Page 16 of Best Friends

Another wave of guilt hits me. Not only did I almost let Cheyenne down, but I’m about to half-ass a run for abused dogs because I spent all night having sex with my best friend.

We walk toward the registration area, and the Texas heat is already making me sweat. It’s barely eight in the morning, but the sun is beating down mercilessly. The humidity wraps around us like a wet blanket, and I can feel my t-shirt starting to stick to my back.

The town square is buzzing with energy. Families are spread out on blankets, cheering sections are forming, and volunteers are handing out water bottles and energy bars.

A local radio station has set up a booth, and upbeat music is pumping through speakers tied to the lamp posts.

The smell of sunscreen and coffee mingles with the scent of the food trucks that have lined up along Elm Street.

“There’s our check-in,” Cheyenne says, pointing to a table with a banner that reads “Paws for a Cause 5K Fun Run.”

We get in line behind a group of high school kids who look way too energetic for this early in the morning. My legs already feel heavy, and we haven’t even started. I should have eaten something. I should have slept more than two hours. I should have trained more with Cheyenne when she asked.

“Carrick Quinn and Cheyenne Williams,” Cheyenne tells the volunteer, a woman I recognize from the grocery store.

“Oh, you’re two of our local heroes.” The woman beams, handing us our race numbers and safety pins. “Thanks for supporting the cause, officers.”

“Our pleasure.” I force a smile and pin my number to my shirt. 427. At least it’s not 666 or something equally ominous.

“You doing okay?” Cheyenne asks as we walk toward the starting line area. “You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine,” I lie. “Just didn’t get enough sleep.”

That’s the understatement of the century.

Malcolm and I had barely closed our eyes.

Every time one of us tried to drift off, the other would start something, and we’d be all over each other again.

I can still feel the ghost of his hands on my skin, the way he whispered my name in the dark.

The memory makes my chest tight with longing and regret.

The starting area is packed with runners doing stretches and warm-up exercises. I should be doing the same, but I can barely think straight. My mouth is dry, and my stomach is growling loudly enough that I’m worried Cheyenne might hear it.

“Want some water?” she asks, pulling a bottle from her small backpack. “I brought you one because I figured you might forget.”

“Thanks. You know me well.” I give her a weak smile as I twist off the cap and take a long drink, but it doesn’t help the hollow feeling in my gut.

When was the last time I ate? Yesterday evening at the restaurant with Cecilia and Amanda, maybe?

Thinking of how I let those women down just makes me feel even worse.

Even Malcolm is disappointed with me because I won’t just come out and tell people we’re dating.

Is that what I do now? Just disappoint people?

A man with a megaphone climbs onto a small platform near the starting line. “Good morning, runners. Welcome to the annual Paws for a Cause Charity Marathon!”

The crowd cheers, and I try to muster some enthusiasm. This is for a good cause. I can do this. It’s just a 5K. I’ve done longer runs before when I was younger. Of course, I hadn’t run them on just two hours of sleep and an empty stomach. But I’ll do my best.

“Let’s give a round of applause for our amazing volunteers and sponsors,” the announcer continues. “And remember, every step you take today helps support the Whispering Pines Animal Shelter and our mission to help abused and abandoned dogs.”

More applause. I clap along, but my heart isn’t in it.

I keep thinking about Malcolm, probably showering at my house right now, maybe making coffee in my kitchen.

If I was willing to be open about our relationship he could have been here with me.

He could have run side by side with me. Instead he feels like shit because I ditched him, and I feel the same.

“You sure you’re okay?” Cheyenne asks again. “You seem really out of it.”

“I’m fine,” I say. “The water helped.”

The announcer starts giving instructions about the route, but I’m having trouble focusing.

The crowd is getting louder, more excited, and the energy is infectious despite my exhaustion.

Little kids are running around with face paint and balloons.

Families are taking photos. Everyone looks so happy and united.

I wonder what it would feel like to be here with Malcolm as a couple. To not have to pretend. To just be ourselves. I’m sure we’d get some weird looks, but maybe the good would outweigh the bad. Malcolm would certainly be happier. I know I’m hurting him by denying our relationship.

“Runners, please make your way to the starting line,” someone say over a loud speaker.

We shuffle forward with the crowd. I can smell the mixture of deodorant and nervous sweat. Someone near me is chewing gum loudly. A woman behind us is talking non-stop about her training schedule. The morning sun is getting higher, and I can already feel sweat beading on my forehead.

“Feels good to be outside,” Cheyenne says, bouncing on her toes. Despite being annoyed with me, she’s clearly excited. “Ready to do this?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I respond, trying to sound perkier than I feel.

The starting gun goes off, and we begin moving forward in a slow jog.

The crowd spreads out as we leave the town square and head toward the residential streets.

The first mile feels okay, mostly because we’re going slow and there’s so much to look at.

People are standing on their porches cheering, kids are holding up signs, and volunteers are already positioned at water stations.

But by mile two, I’m starting to feel it. My legs are heavier than they should be, and my breathing is more labored than usual. The lack of sleep is catching up with me, and my empty stomach is starting to cramp.

“You’re breathing pretty hard already,” Cheyenne observes, keeping pace beside me easily.

