Josh
He set the bar higher for the next round, felt the familiar twist of pain grip his chest, and stopped.
What was he trying to prove anyway? That he could drop dead like all the other promising young athletes whose careers had ended on a stretcher with a sheet over their head?
Whoever had given hypertrophic cardiomyopathy the nickname “Athlete’s Heart” had been a sick bastard. Because the condition threatened real athletes with sudden death.
He dropped his head into his hands.
What was he even doing with Teagan?
Yeah, he liked her. Thought she was smart, funny, a coxie with moxie.
But he wasn’t a cheat. He and Britney had been together for over two years now.
He owed it to himself and, as importantly, to Brit, to look at things through a clearer lens.
He couldn’t just run off with someone because he was freaked out.
Too afraid to admit to his family he could never meet the bar he’d been set.
There wasn’t a cure for his disease. There was medicine.
A device they could implant in you. A procedure to make it better for a while.
He could have a life. Just not the one he was expected to live.
He hadn’t been at the dentist. He’d been at the hospital, getting another heart scan.
When Ryder had started on him, he’d wanted to shout: Do you think I didn’t want to be here instead?
Pushing myself as hard as I can? But his doctor had been clear.
Pushing himself the way he had been? Off the cards.
And that was a problem.
“Josh! Over here.” Britney waved him over to the picnic table the next day.
Josh’s girlfriend didn’t do things by halves.
She wanted a romantic picnic lunch at a vineyard?
She made it happen. There were linen napkins, crystal glasses, entire roast chickens, and enough side dishes to feed the entire team.
Twice. “Hey, babe.” She gave him a peck on the cheek.
“Hey. Wow. Looks amazing. And at a vineyard no less.” He hadn’t even realized there were vineyards in Massachusetts.
“Yes,” Britney said pointedly. “That’s right. I have a surprise for you.”
He played along. She loved surprising him. “Should I be worried?”
“Only if you don’t want to relive our first date.”
Her eyes darted back and forth between him and the spread as if there was something obvious he was missing. There were a lot of desserts?
“That perfect chalet in Rhone Valley?” she prompted before his silence became embarrassing. “I had all our faves flown in. Macarons from La Bisetts. Eclairs from La Lyonnaise. A canelé—”
“From Sabine’s?” Please let it be Sabine’s…
She clasped her hands together and sighed. “I knew you’d remember. Have a seat.”
“Of course I remember.” Mostly anyway. “But why the trip down memory lane?”
She laughed, like he’d been joking. “You’re proposing to me, silly?”
“What?” It would suit her political ambitions to be a child bride.
She gave him a tender look. “I know you’ve had a lot going on, your family, Ryder… I thought I’d plan your prom-posal for you. Especially since there’s going to be a photo shoot…”
It shouldn’t have been a surprise, given how perfect everything looked, when a photographer stepped out from behind a nearby hedge and started taking some candids.
“You’ve always loved Bespoke Magazine, so I thought, who better to feature us in a spread?”
He had to admit, that was pretty cool. “How’d you swing that?”
“Well…” She beamed up at him. “Surprise! We got voted Queen and King of the Fall Formal!”
“Really? Again?” Weirdly, he hadn’t been thinking about any of that kind of stuff lately.
Which, considering the context, was not much of a surprise.
But it was nice to see Brit so happy. Especially after organizing all of this.
“Congrats, babe.” He pulled in for a hug, heard the photographer’s shutter whirring away.
He pulled back from the hug so as not to mess up her dress, but kept his hands on her hips.
He was well trained enough to know that photographers loved that kind of stuff.
“When I found out we’d won, I pitched the magazine an article about our royal dance.”
He took another look at the picnic. It must’ve taken a lot of time, organizing all of this. And behind his back, while he’d been doing… other things behind hers.
Teagan was right. Brit and he were such a good match. She thought of everything. He spied a bottle of uncorked champagne on ice and poured her a glass.
“To us,” she said, touching her glass to his. “For being such a great team. I provide the publicity and political power. You provide the pedigree and charisma… not to mention the abs.”
Josh let himself get swept into the fairy-tale picture she’d just painted.
It wasn’t all pretend. They hadn’t been crowned prom King and Queen for nothing.
She did her part, he did his, but all of this?
The food from France, the photo shoot in one of his favorite magazines?
She didn’t see limits. She only saw possibility.
That was what had attracted him to her in the first place.
Britney would become a senator one day, no doubt.
Then maybe president. The White House would never look the same if she got her hands on it.
She leaned in for a kiss. He met her for it as he had a thousand times before, thinking, Why mess with what works?