Page 9 of Running Risk

RYLEE: THEN

“Mom, Clay’s here.” I run down the stairs, grabbing my coat by the front door. Checking my hair in the mirror, I throw it up in a ponytail and make sure there’s nothing in my braces.

My mom walks up and wraps her arms around me. “Be safe, sweetie. Don’t distract Clayton while he drives. He’s still a new driver.”

I roll my eyes. “We’re only going to the football game.” Kneeling, I scratch Peanut on the head before leaving.

She winks. “I know.”

Jogging outside, I spot Clay sitting inside his truck, thrumming his fingers on the steering wheel. I open the door, and he’s listening to horrible new country music. He looks at me and chuckles as he sees my face scrunch.

“You’re trying to torture me.” I groan, laying my head against the headrest and looking at him.

He motions his hand to the radio. I jump up and click through the stations.

As soon as “Heroes” by Alesso comes on, I cheer.

Clay smirks, shaking his head, and drives down the road as I belt out the song at the top of my lungs .

As Clayton pulls into the parking lot, the loud drums and trumpets from our school’s band blast through the air.

Our school has a lot of spirit and likes to make sure the opposing team knows we won’t go down without a fight.

I jump out of the truck and skip around to meet Clay on his side.

He moves slower than I do, taking in the commotion from the football players running out onto the field and the cheerleaders doing cartwheels and backflips.

We walk toward the side of the field to watch the game.

Our team gets another touchdown, and I throw my arms in the air as I cheer with my classmates.

I peek over my shoulder and expect to see Clayton, but he’s nowhere to be found.

Knowing him, he got overwhelmed and is at the track field, working out his anxiety, but he should have told me he was leaving.

The farther I get from the football game, the less I hear the cheers from the fans.

I turn the corner around the bleachers and find one lone person running as fast as he physically can around the track, and I can tell he’s in the zone by the way he doesn’t look around.

His focus is only on the asphalt beneath his feet.

“Clayton!” I yell, making him slow his pace. “You can’t go to the track and run during the football game.” Putting my hands on my hips, I glare as he walks toward me, panting. “You left me alone.” I point a finger at his face.

He shrugs.

“No.” I wag my finger. “No shrugging.” I soften my tone.

“What happened? Why did you need to run?” I want him to share what’s going on in his thick head with me, not close off.

He rubs the back of his neck and readjusts his hat.

All signs that he’s uncomfortable. I’ve gotten good at picking up his tells.

“It got to be a lot.” He looks in the distance at all the people attending the football game.

I follow his eyes and nod. “Okay. You should have told me. I have my book in my bag.” It’s our thing. If he needs a break, I sit on the side as he runs and gets a clear head. I don’t come to these events to be with other people.

His eyes meet mine again. “You were having fun. I wasn’t going to pull you away for my issue.”

“Clay, we’ve had this discussion before.” Walking to him, I wrap an arm around his waist, and we walk the track together. “You don’t have an issue, and I’m here to hang out with you.” I bump my hip into his leg.

“Okay, Ry,” he says, squeezing my shoulder.

We walk the track in comfortable silence, looking up at the sky.

Glancing my way, he says, “I’ll race you.”

“That would be pretty dumb. I don’t run, and you run a bazillion miles every day.

” My eyes squint at the setting sun to look up at him.

His expression looks as if he’s up to something before a smile stretches across his face.

Hooking his fingers in the top of my hair, right next to my ponytail, I stop walking and glare. “Don’t you dare.”

His face lights up even more with the challenge. With a quick tug of his fingers, he yells, “Speed bump!” And takes off running.

My mouth hangs open, and I huff. “You’re dead, Clayton Daniels!” And then I sprint after him.

He looks over his shoulder, and laughter bursts out of him. No matter how hard I push, I don’t get any closer to him. After chasing him halfway around the track, I bend over with my hands on my knees and heave.

Clayton turns around and jogs to me, his face full of joy. “You’re out of shape.”

“Ha.” I gasp. “Ha.”

“You need to run with me.” He crosses his arms over his chest .

Finally able to breathe better, I stand up and look at him. “But, I prefer to read with a view.” I wink.

Clayton shakes his head. “I’ll be at your house at six in the morning for a run.”

