A hand tugs mine. “You ready for a race?” Justin steps up next to me.
“Heck yes. This is awesome.”
“I know. I’ll see you at the finish line.” His hand still wraps around mine. My nerves tingle, an electrical current coiling in my palm. I have no power to let go. Why does it have to feel so good? The moment lasts a beat too long. He glances down at our grasping palms. As Kate blows the fog horn, he gives it one last squeeze, before darting forward and tugging me backward at the same time.
Cheat!
I dig my heels into the sand, my other hand still clutching the hand of the little girl in yellow. She hollers, “LET’S GET EM!” and we take off together. We wind our way through the beach running course, in pursuit of Justin and a little boy in a life vest, arms wrapped around Justin’s neck, hitching a piggy back ride. They splash into the water mere seconds before us. Justin pulls the boy with him into the older track, on course to victory.
“The big one!” Yellow yells. “I’m seven!”
We splash into the deeper water. “You a good swimmer?” She answers with diving under the water and popping up a few feet away. “Awesome!” I’m about to dive in after her when I notice an elementary aged boy with jet-black hair standing in the waist deep water. I wave to Yellow, “You go on!” She smiles back before dipping under the water again, forging forward in the six plus race. I catch Justin’s eye, who slows down, giving time for Yellow to catch up with him so he can watch her too.
I wade over to the boy standing in the water.
“What’s up buddy?”
“I can’t swim,” he mumbles.
“That’s alright. We can do it together.”
“No, I can’t do it. This is stupid. I didn’t even want to come.” He starts backing out of the water.
I reach out and take his hand. “You can do it.”
“No, I can’t. I have leukemia.”
I nod. “I know. I’m sorry. That sucks a lot. But it doesn’t mean you can’t have fun. You know that, right?”
I catch a man with identical black hair nearing the water’s edge. His father. With a raise of his eyebrow, he asks me if I’ve got this. I nod back, I do. I’ve got it.
“I bet you’re actually a really good swimmer, huh?” I doubt his parents would let him run out here without a life vest on if he didn’t have the skills.
He smiles, “Yeah. I love it.”
“Can you show me? I haven’t had a swim lesson in a long time.” I splash backwards, in a forced feeble backstroke, making a fool of myself. “I could use some pointers.”
“You’re doing it all wrong!”
“Oh? Then show me. Please?”
He rolls his eyes. “Come on.” His eyebrows furrow. “But don’t do the backstroke. No one does that in a real race. Not if you want to win.”
“I do. I want to win.”
“Then come on.” He huffs as he plunges forward into the water, easily gliding into a forward dog-paddle. I join him, letting him instruct me down the course. As he pulls past other pairs of volunteers and kids, his smile grows. How long has he been letting his diagnosis stop him from having fun? I glance at his parents on the beach. It’s a new diagnosis. You can see it in their creased brow. But their faces relax as the boy’s smile grows in joy.
We reach the end of the swimming track and run together out of the water, up the beach to the bike line.
I give the boy a high five as he hops on his bike. “You rock! Ride on!” He pushes his pedal forward, a brilliant smile plastered to his face.
A familiar tug and flash of yellow greets me. “You said you’d be my bike.”
“You don’t have one?”
“Nope.”
“Okay,” I say through slightly labored breath. “How can I be your bike?”
“Bend down.”
I do and she climbs on my back. Right, a piggy back ride.
“Go!” She yells as she points forward with a squeal.
I dash forward as I zigzag through the biking course. Dodging big wheels, parent-pulled wagons, and tricycles while making sure to stay out of the way of kids zooming by on real bikes. Pure joy and determination radiate off everyone’s face. I know it’s plastered to mine too. I haven’t felt this great, ever. Not even the high of a basketball game competes with this feeling. Well, maybe holding Justin’s hand does.
We round the final corner, “Ready?” I shout up to little Yellow.
“GO!!!”
I sprint, throwing my legs into long strides, bending forward with Yellow’s light weight on my back. Justin pulls the ribbon across the finish line as they see us approach. Every kid gets the victory of breaking through the ribbon. I reach up and swing Yellow off my shoulders, determined to let her feel the rush of breaking her own ribbon. She gets it, leaping forward over the line, breaking through the loose red ribbon.
Victory!
She runs into her parents’ arms and it takes everything in me not to cry. Kate nears her and swoops her into the perfect grandma-like hug, handing her the blue triathlon t-shirt and a home-printed certificate.
This is beautiful. This I love.
I step to the side, letting a boy on a bike fly through the ribbon that Justin had immediately reassembled. I duck under the course’s rope as I cheer the boy on. I’ll never be able to get enough of this.
