Chapter 9 Mile Nine #2
“Yup,” I say, panting just a little bit. I try not to fixate on how his words are even-paced as if this is nothing, despite my shallow breath.
“Stopping,” he says, as our now gentle walk slows to a halt. “You did it.” He turns to face me.
Inhaling deeply, I look around the track. We’re just where we started, but we’re not. I did it. I power walked an entire mile without stopping. Without tripping him or myself. I trusted him, and more importantly, myself.
“We did it.” I let out a breathless laugh.
He pulls on the rope, tugging me a little closer before unwrapping the binding from my hand. “I’m just the service human,” he says, a smirk playing in his tone.
“Nope.” I take his hand, threading it in mine. “We’re a team, remember? I can’t do this without you, so this is half yours.”
“You can do this without me.”
“Should I find a new service human?” I flash a sassy grin.
“Absolutely not.”
That blasted pitter-patter ramps up in my chest with the swiftness of his response. Protectiveness of me. Loyalty to Anker. Dare I even daydream, jealousy? Whatever his reason, delight ripples within me at how exasperated he gets at the idea of me doing this with anyone else.
It isn’t good for me to get caught up in those feelings. Clearing my throat, I drop his hand.
“That was a good first session.” Nibbling on my lower lip, I pluck the rubber band at my wrist. The sting does its job, and I step back.
“Yeah.” He rolls the rope around his hand. “One mile down.”
“Only 25.2 more to go.”
“Piece of cake.”
Thanks to the darkening sky, I can’t see his smile, but warmth radiates from him. I can almost picture the lopsidedness of his lips. It’s as though his mouth isn’t sure if it wants to smile or remain in a firm line.
“Piece of cake.” My grin meets his. “Now, I want cake.”
“Maybe they’ll have a cake pop at the coffee shop. Here’s your cane.” He hands me my cane.
“Cake and a latte? Someone’s breaking his own rules.” I wink.
“Those aren’t rules. They were suggestions.” He shakes his head. His warm grin is evident with the lightness that underscores his words. “You can have anything you want.”
Not anything.
“But first, let’s stretch. There’s a patch of grass about ten feet forward we can use.”
“Do we need to stretch? I mean, we only power walked. It wasn’t exactly high-intensity.” I wrinkle my brow.
“True, but we should get into the habit. It’s part of conditioning your body and helps aid in muscle recovery. That way, you’re not stiff or experiencing muscle ache. Have you been doing the stretches I recommended after your morning runs?”
“You said those were suggestions.” I point at him and hope the dim light from the lamp posts situated around the track hides the guilt flushing my cheeks.
“Highly recommended suggestions to avoid injury and muscle stiffness.” He steps closer. “Have you been extra achy the last few days?”
“Is achy the medical term?” I make air quotes with my hands.
“Yeah. Achy.” A defiant smirk plays in his joking exasperation.
Only Garrett can somehow be both annoyed and impish at the same time. It’s the strangest combo, but somehow he wears it perfectly, like it’s a jacket made just for him. It seems like as much as I may drive him batty, he enjoys it.
“Well… Maybe just a little achy,” I say, ignoring the twinge in my calves.
“Come on then, doctor’s orders.”
I snap the rubber band twice against my wrist after experiencing the little clench low in my belly with the pitch of his low bass.
Who knew this training session would reveal an unknown bondage kink and desire to be told what to do that I apparently have.
Next week’s session with Dr. Nor is going to be wild.
We claim the small patch of grass near the track’s outside ring. The lone oak tree at the edge serves as a perfect barrier for us to do calve stretches. My calves almost sing with relief from the stretch.
“Oh god,” I hum as I yank up my leg for a quad stretch. My palm flat against the tree to steady myself.
“See.”
“I told you so’s aren’t cute.” I roll my eyes.
“I’m always cute.”
Laughter barks out of me.
“See.” He bumps me with his shoulder, causing me to lose my balance. “Whoa…” His hands come to my hips, steadying my swaying body.
I release my leg, which falls to join the other on the ground, and my hands come to the tree’s trunk.
“I got you,” he rasps, pulling me against him.
A breathy laugh escapes, but stops at the realization that my back is pressed against his front.
For a moment, I sink into the strange, cozy sensation of his firm chest. The mix of his body’s heat, the scent of sweat, and his spicy cologne envelops me.
It’s reminiscent of being tucked in at night—snug, safe, and warm.
“We should get on the ground.” His hot breath whispers along my skin.
“What?” I breathe into the electric charge that zings from where his fingers press into my soft flesh. Even through my yoga pants’ thin layer, his touch brands me.
“Hamstring stretches.” He steps back, but his hands remain on my hips.
I look over my shoulder and nod. “Okay.”
“Okay.” He releases me. “Sit on your butt with your legs in front of you.”
“Okay.” I flick the rubber band a few times before crouching to the grass.
I sit, stretching out my legs. The grass is cool against my backside, making me miss the temporary cozy spot I had pressed up against him.
“Bend one leg, keeping the other one straight, and then reach across your body toward the opposite side.”
Nodding, I do just that. My muscles groan happily with the stretch.
“It’s important to incorporate stretching into your training,” he says, stretching his long legs in front of him. He sits near me, mirroring my positions, except facing me.
“For someone who says I’m in charge, you’re awfully bossy.”
“For someone who does yoga once a week, you’re weirdly anti-stretching,” he quips back.
“I’m not anti-stretching.” I switch legs. “I’m pro-sleep.”
“What?” He chuckles.
“I train in the mornings. Ten minutes of stretching is ten fewer minutes to sleep in. It’s already bad enough I have to get up so early to train and get to work on time.”
