Page 11 of Running Risk

RYLEE: NOW

Throwing my hair in a bun, I put on a sports bra and leggings. Socks wags her tail as she waits by the front door, holding the leash in her mouth. Grabbing my running shoes, I lace them on my feet and snatch my water bottle from the kitchen counter.

“You ready to run, girl?” She replies by spinning in a circle.

“Okay. Let’s run.” I clip on her leash and open the front door.

Each morning we go at least eight miles.

It’s our favorite way to start our days before getting into a work mindset.

Putting in my earbuds, we begin our jog down the driveway.

I need this run today. After seeing Clayton, I need the stress relief more than ever.

I keep my gaze on my feet as the steady rhythm hums through my body as I run.

I remember a time when Clayton and I ran together.

We were inseparable after we met. I loved to read as he ran, and after a while, he convinced me to run with him.

I fell in love with the release it gave me, and now I run this same route almost every day.

I know every pothole and tree root along the side of the road.

But my focus isn’t on the road like usual.

Big brown eyes stare right into my soul, I saw the hurt in them at the bar.

That hurt is all I think of, right as I trip on the broken asphalt.

I gasp as my heart stops beating, and I throw out my hands to try to catch myself.

Going down, I fall hard as I land on my knee and roll a few times down the sloped terrain, and I cry out in pain. Socks whines and sniffs me.

“Fuck. That hurt.” I examine my knee where my leggings are ripped open, showing the mangled flesh.

Blood oozes, and I hiss. Staying on the ground, I check the rest of my body.

I have a few scrapes and areas that will no doubt become bruises, but the worst is my knee.

I try to bend it, and I’m met with severe throbbing pain.

I wince as I try to hold back a scream. Socks whimpers.

“I’m okay, girl.” I pet her, attempting to convince her, but I really need to convince myself.

Placing my hands on the ground, I lean over and push myself up.

Once standing, I slowly put weight on my leg and immediately regret it.

I’m miles away from home, and there’s no way I can make it back on my own.

Hopping to a tree stump, I hold my breath, hoping it will help me deal with the ache as I gently sit down.

I get my phone out, thankfully, it didn’t get banged up in the fall, and click on my dad’s contact.

“Hello?” His deep voice rings through my ears.

“Hey, Dad. I was wondering if you could come pick me up.” I rub the sweat from my brow.

“What’s going on? Are you okay?”

I can hear the concern etched in his tone. “I’m fine. I took a tumble on my run, and I don’t think I can get back home. I’m on Berry Hill Road.” He says something to someone, but I can’t hear it, and my eyebrows draw inward, unable to discern the sound.

“Sweetie, my truck is in the shop, and your mom’s out with friends. I’ve sent Clayton to get you. He’ll be there soon. Don’t move.”

My jaw drops at the same time my heart starts hammering in my chest. “No. No. I’ll call Trish. It’s fine, Dad.” I pause while questions fly through my head. “Wait, why was he with you?”

“No. He jumped in his truck and should be pulling up any minute, and we often meet up. I like to check on him.” My dad’s voice is firm.

Clayton’s coming, and I have to see him again. Fuck . I turn my head as a truck speeds down the road. “He’s here, Dad.” We all live fairly close to each other, so it would only take minutes for him to come.

“Good. Now, let him get you home, and let me know if you need anything.”

“Okay. Love you.” I hang up the phone and take a deep breath, exhaling as soon as Clayton parks his truck in front of me.

He gets out as soon as it pulls to a stop, wearing worn jeans and a gray T-shirt. He rakes his fingers through his hair as he storms closer, his eyes scanning my body. Clayton zeroes in on my leg and kneels in front of me to look at it. His large, calloused hands gently cradle my knee.

“It’s fine—” I say, and hiss as he extends my legs, seeing if I can move them. His face jumps to look at mine, and the worry etched in his face is enough to make me pause.

“Can you walk?”

His gruff voice shatters any defenses I have put up.

It takes effort not to cry. I’ve missed him so much, but he’s no longer the shoulder I can cry on.

No longer the friend who was always there for me.

No longer anything. All I can think of when he’s around is the way he shattered my heart and all the plans we had made together.

I sit up, push my shoulders back, and clear my throat. “Yes.”

He stands, waiting for me to do the same.

Clamping my jaw shut, I force myself up.

His eyebrow arches, noticing I’m putting all my weight on my good leg.

Sighing, I take a step toward the truck, and my knee gives out instantly.

Strong hands wrap around my torso, and my mind focuses on where every single fingertip digs into my body.

“I’ve got it.” I shove him away, but his hold remains. “Clayton.” I push again.

“God damn it, Rylee. Let me help you.” His eyes bore into mine, his lips set into a firm line.

My jaw hangs open. First of all, I’ve never heard him use a single curse word in my life.

Second, he raised his voice, and third, I miss him.

Seeing that I stopped fighting him, he grabs my left hand and brings it around his neck.

His other arm winds around my body, firmly holding me against him.

He helps me hobble to the truck and gently lifts me inside.

Opening the back door, he whistles, and Socks jumps inside. The little traitor.

He climbs in behind the wheel and looks at me. Clayton has always been this way, expecting me to read his mind, but I refuse. I don’t want to look at him more than I have to. The faster he gets me home, the better. So I fix my gaze on the road ahead.

