Page 43

It’s fucking hot. I knew it would be, but knowing it and feeling it are two very different things.

This is a pretty cool race Leah found, and we’re only about five kilometres in. It’s on the outskirts of the city, on a paved road that winds up into canyons and through the desert.

The course is lush with desert vegetation. Joshua trees are probably the only ones I could’ve named myself, but Leah—who grew up in a neighbouring state—names off the pinyon-junipers, mountain rose, and sagebrush.

I can tell she’s trying to distract herself from the fact that we’re slowly moving to the back of the pack.

We all agreed to run our own races. Those of us who wanted to enjoy the course and take our time would run slow, and anyone who wanted to make good time could go on ahead.

No surprise that Adam and Paige took off, racing each other. They’re always competing with each other, with a running tally of who’s won each race they’ve completed. I think Adam is in the lead, so I know Paige is chomping at the bit to win this one.

They won’t beat Mateo. He’s a beast. He’ll probably win the whole course. Liam followed Adam and Paige, trying to keep up with them. Shay, Simon, and Jake set a nice medium pace, wanting to enjoy it but also achieve a decent finish time.

When racers begin to pass us, I hear Leah swear beside me.

It’s been so long since I’ve been able to run with her I barely notice. After months of healing and then months of space, I’ve missed it. Her heavy breathing grows more and more laboured, and I automatically slow us down.

She grumbles but doesn’t resist. She knows she won’t be able to sustain that pace the whole course.

The Mojave Desert opens up around us and the sun starts to beat down, trying to penetrate our layers of protection.

The next water station is at the 7k mark, where Isabel cheers loudly for us, holding a sign that reads “Worst Parade Ever!” I laugh, but Leah fakes a smile as we pass. She’s struggling, I can tell in the way her feet drag. She stops to gulp down the water and take in her electrolytes.

She looks behind us, catching sight of a few runners. She sighs in relief and hurries off to keep going. We’re a third of the way in and she’s barely spoken to me.

The desert around me disappears, and I’m back on that hot and sweaty dance floor last night. It’s an effort to keep all the blood circulating in my body at the memory. It was over for me even before the club, when we met in the lobby of the hotel and Leah came out of the elevator in that dress.

That fucking dress .

Adam noticed my expression—he laughed and declared the boys were taking one limo and the girls could take the other. I had no idea what he was up to until we got in and he started pouring shots.

Just one for each of us since the race was today, and none of us wanted to feel worse. The late night was already going to be bad enough without adding alcohol to the mix.

“Alright, Truth or Dare!” he called out, drawing cackles from the other groomsmen. Even Liam cracked a smile. I didn’t. I had a sick feeling in my stomach. This was a ploy.

The rules were we had to complete the truth or dare or shave a section of hair from our bodies.

As I suspected, we all chose dare on our turn.

Mateo dared Adam to wear a fluorescent pink shirt at the race. Harmless. He wore one of the bridesmaids’ hot pink “Team Bride” tank tops this morning.

Liam dared Simon to chug his free beer in one go as soon as he crossed the finish line. I won’t be there to see it, but I’m sure he’s going to throw it right back up.

Simon dared Mateo to get up on the table at the club and dance. He almost got kicked out, but he did it.

The gleam in Adam’s eye should’ve warned me.

He dared me to keep my hands off Leah all night—I wasn’t allowed to touch her once, with any part of my body.

Bastard. I thought it would be easy. I’ve had months to practise restraint when it comes to Leah.

But in the dark club, with the lights flashing and the music pounding, it got harder and harder to keep my hands clenched into fists so I wouldn’t reach for her. I stayed in the booth, watching Isabel drag her to the dance floor.

My eyes trailed after her, and I wasn’t the only one staring. Men closed in, and though both Isabel and Leah shooed them away, I could see the way they tracked the women. It made my blood boil even though I was doing the same.

Leah seemed nervous at first, her movements contained and a little awkward. But she closed her eyes and everything fell away as she let herself go.

Holy fuck.

The way her body moved—she was a siren, and I couldn’t resist her call. I slammed my water down on the table and stalked after her, ignoring the roars of laughter from the table.

Nothing, nothing could have stopped me, except her. I gave her a chance to pull away as I stepped in behind her. Her neck pebbled with goosebumps, and when she leaned back slightly, I didn’t have to say anything, knowing she felt my presence.

I let myself go just like she did, pulling her to me. My hands went to the bare skin at her waist, skin that had taunted me again and again. There was her and me and all the unspoken things between us. All my senses exploded as I moved us to the rhythm of the song with her ass flush against me, my fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips as she followed my lead.

The other end of my magnet, pulling me in until my lips were on her neck, on her shoulder, whispering in her ear. I have no idea if she could hear me, not that she would’ve known what I was saying in French anyway .

Before I did anything I couldn’t take back, I wrenched myself away and left the club immediately, not trusting myself. I was barely out the door when I got a text.

Adam Ashford

I had the hotel supply your room with some razors *wink face*

Fuck him. He knew. And I couldn’t care less. Not as I went back to my hotel room and jacked off so hard I saw stars. Losing my beard was worth it.