“I’m fine,” I pant, but I’m not. I’m really not.

Mile three takes us through the older part of town, past the antique shops and the bar where last night Malcolm followed me into the bathroom. The memory of him jerking us off makes me stumble slightly, and Cheyenne grabs my arm.

“Carrick, seriously? Do you need to stop?”

“No,” I say, but my voice cracks. “I’m fine.”

“Did you eat breakfast?”

I shake my head, unable to lie about that too.

“Jesus, Carrick.” She sounds exasperated. “You can’t run five miles on an empty stomach. You should have said something. I don’t want you getting yourself sick.”

“I didn’t want to let you down,” I pant, wiping sweat out of my eyes.

She grits her teeth. “Well, I don’t want you to die out of politeness.”

By mile four, I’m struggling. Really struggling. We’re running along the edge of town now, past the fields and farms that stretch toward the horizon. The scenery is beautiful, but I can barely appreciate it. My side is cramping, my legs feel like concrete, and I’m starting to see spots.

“We need to walk for a minute,” Cheyenne says, slowing down and giving me a worried glance.

“No,” I gasp. “I can do this.”

“Carrick, you look like you’re about to pass out.”

She’s right. I feel like I might pass out. The heat is oppressive, and I’m drenched in sweat. My shirt is clinging to me, and I can taste salt on my lips. Every step feels like a monumental effort.

“Come on,” she says, pulling me over to the side of the road. “Drink some water.”

With shaking hands, I lift my water bottle to my lips. I drink half of the tepid water in the bottle. It helps, but it’s not really enough to fully invigorate me. I lean against a fence post, trying to catch my breath, and close my eyes.

“Honey, I think we should call it,” she says softly. “You’re really starting to worry me.”

I open my eyes and look at her. She’s genuinely concerned, and I feel like the worst friend in the world. She cares about me, and I’m lying to her face. She deserves better. “No. I can keep going. I want to finish the race with you.”

Her eyes glitter with worry. “I don’t know, Carrick.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t mean to worry you. Let’s just keep going.”

She studies me, gnawing on her bottom lip. “You sure you’re up to it?” Her expression says she clearly doesn’t think I am.

“Absolutely,” I say, doing my best to look confident. “I’m no quitter, Chey. Besides, Harvey’s Sports sponsored us. I don’t want to let them down. I have to finish the race. I can’t just give up.”

“Okay. Come on,” she says gently. “Let’s walk for a while. We’ll take it slow.”

We start walking, and I’m grateful for her patience.

The sun is climbing higher, and the heat is becoming brutal.

Other runners are passing us, some looking strong, others struggling like me.

I notice some people wearing t-shirts with pictures of dogs on them, and I wonder how many of them are here because they’ve rescued animals themselves.

“We don’t have to worry about our time or the pace,” she says, giving me an encouraging smile. “Let’s just finish this thing. For the dogs. Doesn’t matter what position we finish in. Let’s just actually finish it. Together.”

She’s being so understanding, and I don’t deserve it. I’m a horrible friend, lying to her. “I don’t deserve a friend like you, Chey.”

“Of course you do.” She frowns.

I shake my head. “No, I don’t.”

“I don’t want to hear that negativity. You’re a wonderful person, Carrick. I love being your partner and friend. So stop beating yourself up and pick up the pace.”

“You should leave me behind.” I wipe sweat out of my eyes. “I’ll catch up.”

“Excuse me?” She looks offended. “No way I’m leaving you behind.”

“You probably could have won this damn race if I wasn’t holding you back.” I stumble and she grabs my arm.

“I don’t care about winning. I just want to finish. And I want us to do that with you.”

“Even if you have to drag me over the finish line?” I give an exhausted laugh.

“Even then.”

“Okay,” I groan, blowing out a tired breath.

She smiles at me and grabs the front of my shirt. “Now come on, dork. Get your ass moving. That grumpy little old lady Mrs. Sprout is gaining on us.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I give a weak salute and speed up my pace.

We alternate between walking and jogging. By mile five, I’m running on sheer determination. The route takes us back toward town, and I can see the finish line in the distance. The crowd is cheering, and there’s music playing, and despite everything, I feel a small surge of determination.

“We’re almost there,” Cheyenne says breathlessly.

“Yeah,” is all I can manage.

The last stretch is brutal, but somehow I find the energy to actually run it. Maybe it’s the crowd, maybe it’s the fear of letting Cheyenne down, maybe it’s just stubborn pride. But I cross the finish line on my feet, and Cheyenne is right beside me, cheering.

“We did it,” she yells, throwing her arms around me in a sweaty hug.

I hug her back, way too winded to speak.

Other runners slap us on the back and congratulate us for finishing.

Cheyenne hands me a bottle of water and a banana from the finish line volunteers.

We find a piece of shade under an old oak to sit beneath, and I peel the banana with trembling fingers.

I’m really hoping eating something will give me some energy.

Because as weak as I feel, Cheyenne will have to carry me to her car.

I’ve just taken a bite of the sweet fruit when a familiar female voice calls out, “Carrick? Is that you?”

I glance up to see Amanda walking toward me.

Narrowing her eyes, Amanda says, “You must be feeling a whole lot better if you were able to run a marathon .”