“Hip flexor stretch. Lie flat, keep one leg out, bend the other, and pull it toward your chest.”
“Okay.” I follow his instructions.
“You could always exercise at night. Then you have all the time. That’s what I do.”
“Just go home and tell that bag after a day dealing with patients and unruly residents?” My mouth twitches into a smile.
“Something like that. It helps me sleep.”
I sit up. “Do you have trouble sleeping?”
“Sometimes.” He sits up. “And before you ask… Yes, since Val died.”
Bending my knees, I wrap my arms around them and look over at him. “Do you have nightmares or intrusive thoughts that keep you awake?”
“Intrusive thoughts.”
“Like what?”
My brain is screaming for me to shut up.
To change the subject or just remain quiet, but the need to know more pulses within me.
It’s not just the natural curiosity I have, but Garrett is like a puzzle I want to put together.
The image of this man is still fuzzy. Just as I think I know him, he reveals a little more.
Each piece confirms the things I know to be true about him, but opens up whole other chapters about his story.
“All the ways I failed her,” he whispers.
The pain underscoring his words surges an ache in my chest. It’s raw and unabashed in self-blame.
All I know is it was an accident, and he wasn’t there.
He’d said in the thirty minutes from the time he had told her to text him when she got home to when he was called about the accident, he’d lost her.
“What makes you think you failed her?”
“Because she’s not here,” he says, his voice small.
“Garrett,” I breathe, rubbing my hand against the ache in my chest.
“Turnip,” he rasps.
I want to ask more. Not to poke and prod at that wound, but to help dig out the pain that infects him.
If the last few years of therapy with Dr. Nor has taught me anything, it’s that the loud crack of broken hearts are not mended in silence.
This is another piece of that story he’s spoken out loud to me.
Just like with marathon training, he needs to walk before he runs.
And this seems like a big first step for Garrett.
As much as I want to push, I want to honor.
“Turnip.” I smile.
Nodding, he stands up. “Wanna get that latte?” He reaches down and offers me his hand.
“Yeah, I do.” I take his hand, allowing him to pull me up.
“You really should stretch after your morning workouts,” he says, bending to scoop up my folded cane which is resting at the base of the tree trunk.
“And I’m the yappy yorkie.” I laugh. “You’re like a dog with a bone sometimes.”
“Just don’t want to see you injured.” He hands me the cane.
That comment blends with the brief brush of our hands.
It’s charge crisscrosses within me. It feels like this is about more than just achy, stiff muscles.
It’s about keeping me safe. Not just in the big ways like with the pineapple champagne, but in the tiny ways.
Teasing me about eating my greens. The annoyance with Miles.
He doesn’t always do it in the right way, but I’m seeing that his sole mission in life may be to take care of the people he cares about, and he cares about me.
We’re friends, after all, and I’m starting to realize that to him we’ve always been.
“I could always add it to our shared training calendar. It actually has value compared to someone’s twice-a-day reminder for me to turn my frown upside down.” He bumps me with his shoulder as we move towards the sidewalk that loops through campus.
Head tipped back, I groan. “Fine. I’ll get up earlier and make sure I stretch, but I get to rage text you grumpy messages complaining about it.”
“Counteroffer… if you want to work out at night I can drive you home. That way you can have more time at night to work out. I’d imagine the bus eats up a lot of time.
” He stops and turns to face me. “Or if you want to keep your morning routine, I can drive you to work. The hospital is right next to the university, and you live five minutes from me.”
“This is sweet, but not necessary.”
“It’s selfish, not sweet. This way I can avoid grumpy texts.” An earnest grin radiates within his cheeky timbre.
“Yeah, but you are at the hospital before seven a.m. most days. Not to mention you’re there until after five.” I motion to him.
“Didn’t realize you were keeping tabs on me.”
“I’m not.” I bite back the flirty smile that flexes at the corners of my lips. “Anker has just mentioned it a few times.”
“Anker has also said I need more work/life balance, so you’d be doing me a favor if you let me drive you home.”
“You really are a dog with a bone.” Laughter vibrates through me. “It would be nice. I’m so mentally wiped after peopling most days that not having to deal with the bus would be a relief.”
Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for the public transportation available.
Nonetheless, it’s still taxing. Buses run late, or the schedules change.
If I miss one, it can be up to thirty minutes until the next one comes.
The PA system announcing the stops often breaks, or the driver sometimes forgets to call out the stops.
Not to mention the other humans can sometimes be a lot to deal with.
I’m on guard the entire time, from when I arrive at the point to pick me up until I get home.
“Is dealing with people a lot for you?” he asks as he ushers me down the path.
“It can be, but it’s less about the people. I spend most days hypervigilant about my surroundings, which can be mentally exhausting.”
Situations like at the bar the other night is a prime example. Tension coils in every muscle as I track who’s talking and the flow of conversation. It’s tiring to be on constant alert in my environment. The moment I relax is when things happen—like glasses being accidentally knocked off the table.
“Going out is fine, especially when it’s some place I’m familiar with or with people who get it.”
“Is that why we tend to do Harkey’s followed by the creamery most Fridays?” he asks. The jangle of keys tells me that we’re getting close to his vehicle.
“I guess. Anker sets up our happy hour outings.” A crease wrinkles my brow. “Though, I imagine he’d not be up for it this week.”
“Likely not… We’re at my SUV.” A little chirp accompanies his announcement. “Let me get the door for you. We should bring happy hour to him.” He opens the door.
“Like we learn to make his frilly cocktails and have them at his place?”
“I was thinking more on the lines of bringing pizza and a bottle of wine.”
“Plus garlic knots?” I bat my eyes.
“And a salad,” he counters with a cheekiness.
“Monster!”