“Julien,” Leah’s exasperated voice yanks me from my thoughts of last night. My dirty, salacious thoughts.

“Hm?” I turn my head, noting the panic in her eyes when she stops abruptly. “What’s wrong?” It’s insane how alarmed I feel in only a matter of seconds. I scan her body, looking for signs of injury.

“We’re last.” She looks devastated.

“What?”

“We’re last.” She’s on the verge of crying, her face pinched in pain. “That woman passed and there’s no one else behind us.”

I look around, realizing she’s right. Damn, how long was I wrapped up in my own head? Glancing at my watch, I see we just passed fifteen kilometres. Six more to go.

Leah folds forward, bracing her hands on her thighs.

“Hey,” I say gently. “Hey,” I say again when she doesn’t look at me the first time. Her head lifts, and there’s defeat in every one of her beautiful features. “It doesn’t matter. ”

She stands upright, fire in her eyes, finger jabbing into my chest. “Easy for you to say. You won the fucking Stanley Cup, who cares if you come in last at a race?”

“Leah—”

“No, Julien. You don’t know what it’s like to ... to fail. Of course this race doesn’t matter to you. Compared to all your other achievements, what’s a tiny half marathon? Nothing. But for me? This is the first truly athletic thing I’ve ever done, and I’m going to come in last!” Her voice breaks on the last word.

“And why does coming in last mean you fail?”

“Would it matter to you if your team lost every single game, and you ranked at the bottom?” she spits.

“That’s different. It’s my job.”

If looks could kill. Her stare burns worse than the hot sun searing my neck.

“Forget it, let’s just finish this and be done,” she mumbles, blowing out a huff of air and starting to run again.

Her words hit me like a physical blow. They feel loaded—she’s talking about more than just the race.

Does she want to be done with me?

I don’t let her get far, grabbing her arm to stop her.

“I think the fuck not,” I growl.

She halts. “Excuse me?”

“We’re not done here.”

She closes her eyes, collecting herself before speaking. “Ugh, fine. But can we run and talk, because I don’t want to make everyone wait even longer than they already have to. ”

I let that comment slide. For now.

We scuff along the path, and I know she’s pushing herself to go faster. I try to slow her down, but the panic and disappointment at coming in last are fuelling her. She won’t listen to me.

I give her a few minutes to collect her thoughts and then I start in on her.

“You don’t even like running. Why do you care so much about coming in last?” I ask carefully.

“No one wants to come in last,” she mumbles. “It proves I can’t do this.”

“But you are doing it.”

“Not well.”

“So?”

She throws her hands up in exasperation. “It’s like you don’t know me at all.”

“I know you,” I say quietly. I want her buttons pushed. I want to see her come out of her shell, to fight with me, to fight with herself.

It’s not like her to get so defeated.

“This feels like failing,” she finally says.

“Why? You’re running a half marathon.”

“We’ve taken walking breaks.”

“Oh, come on. You know by now that even elite athletes take walking breaks. It can be strategic.”

“But I’m not being strategic about the breaks. We walk when I can’t bring myself to run anymore.”

“Well, you’re not an elite athlete,” I say with a shrug. She scowls, and I have to stop the corners of my mouth from quirking .

“Jackass,” she hisses. It’s been a while since she’s called me that. I’ve missed it.

“Besides,” I continue like she didn’t just try to offend me, “it’s not that you can’t keep going, it’s that you haven’t proved to yourself you can yet.”

“What?” Her feathers are getting ruffled. I’m on the right track.

“I told you—running is a mental sport. All the training you’ve done, it’s changed you, changed the way your mind thinks. And now this is the test, to see if what you learned can help you when it’s hard.”

She’s silent, digesting. I make my move, placing my hands on her arms so she stays with me, in this moment, and not in her doubts of the past.

“When you started, you couldn’t run more than thirty seconds straight. You didn’t think you could run a mile, a 5k, a 10k. Your brain told you you couldn’t. Until you did it. Use that. Use that perseverance, that proof, right here, right now.”

She blows out a deep breath.

“Do you blink an eye at a 5k run now? No, you run at least two of them every week. Eight months ago you would’ve scoffed.”

I don’t think I’ve ever spoken this much without someone talking back. Is this how people feel when I barely contribute to conversations? Shit, I am a jackass.

“So, we’re coming in last. Guess what? It’s hard to run slow. Think of it this way, we’re going to take”—I glance at my watch and do a quick calculation in my head—“around three and a half hours to complete this race.” She makes a distraught sound, but I keep my hold on her so she can’t slump over in defeat.

“Do you know how much mental strength it takes to run for three and a half hours? Running long and slow is its own accomplishment. To have the discipline to stick with something hard for that long? To not give up?”

“I’m not giving up,” she says sharply, as if I accused her of a horrible crime.

“I know you aren’t. And because of that, you’re going to finish. And you’ll be wearing that medal around your neck the same as everyone else. Same as the person who won first place. It’s the same medal.”