closer to the finish line with his camera raised.
Something caught the sunlight on Gina’s left hand. A ring. She filed that observation away for later, her brain too fried to process anything beyond putting one foot in front of the other.
“Hundred yards,” Tyler said. He was still right beside her, matching her shuffling pace even though she knew he could run circles around her right now. “You ready?”
“For what?”
“To finish strong.”
Brooke almost laughed. Strong wasn’t happening. She had nothing left.
But then she thought about everything that had brought her here. The training through winter cold and spring mud. The long runs that tested her limits. The mental work of not obsessing, of trusting her body, of letting Tyler and her friends help carry the load.
Everything with Edi. The attack. Nearly dying. Fighting back.
Surviving.
She’d survived. And now she was finishing.
“Go ahead,” Tyler said quietly. “Cross that line. I’ll be right behind you.”
Brooke found something that wasn’t quite a kick but was more than her shuffle. Her legs protested, but they moved. Faster. The finish line grew closer.
Twenty yards. Ten.
The crowd was screaming now. Her name. Her number. Pure noise that wrapped around her and pulled her forward.
Five yards.
Brooke’s arms lifted automatically, breaking the plane of the finish line with everything she had left.
The announcer’s voice boomed across the speakers. “Brooke Davies from Irma, Wyoming! One hundred miles! Congratulations!”
Her legs gave out. She stumbled, but Tyler was there, catching her, holding her up, pulling her close.
They swayed together. Brooke buried her face in his chest.
“I did it,” she whispered.
“You did it.”
Then he was spinning her around—slowly, carefully, mindful of her exhausted body. She laughed, the sound breaking into something between joy and tears.
He kissed her. Her friends were there now, surrounding them, but Brooke only felt Tyler. His arms. His warmth. His steady presence that had carried her through training and racing and everything before that.
“I’m so proud of you,” he said against her mouth. “I knew you’d do it.”
“We did it,” she corrected. “Both of us.”
He pulled back enough to look at her. “Yeah. We did.”
Someone draped a blanket over her shoulders. A finisher’s buckle appeared in her hands. Gina was crying. Nick was grinning. Joe’s camera clicked. Steph wrapped Brooke in a careful hug and suggested it was time for a burger and a beer.
“Yes, please.” She laughed.
Through it all, Tyler stayed beside her. His hand found hers and held on.
One hundred miles. Almost thirty-three hours. Every step a choice to keep going.
Brooke looked up at Tyler and saw her future reflected in his eyes. Not perfect. Not without challenges. But together.
They’d made it. Both of them. Through loss and fear and doubt and violence and everything that tried to break them.
They’d made it. Together.
Steph Pierce thought the hardest part was the race. She’s about to find out she was wrong.
Her story continues in Continental Crisis: Deadly Miles Book 3.