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‘Yes, meet Adrienne Wendell,’ Henry says.
The doctor frowns. ‘Oh, any relation to …?’
‘Pete Wendell?’ I finish for him. ‘He’s my ex-husband.’
Dr Emilio quirks his upper lip as he exchanges a look with Henry. I feel like there’s a conversation happening that I’m not a part of. ‘Is, uh, everything OK with Pete?’ I ask.
He doesn’t answer me. ‘Your medical documents, please,’ he says instead.
I hand him my up-to-date resting electrocardiogram and a letter certifying my good health from my GP. Heexamines it with a critical eye. ‘This all looks good. Strong heart. May I listen?’ He lifts his stethoscope.
I nod, breathing deeply to keep my heart rate normal – and to keep from blushing. It’s been a while since I’ve been in such close proximity to a handsome man. I open the top button of my shirt and he leans forward, pressing the cool metal face of the stethoscope against my chest. He doesn’t say much, but he writes a few notes, which I take to mean everything is OK. ‘I need to take some bloods and a urine sample, then you can go.’
‘Bloods?’ My stomach flips, this time having nothing to do with the doctor’s rich brown eyes. I hate needles.
‘For a drug test. We will take them at the end as well. Nervous?’
‘That obvious?’
He laughs as he begins the process of wrapping elastic round my bicep. ‘I’ll be quick. So you haven’t met Boones?’
The way he pronounces ‘Boones’ makes it sound more like ‘Bones’. I know he’s trying to get me to chat, to distract me, but I just want to shut my eyes and pretend there’s no needle.
‘Not yet,’ I say.
‘He’s not so scary in person, I assure you.’
‘Maybe when you’re not running in one of his races,’ I say through gritted teeth.
‘You have a point,’ he replies. He’s good this doctor – I know he’s moving quick and the process so far has been painless. But it’s not the actual pain that I’m afraid of. It’s the needle, the blood being forced from my body … It sends me into instant fight or flight.
I don’t want to faint now. I don’t want to give them a single reason to doubt my ability to run.
‘Look, is there something I should know about Pete?’ I ask, still curious about the way the doctor had reacted to his name.
‘Do you know his tent number?’ he asks.
I nod. Of course I do. Ethan made sure I had it memorized. It’s sweet that he wants us to look out for each other. And for his sake I will. There’s something in the doctor’s tone that has me worried.
‘Then I suggest you make that your next stop.’ He caps the blood vial and releases my tourniquet. ‘All done,’ he says. ‘We’ll get this processed and if there are any issues, we’ll find you in your tent.’
I stand, resisting the urge to place my hand over the spot where the needle went in. I gather my backpack. ‘Thank you, doctor.’
‘It’s Emilio, please.’
I smile. ‘Emilio, then.’
‘Oh, don’t forget your bib,’ Henry says, as I’m almost through the door.
He hands it to me, and I do a double-take as I realize what race number I’ve been given.
I’ve always been told Boones has a sense of humour. Or maybe this is the start of one of his infamous games I’ve heard so much about. I think about protesting. Offering to take any other number. Maybe some runners have dropped out – there must be a different one available.
No. This is a test. It must be.
Runner 13.
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