Page 26 of In the Long Run

KNOX

This might be a dumb decision.

But it won’t be the biggest one I’ve made in the last twenty-four hours. That was telling Gen that I wanted to be the friend she turned to, because, while it was true, I don’t want to just be friends. But she doesn’t know what she wants. This shit’s confusing.

Something that isn’t confusing? The tension that curls through my body at the thought of her being scared.

Of her not being able to do something she loves because someone ruined it for her.

Yesterday’s conversation with Gen was a startling reminder that the way women experience the world and are treated is still totally different to how it is for guys, regardless of the conversations some men have started to have. Some, just not nearly enough.

Which is bullshit, frankly.

And I’m a strong believer that if you aren’t a part of the solution, then you’re just another problem.

I drop into a lower back stretch, holding on to the top rail of Eugene’s fence so my muscles can expand and lengthen.

‘What are you doing here?’ Gen approaches slowly. It’s after six a.m. Normally she’s left for her run by now.

I stand and move into arm circles. ‘Thought I’d go for a run.’

With her.

If she wants me to.

Please want me.

She puffs out a tiny sound. I’d like to think it was a laugh, but there wasn’t any humour in it.

‘I need to get into a better routine with my running program and maximise recovery periods if I’m going to survive the marathon,’ I continue.

Which is true. I’m a fit guy, but everyone I know who’s run a marathon has said the same thing: it will eat you for breakfast if you don’t respect it and do the training.

And another thing I have to get better at?

Proper warm-ups and cool-downs. Patience has never been my thing, but an injury could ruin everything.

I move into leg swings, one hand resting on the top of the fence again. ‘How are you feeling today?’ I ask.

Gen watches me warily. I’m on thin ice here.

Too much and I’ll have her doubting herself too.

‘Much better.’ She fiddles with the strap of her watch.

‘The police called me back last night and said it didn’t match the description of the other guy they’re looking for.

So he probably did get as much of a fright as I did. ’

‘Still. No reason to be a dick about it.’

The sound that leaves her lips is almost a chuckle. Some of the cold surrounding us ebbs away.

‘What have you got on your plan this morning?’ she asks.

Staying by her side. Making sure she’s really okay. ‘An easy forty minutes.’

‘Funny. That’s what’s on my plan,’ Gen teases, and it’s so good to hear her like this. ‘Come on. We can run together. We’re friends, after all,’ she says.

Hmm. Is it my imagination or did she just say ‘friends’ like it tasted bad?

We don’t talk much at the start. Gen’s quiet and focused so I follow her lead, my eyes sweeping from side to side, ears straining for anything concerning or out of place.

But the morning is still, the only noticeable thing a hint of brine in the air that reminds me of summers spent watching the other kids play beach volleyball or jump off the pier.

I remember wanting to be included but not knowing how to escape my reputation.

Around the two-kilometre mark, the last shadows of night lift and the scrape of a digger methodically combing the sand mixes with the steady thrum of our footfalls.

The rest of our distance passes in companiable silence, and by the time the sun has painted the ocean next to us a myriad of colours before leaving it a shimmering blue grey, we’re well into our cool-down jog.

‘Coffee?’ I ask as we reach the footpath that leads to Alizée’s.

‘Please,’ Gen replies, before using the sleeve of her top to wipe sweat off her face. She’s all shiny, her eyes bright, her movements looser, more relaxed. ‘Thank you,’ she murmurs. ‘I needed this run.’

And I’d needed to make sure she was okay.

I massage the spot in the middle of my chest that ached all night as I worried about her running on her own this morning.

Or not running because she’d lost her confidence.

It’s still there, but the band of tension lessens the more time we spend together. The more I get to see her smile.

Gen ambles towards the children’s playpark. She lifts her left leg, balancing her foot against one of the wooden posts on the rock-climbing wall and then folds her body forward, hands grasping her ankle.

Don’t notice how flexible she is.

Be a good guy.

Her quiet, pleased hum when she switches legs is harder to ignore.

‘When did you start running?’ I ask.

‘Few years ago. Mere was doing one of those mud-run obstacle courses with some of her buddies and clients and they needed another team member. She dared me to do it, and I didn’t want to be the weakest link.

’ She laughs. ‘Happy to be the second weakest link, but the person who held everyone else back? No, thank you.’

Gen’s determination is one of my favourite things about her.

‘You?’

‘Once I figured out that I wanted to join the Army.’

‘And when was that?’ With a gracefulness I have no chance of re-creating, Gen smoothly transitions into a quad stretch, folding her leg behind her, one hand holding it in place.

‘When I was at school, after Eug enrolled me in Cadets.’ I probably wouldn’t have stayed in high school if my Army Cadets captain hadn’t told me I’d have no chance of being an officer without my senior certificate.