“Hell no. That is an ungodly hour.” I glare. “Eight.”

“Seven.” He arches his brows.

Putting my hands on my hips, I say, “You want me to run at seven in the morning on a Saturday?”

“Yup. If you do, I’ll come to another game with you.” He motions over his shoulder to the crowd.

“Ugh. Fine, but we have to finish watching this game too.” I poke his chest with my finger.

He nods, sticking his hand out for me to shake. “Deal.”

I moan as my alarm blares in my ear. There’s a knock on my door. “Go away.” I firmly press the pillow over my face.

“Rylee, Clayton is outside.” My dad’s gruff voice is muffled through my pillow. “He said you made a deal, and I gave him permission to dump water on you if you went back on your deal.”

Throwing my pillow off my face, I sit up. “You did what?”

“Can’t go back on a deal, sweetie.” He looks at his watch from my open doorway. “You have five minutes to get outside. Have a good time.” He smiles and closes my door.

Plopping back into my bed, I groan. I don’t want to do this, but I pull myself out of bed and throw on a pair of leggings, a sports bra, and a T-shirt.

I’m not in the mood to even try to get my hair looking remotely nice, so I leave it in the messy bun I slept in, pull on my shoes, and go downstairs.

My dad left me a protein bar and a bottle of water by the front door to grab on my way out .

I trudge down the front steps and glare at the smiling face that greets me as I slide into the passenger seat. I put my feet on his dash before sniffing a couple times, and my senses immediately perk up. He chuckles.

“I brought you a cup of coffee. I figured it might help brighten your morning mood.”

Before I have a chance to snip at him, he hands me the cup, and I bring it to my nose.

Inhaling the hazelnut and vanilla aromas, I nearly moan while I cradle it between my palms. I take a sip and relax into my seat as he pulls out of the driveway.

It can’t be horrible to go running in the mornings if I get coffee beforehand.

Finishing the final lap around the track at the school, I gasp for air as Clayton stands next to me, barely breathing hard at all.

My lungs burn as the sun blazes in my eyes.

I hate waking up early for school, and this guy has me at school on a Saturday just to run.

The slight nip in the air is dissipating with the rising sun, causing sweat to roll down my body. “I don’t know how you do this.”

He shrugs. “Clears my mind.” He looks off in the distance before bringing his gaze back to me. He laughs. “Are you going to make it?”

“Ha. Ha.” I point my finger at him. “You owe me.”

He jerks his head toward his truck. “Come on. Let’s get some food for you.”

I gasp. “Oh, bless you.”

He shakes his head, opening my door for me.

“Such a gentleman.” Smiling, I climb into the truck, putting my feet on his dash. It’s not the same with tennis shoes on, but I honestly don’t know how else to ride in his truck. I’ve always done it, and I’m not going to let these annoying shoes change that .

We pull into a McDonald’s parking lot and walk inside. We order our breakfast sandwiches, and Clayton pays for them.

“I could have at least paid for my food. I eat a lot.” I stand near the counter, waiting for our order.

He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh, I know,” he says, and I bump him with my shoulder. “I worked for your dad a little, so I have some extra cash.”

“I swear my dad likes it when you come in for a few hours more than some of his full-time employees.” My dad has said how hard it is to get reliable workers, and most of them will flake when he needs to finish a project.

“Yeah. He’s close to a deadline and needs some extra help.”

We get our order and head for the table in the back corner, one that we frequently like to sit at. Each grabbing our food, I waste no time and dig in. I have a mouthful of my sandwich when I realize that Clayton is staring at me.

“What?” I say, with my hand covering my mouth.

“I have never understood how someone as small as you can eat so much.”

I swallow. “Hey.”

He doesn’t apologize, only shakes his head and digs into his sandwich.

“Has your dad been working a lot?” I ask before taking another bite.

He nods. “He’s never worked this much. I think it’s bothering my mom too.”

“My parents want to have you all over for dinner, but last night, I overheard my mom telling my dad that your parents wouldn’t nail down a time.”

He shrugs, but his fingers leave dents in the bread from his grip tightening.

“Hey.” I grab his hand and squeeze until he looks at me. “ I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. They’re probably busy. Your dad has a lot on his shoulders with his work too. I think all dads do.”

Clayton nods, giving me a small smile in thanks.