Chapter 17 | Heather #2
But it was peppermint that stopped me in my tracks.
The sharp, clean scent, which was unmistakably Bennett’s.
I looked toward our new rebuilt gate and found him leaning against it, already dressed in proper running gear that looked both expensive and well-used.
Tight shorts hugged his muscular legs, and a thin jogger suggested someone who understood precisely what serious running required.
"You're already here," I said, unable to keep the surprise out of my voice.
Bennett straightened. "Told you I packed the kit earlier," he replied, gesturing toward a small duffel bag he'd apparently left by the gate. "Changed after we spoke."
"You helped tuck them in?" Something warm unfurled in my chest at the image of this serious, competent man reading bedtime stories or checking under beds for monsters.
"Loubie Lou required three separate confirmations that her rabbit was properly positioned for optimal dream protection," Bennett said with the dry humor that was becoming familiar.
"And Tomas wanted to show me his collection of smooth stones, complete with detailed explanations about where each one was found. "
The care in his voice when he talked about the children made my pulse quicken in ways I was still learning to recognize.
These weren't the polite interactions of someone doing charitable work, but the genuine attention of someone who was becoming invested in the insignificant details that mattered to children.
"And you knew I'd want to run," I said, beginning the stretching routine that always preceded serious training.
"I knew you'd need to run," Bennett corrected, moving through his own warm-up with ease. "After everything that happened today, everything Cole told you about your mother's condition. Running is how you process things you can't control."
His insight was accurate, cutting through the careful explanations I usually gave people about training schedules and competitive goals to reach the emotional truth beneath.
I needed this. Needed the rhythmic pounding of feet against pavement, needed the burn in my lungs and the ache in my muscles that would crowd out everything else demanding space in my head.
"Ready?" I asked, bouncing lightly on the balls of my feet as anticipation built in my chest.
"After you," Bennett replied, and something in his tone suggested he was looking forward to whatever challenge I was about to offer.
Our sneakers hit the pavement in sync, the rhythm slow at first. My calves loosened with each step.
Beside me, Bennett's breath puffed white in the night air as he rolled his shoulders.
Moonlight caught the edge of a jagged crack running six feet across the road, its black tar patch glistening like an ugly scar.
To our right, the sidewalk buckled upward at a fifteen-degree angle, forcing pedestrians to either climb or detour.
We passed the vacant corner lot on Mission, where the Hernandez bakery had stood until the last 6.
2 tremor had reduced it to a pile of brick and broken glass overnight.
I chose our route carefully, leading Bennett through neighborhoods I knew intimately from months of nocturnal training sessions.
Past the hospital where we'd spent the morning in crisis, past the school that had been demolished and never rebuilt, past construction sites where crews were rebuilding a city that had learned to expect disappointment but continued hoping for better.
My lungs burned with sweet fire as my breathing locked into that perfect rhythm. Each footfall struck where I commanded it, my body a weapon cutting through wilderness that wanted to break me.
Bennett matched my pace, his breathing steady and controlled in a way that suggested he was nowhere near his limit. His peppermint scent mixed with the clean smell of honest sweat, creating something that was oddly comforting despite the competitive energy building between us.
My calves ignited as we crested the first real hill, each breath coming in shorter bursts until my mind emptied of everything but the slap of shoes against pavement and the careful placement of each footfall on loose gravel.
Three miles in, and finally the spreadsheets of unpaid bills vanished. The prescription refill dates disappeared. Dr. Patterson’s careful timeline, drawn on that yellow legal pad with his Mont Blanc pen, dissolved into nothing but rhythm and sweat.
Behind us, the orphanage's windows would have gone dark, the last night-light in the children's wing would be a distant pinprick.
Ahead, empty streets stretched under the moonlight, our footfalls echoing off brick buildings where only occasional lit windows revealed fellow nightwalkers—a nurse in scrubs waiting at a bus stop, a janitor mopping the lobby of an office building, a woman walking her dog who wouldn't meet my eyes as we passed.
