Page 26

We settle into the pace Julien sets. I swear it’s a little faster than normal, but not much. I’ve never cared before to keep track of our pace or the distance, but today I have the urge to check.

“How fast are we going?”

“Seven and a half minutes per kilometre.”

I sigh. “In American?”

Julien thinks for a moment. “I think it would be twelve minutes per mile.”

I deflate. That seems pretty slow. And we’re going faster than we usually do. I can tell because we’re barely a few minutes in and I’m already dying. Why did I do this to myself? A small voice whispers in the back of my mind I can stop.

Maybe I should stop. It’s not like I signed up for a race. There’s no medal. This is hard, and if I want the hard to stop being so hard, I can stop. I don’t have to keep going.

But I don’t stop. I don’t stop when Julien tells me we passed one kilometre and my body already feels exhausted .

Something keeps me going and the more I think about it, the less I can get a handle on what it is. One foot moves in front of the other. The distance passes. It doesn’t get any easier, but I think about quitting a little less with each step.

My breathing is getting shorter, and I know I’ve slowed down. Slowed down but haven’t stopped.

I can’t stop.

“That’s halfway. How’re you feeling?” Julien asks. We’ve been silent this whole time, and if I’m doing my math right, that’s got to be twenty minutes of silence. Not a record, but still.

“So great, fabulous, I can do this forever,” I wheeze.

The giant chuckles, and the sound gives me life. But the life is short-lived because my brain heard “halfway” and decided it was done. Finished. No more.

“These Nikes lied to me,” I whine, fighting to keep going.

“What?”

I swear that’s his favourite word.

“They said to just do it, but I can’t. I can’t do it.” My body is screaming. But still, there’s one thing that’s battling all of it back, keeping me going.

“Yes, you can. And they aren’t telling you you can do it, they’re saying just do it.”

“You know what I meant,” I whine, my hand coming to my side as my feet keep shuffling forward of their own accord.

I thought he was planning on being a jackass. He’s being so sweet, and between that and the memories of last night, my head is not where it should be. Instead of on the path, it’s in my apartment, up against the door.

On the bed.

Ugh, not the time. Thinking about sex is moving the blood to parts of my body where it’s not needed right now. I inhale and try to focus on my breathing. In for four counts, out for four counts.

Oh god, I can’t breathe that slow right now.

Maybe three counts will be better.

One, two—

Nope, still dying.

“Distract me,” I plead.

“What?”

“I need you to talk to distract me. Please,” I tack on at the end.

He’s quiet for another minute and I’m about ready to collapse.

“I told you I was raised by my dad,” he says quietly. His breaths are slow and even—he’s not struggling at all. I hate him for it.

Then his words register in my brain. He’s still silent, as if he’s not going to say anything more, but I know Julien well enough now to know silence is what he needs to process. I force myself to stay quiet while he formulates his next words—not an easy feat for me.

“My mom left us when I was a baby. I never knew her, and my dad remarried so many times I’ve lost count.”

Another beat of silence.

“He tried his best but he was sad. Distant.”

I hang on to his words knowing each is a gift, practically salivating at this glimpse into who he is .

“Hockey was the place where I felt at home. And as I grew up, and grew bigger, it became a safe place for me, even though I was alone in my net.”

My heart lurches for this man. When I was barely a teenager, my dad died in a motorcycle accident right in front of me and my mom and sister. That night is a blur of lights and crying. Paige might have had nightmares, but I was numb. I dealt with it by taking control, even at a young age. Control was what got me through.

But at least I got the chance to know him for some of my life. And a parent dying is a different kind of pain than being left.

“When I was a teenager, my dad was gone a lot, and being alone became my normal. It became uncomfortable to be around other people.”

So much makes sense.

“Except with you,” he admits.

The difficulty of running has retreated to the back of my mind. Now, I’m swarmed with imaginings of a young Julien being raised in a quiet house, playing on a team but being alone. I want to hug him.

“Levi is lucky to have you,” he says quietly.

I don’t say anything. I know he doesn’t need or want me to. We move forward together in silence. It’s funny, but I see Levi in Julien sometimes. Especially since he mentioned he didn’t talk for a while too.

He’s similar to Levi in the way he observes the room, the way he’s only comfortable around me and the people who love him. Levi, who is getting so big he’s heavy to carry around.

I can see it, Levi growing up to be strong and silent. Protective, caring. Like Julien.

My heart is running away with me.

Speaking of running, is this what Paige meant when she said running strips you raw to the very base of yourself, illuminating your truest feelings? I think she may be right, because these feelings are too big for my body, too big for right here and right now.

My body hums with too many emotions. I can’t think around them—they’re insistent. I’m going to blame running. Running is at fault for thinking I might be falling for him. It’s the running high.

I think I understand now why Paige didn’t reach out to Adam for all those years. Chalking her experience up to race adrenaline makes sense. Because I can’t possibly be falling for a man I’ve known for two months and almost hated for half that time. Hated might be too strong a word. Detested? Loathed? Disliked?

“Four kilometres,” Julien says, snapping me out of my spiralling thoughts.

I feel absolutely out of control, my heart racing with the need to slow everything down. My steps. My heart. Using all that pent-up energy that didn’t find a satisfying release last night, I pull forward.

With only one kilometre left, I need to get these feelings out of my body, out of my head. Instinctively, my feet move faster, arms pumping as I suck in deep breaths.

Julien stays behind me, and I wonder what he’s thinking. Does he feel it too ?

No, I can’t do this. I can’t let someone into my life who might not be permanent. I can’t know for sure he’ll stick around. They never do.

Except that stupid voice in the back of my head, the one that won’t let me give up or stop running even though I’m absolutely dying, tells me Julien is not the kind of guy that does casual. He’s serious.

He’s not a boyfriend.

He’s a husband.

And I’m not a wife.

Panic floods me and my heart skyrockets. I’ve been engaged before. Am I married now? No. Because nobody in life is permanent. People die, people move, people leave. And I can’t do that to Levi.

I can’t let him fall in love with a man who I know would make an incredible father, only for him to leave us. To leave me. With each of these thoughts, I recognize the old ache of loneliness, the ache of not being good enough. Something feels stuck in my throat as I try to swallow down the feelings.

“Leah,” Julien’s rough voice calls from behind me, his heavy breathing evident. “That’s 5k, you did it.”

I turn to face him—he’s farther back than I thought. Even with how chaotic my thoughts were a few seconds ago, everything melts away with the realization. I don’t overthink it as I throw myself into his waiting arms.

Safe arms.

“I did it?” I whisper into his damp shirt .

“You did, mon rêve , you did.” He holds me tight as sobs wrack my body.

Why am I crying so hard? It’s not like I’m the first person to ever run a 5k without stopping. Runners around the world can do three miles in their sleep. I know because I’ve seen Paige do it during ultramarathons.

I’ll have to run a half marathon in six months, and this is nothing compared to how hard that’s going to be.

Except two months ago I could barely run a minute without stopping. I would have listened to that voice in my head that told me to stop. But I didn’t stop. I ran five freaking kilometres without stopping.

And I’m starting to get behind the use of kilometres. Five sounds better than three.

The adrenaline comes crashing down on me in a big wave of emotion, relief, pain, and exhaustion, and that lingering feeling won’t go away, even as I step out of Julien’s embrace. He drops his arms to his sides like he doesn’t know what else to do.

I ran five kilometres.