“Do you want to tell me where you live?”

My head whips in his direction. “How do you not know where I live? You were with my dad. My parents never told you?”

His fingers thrum on the steering wheel. “No.” He grips the keys, turns them, and the engine roars to life.

“What do you mean, no?” I fold my arms across my chest, facing him.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he says, “Ry, we don’t talk about you.”

My eyes widen at the familiar nickname. I don’t know why I assumed he knew where I lived.

Of course, they don’t talk about me. My parents have stayed out of our teenage drama, but I figured he would ask, or eventually find out.

Clearing my throat, I sit up in my seat.

“I live three streets over. Make a left after you turn around.”

He nods and makes a U-turn. We drive in utter silence, and I point to the road to turn down and motion again when it’s my driveway.

Opening our doors simultaneously, he points to my face and says, “Stay.”

“I’m not a dog,” I yell, as he walks around the truck. I peek over my shoulder at Socks. “No offense.” I narrow my eyes on Clayton as he stands at my door with a smirk. “What?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “You still do that.”

“Do what?” I cross my arms.

Clayton pets Socks’s head poking over my shoulder. His forearms flex with the movement, and I can’t help but gawk at the changes in his body. He’s no longer in the teenage body I remember.

He jerks his head to Socks. “Talk to your dog.” His eyes meet mine again.

Blinking a few times, I huff out a breath. “Will you move out of the way?”

Shaking his head, he reaches his hand out for me.

I stare at it, not wanting to accept his help, but I don’t think I’ll be able to make it inside without it.

So I rest my hands in his and let him slowly guide me out of the truck.

He comes next to me and holds me like before.

But this time, his hand grips the bare skin between my leggings and sports bra.

His fingers dig into me, holding tight, and we slowly walk inside.

Clayton whistles, and Socks comes barreling inside along with us, her leash still attached and trailing behind.

The front door is unlocked because no one locks their doors out here, and my knee gets stiffer with each step.

We walk to my bedroom, and he helps me to sit on the bed .

“First aid kit?” he asks.

“What?” My brows furrow. Socks jumps on the bed and nestles in to take a nap.

He motions to my knee. “You’re bleeding all down your leg. Take off your pants, and I’ll get bandages.”

I scoff. “I will not take my pants off.”

He rubs his hands up and down his face. “Ry. You’re bleeding.”

“I’m aware.” I lean over and take my shoes off, cringing when I remove the one from my injured leg.

Blood and dirt are dried on my knee, and it looks awful.

It wouldn’t be smart if I didn’t let him clean it.

“Ugh. Fine,” I grumble. “It’s under the sink in my bathroom.

I’ll need shorts from the third drawer of my dresser.

” I point to the dresser next to my bathroom door.

He goes to the drawer, tosses a pair of pajama shorts to me, and walks into the bathroom.

I attempt to shove my leggings off, but they are too tight and it hurts too much to stand.

Coming out of the bathroom with the kit in hand, his eyes narrow on my leggings.

“It hurts.” My voice barely comes out as a whisper, and my face lowers to the ground. “Just give me scissors, and I can cut a hole in them to clean it better.”

Clayton puts the kit next to me on the bed and motions with his fingers. “Up.”

My eyes jump up to meet his, and heat creeps up my neck, realizing what he’s intending to do. “No,” I squeak.

“Ry, I’ve seen you in your bathing suit before. I’ll take those off and help you into the shorts.” He motions again and places his fingers on the top of my leggings.

I grab his hands firmly. “Clay.” His eyes meet mine, and I have to refocus my thoughts, having him mere inches from my face with his hands on my body.

It’s not easy feeling his breath against my skin.

My mind easily goes back to the days when I didn’t need to have a single guard up around him, and I could be myself.

I tried to not let anyone know of my feelings for him, but as we got older, our natural relationship was easy and one I craved. “You haven’t seen me in a thong.”

His lips part before he realizes it, and I can tell that was not something he had anticipated. Taking a moment, he clears his throat and looks off to the side before saying, “I’ll close my eyes.” He kneels in front of me at the side of my bed and waits.

I stare at him. His eyes are closed, and his fingers are still digging into my skin, waiting for me to agree.

His face is set, and I know he isn’t leaving until he does this for me.

“Ugh. Fine.” I sigh and lift my butt off the bed.

Sixteen year old me would have died having him help me like this.

My body temperature rises as my heartbeat thunders in my chest.

He pulls them down to my thighs and off my good leg, but moves more slowly with my other one.

His rough calluses graze my skin, sending goosebumps all over.

Even though he has a gentle touch, I still wince a few times before I grab the shorts, and he holds the waistband open wide, allowing me to easily step in.

As they go over my hips, Clayton’s face meets mine, and he slowly opens his eyes.

He looks to my mouth before straightening his shoulders, and I wonder if I saw correctly.

He cleans off my wound and bandages it, quickly and quietly. Memories flood back to all the times he took care of me growing up. How sweet he always was, until he wasn’t.

“Done.” He grabs the wrappers from the bandages and gets to his feet. Closing the first aid box, he returns it to the bathroom and discards the trash before coming back to the bedroom. “Need anything before I go?”

I shake my head. “No. Thank you,” I say sheepishly.

“No problem.” He nods like nothing else needs to be said and leaves without another glance.