I sped up, testing Bennett's commitment to keeping up, and felt something fierce and competitive spark in my chest when he matched the increased pace without apparent effort.
“Comfortable pace,” Bennett observed conversationally, his breathing still controlled despite our increased speed. “Is this what you call training?”
The comment hit the competitive nerve I'd been hoping he wouldn't find, sparking something fierce and determined in my chest. I'd been testing him gently, trying to gauge his actual abilities before committing to the type of pace that separated serious runners from weekend joggers.
His casual dismissal suggested he was ready for significantly more than I'd been offering.
"Warming up," I replied, accelerating again as we crested the hill and began descending toward the industrial district. "Didn't want to leave you behind."
Bennett's laugh carried in the cool night air, rich with genuine amusement that made something flutter in my stomach despite my focus on pace and breathing.
"Thoughtful of you," he said, matching my increased speed with what appeared to be minimal effort.
"But I should probably warn you, I don't give up easily. "
"Neither do I," I said, changing our route mid-stride to veer left toward the construction zone where temporary roads had been carved through debris fields.
The terrain here was more challenging, with loose gravel, uneven surfaces, obstacles that required quick footwork and constant attention to avoid injury.
Bennett followed without hesitation, his peppermint scent carrying on the night air as he navigated the uncertain ground with the kind of fluid grace that spoke of someone comfortable pushing his body to its limits.
"Interesting route choice," he commented as we picked our way through a section where construction equipment had left deep tire ruts in what used to be asphalt. "Testing my commitment?"
I smirked and continued, settling into a rhythm that was more demanding than either of us had started with, our breathing synchronized despite the competitive edge that crackled between us.
My heart rate climbed into the zone where conversation became more difficult, where my body began the familiar process of deciding what was essential and what could be temporarily ignored.
The burn in my legs spread upward, claiming my lungs and core as we maintained a pace that would have been challenging on smooth pavement, let alone terrain that seemed designed to test every muscle group simultaneously.
But Bennett was still there beside me, his presence somehow reassuring even as we pushed each other toward limits that most people never explored.
"You run like someone with something to prove," he observed, his voice slightly rougher but still steady enough for conversation.
"Everyone has something to prove," I replied, leaping over a section where the temporary road had washed out completely. "Question is whether you're brave enough to find out what it is."
"Fair point," Bennett acknowledged, following my route with the kind of split-second timing that suggested excellent reflexes. "What are you trying to prove tonight?"
The question hit deeper than I'd expected, cutting through the competitive banter to reach something more vulnerable.
I was trying to prove I could still do this, could still push my body to respond when everything else felt like it was falling apart.
I was trying to prove that training for the marathon hadn't been a waste of time and entry fees, that I could still be competitive despite weeks of interrupted preparation.
But more than that, I was trying to prove to myself that I could accept help without losing the strength that had carried me through everything else. That letting Bennett and the others into our lives didn't mean giving up the independence that had been my shield against the world.
"That I can keep up with someone who packs proper running gear just in case," I said instead, choosing deflection over honesty.
"Already proved that," Bennett replied, his tone suggesting a genuine respect for my pace. "Now you're proving something else entirely."
Before I could ask what he’d meant, the terrain ahead shifted again, opening up into a section where the old road had been completely demolished and replaced with temporary gravel that stretched for what looked like at least a quarter mile.
I pushed harder, my legs churning beneath me, ignoring the gravel that shifted underfoot. My lungs burned. Each breath came in shorter gasps, the air scraping my throat raw as sweat trickled down my temples and stung my eyes.
Bennett's footfalls matched mine beat for beat. "Still good?" The words came out between gulps of air.
"Getting—" Bennett's voice had a rasp to it now, but his mouth curled upward at the corners, "—interesting."
The path stretched before us, endless and unforgiving. My thoughts blurred at the edges, narrowing to the rhythm of our strides and the next breath, then the next, then the next.