That’s if they would’ve even let me enlist with an unofficial caution against my name too.

Even though it was wiped from my record when I turned eighteen, these things always leave an indelible footprint that never properly fades.

Nothing secret ever stays secret forever, after all.

Gen hums again and the sound travels around my body, hitting me in all the places it shouldn’t. ‘Didn’t fancy trying your hand as a patissier?’

‘I can’t bake for shit. Alizée’s coffee machine is hard enough. Most of the time I was the cleaner and DIY repair man.’

‘Must’ve been hard to leave Eugene.’

I could tell her the truth about why I needed to get away from Melbourne.

Why I’d needed to become someone else. Earn a solid wage to repay the sins of my family.

To make up for my own mistakes, including the stuff I never got caught for.

Would Gen see the irony of wanting to be invisible and wearing a camouflage uniform every day like I do?

But Gen doesn’t need to be burdened with all my broken pieces. Not when she’s still recovering from everything that happened yesterday. I refuse to lie to her, though, so I go with a pared-back version of the truth. ‘Hardest thing I’ve ever done.’

Before she can ask the questions that would really test my resolve not to lie to her, I gesture towards Alizée’s. ‘Shall we?’

‘Yeah.’ Gen breathes out slowly. ‘Let’s go celebrate doing hard things.’

Every time I come to Alizée’s there are more customers.

Happily, I even recognise a few people from Croissants and Kilometres, who greet us with smiles and handshakes.

You’d think I’d be used to sharing a goal with others, considering that’s the ethos of the fucking military, but I pause, mentally cataloguing how my body feels and startle when I realise the band of tension in my chest is totally gone.

These people know my name. They’re genuinely happy to see me.

And I’m happy to see them. This is community .

It’s nice.

It’s what I’ve been missing.

It’s what I’m beginning to dread leaving.

I’m less happy about the new poster stuck to the wall, next to the French doors that lead to the courtyard.

It has my face in the middle of it and a banner that says, Come Run With Us!

in a font that is far too chipper to be associated with me.

Celeste walks out of the kitchen holding a tray of freshly baked pain au chocolat and makes an ‘Oh shit’ face.

‘Oh, wow,’ Gen says, laughter lacing the quiet voice I’ve noticed her use more and more around me, but my embarrassment doesn’t ease when she grabs my arm and tugs it. Okay. That’s a lie. It evaporates like there’s no way I could be mad about anything that brings her joy. I’m so screwed.

‘You look good,’ she says, oblivious to my discomfort.

‘I paid for that myself,’ Celeste says instead of ‘Hello, what would you like?’ when it’s our turn at the counter.

‘And I didn’t call you a “stern croissant daddy”, because I know you don’t like that.

And there are other people on there too.

It’s not just you. And really, what’s one poster when you’ve been all over TikTok? ’

I raise an eyebrow, working to keep my laughter contained, because if I know Celeste, she’s not done. And, really, she’s got me there. We have been all over TikTok.

‘So, I think the words you’re looking for are “thank you”.

And Knox, you’re welcome.’ She places her hand over her heart and bats her eyelashes at me.

I can’t help but laugh, because Celeste’s always been plucky.

She marched in here at fifteen and told Eugene she could start the next day and would like an apprenticeship.

She and school didn’t get along well either.

‘Did you check with Get Fit, Get Strom about using their logo?’ I ask.

She’s already started making our coffees. ‘Meredith approved it. But said she didn’t think Gen would want to be on it.’

Gen snorts softly next to me. ‘Correct.’

‘What about the others, Celeste? You can’t use people’s images without their permission.’

Celeste clips lids to our takeaway cups. ‘I got written consent from everyone. It’s going to be fine, Knox. No one’s figured out who you really are yet, and they probably won’t. You need to chill.’

Easy for someone to say who’s never been splashed across the national news.

‘Who you really—’ Gen starts, and I know where this is going. Clearly, so does Celeste, who sends me an apologetic smile and shoves our coffees at us before turning to the next customer in line. ‘What can I get for you?’

‘You go ahead,’ I say to Gen, needing a moment to re-centre myself. ‘Celeste mentioned that one of the doors out the back is sticking. I’m going to go and see if I can fix it.’

Confusion is still etched across Gen’s face and she tries again, ‘What did Celeste—’

I cut her off, telling myself that if Gen never actually verbalises the question, I can brush it away before my answer becomes a lie. ‘I might be a little while, and I don’t want to hold you up.’

‘I don’t mind waiting. Is that okay with you?’ Gen’s brows are drawn together. Considering my parents sold lies to so many people, you’d think I’d be better at it.

‘You worried about that guy? Or Brand?’ I ask, avoiding her question.

‘No. I’d just like to stay here a bit longer. Hang out some more. Unless you don’t want me to?’

Of course I do, but will she still feel the same way when she knows what I’ve done?