Justin nudges me with his elbow, “Beat ya.” He hands me the ribbon, as he slides the little guy off his back. I take up his post, retying the ribbon loosely and dragging it across for the next champions, while Justin brings the child back to his parents. The boy takes a few weak steps into his mother’s arms before she lifts him with a hug and places him in his wheelchair.
Justin gives the kid a high five and that’s when it hits me. I’m a total goner. I’m head over heels in love with Justin Marshall, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
I glance away as he walks back toward me. That smile. God. Those eyes. Kill me. How will I ever survive this?
He places his hand on my back as he reaches over to untie a flag that got caught up on a pole. His touch melts me and there’s nothing I can do. His palm heats through my shirt, radiating warmth over my back. My spine tingles with pleasure. Holy crap.
“So,” he says with his hand still on my back, “What do you think?”
I cheer as two kids cross the finish line. “I think this is pretty amazing.”
He leans in toward me. “Not as amazing as you,” he says as he removes his hand from my back. He turns back toward the finish line, retying the ribbon and stringing it across.
The breeze stops with my heart. Everything slows. His dark hair’s fallen into a loose curl, striking against his green eyes. Did he really just say that?
Justin waves another volunteer over, handing him the end of the ribbon with a quick exchange. He waves to the table of volunteers as he returns to my side. “I’ve got something to show you.” His hand finds that place again on my back and for a brief moment it leads me the direction he wants us to walk. The beach.
“Alright,” I say as casually as I can. I’d follow him anywhere. I know better now than to ask what he wants to show me. There’s no end to Justin’s depth and I’m loving each surprise.
He holds up the beach boundary rope for me to duck under. We make our way away from the celebrating triathlon champions, down to the water’s edge. He sits on the beach, feet in the water. Patting the ground beside him. I join him, dipping my toes in the shallow water, still warm in the dusk’s sun.
“Thank you,” I say before he can show me anything. “I had so much fun.”
“Good. I hoped you’d like it. It’s one of my favorite days of the year.” He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. “This is what I wanted to show you.” He opens the wallet, handing me a photo.
A younger version of Justin, but with blue eyes, smiles back at me.
“Jackson?” I ask.
“That was taken a few days before he was diagnosed.”
“He looks just like you.”
“Yeah. I used to love that about him. He was older enough for me to admire the crap out of him. Seriously, he could do anything. Best baseball player, best climber, best runner. Best brother.” He smiles as he takes the picture back and secures it again in his wallet.
“He sounds wonderful.”
“He was. I’m sorry he’s gone. He would have loved this,” he said with a nod back toward the triathlon.
“I’m sure he would’ve.” My eyes are damp, but I don’t care. It’s right.
Justin opened the other part of his wallet, pulling out another piece of paper and handing it to me. “I got this from school today.”
I unfold the paper, immediately recognizing the headline Freshman leads Varsity to Victory. Under the headline, there’s a photo of me, hair in a sweaty ponytail, head between my hands, studying the floor, after the final winning shot for the state championships. My shot.
“What happened, Lucy? Why did you stop? You were great. I remember that game.” He leans into me, his shoulder brushing against mine. “I remember you.”
My heart pounds. “How long did it take you to recognize me?”
His lips spread into a smile. “I’ve always known who you were. You could never hide that behind Marissa.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“And blow the cover you worked so hard to keep?”
“It wasn’t a cover. It was more a new life. Life on that basketball team was hell.”
“Why?”
“Think about it, Justin. What do you remember about that year and the freshman girl on the team?”
Justin gazes out for a moment at the water. Then a crease in his forehead appears. “Wait, those stories were true?”
“Probably.”
“The beatings? The bullying? All because you took that brat’s position? I thought people were exaggerating.”
I nod. “They made it impossible to endure. As the season ended, there was nothing left of me. After the season, it actually got worse. I was their sick form of daily entertainment.”
Justin’s hand finds mine and he gives it a squeeze. “I’m sorry. Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
“Coach knew. As long as he won, he kept looking the other way. I couldn’t tell my parents. I didn’t know how my mom would handle it. I couldn’t risk her getting too upset. I wanted to keep her stable, well.”
“I wish you would have told me.”
“Well, we weren’t exactly friends then, huh?” I ask as Justin releases my hands.
“No. But we are now. So,” he smiles, “are you going to play ball again?”
The cheers from the triathlon champions carry over the water.
“Honestly, I don’t know. I always needed basketball before. Yes, I loved it, but this last year gave me a complete break. And after Marissa, I’m wary to let anything define me anymore. It’s nice not to need anything to be myself.”
“So, maybe?”
“Yeah. Actually,” I nod back toward the kids. “This makes me want to coach. I think I’d love that.”
“Good. Do what makes you happy. Whatever you decide. You deserve to be happy.”
“Thanks. These kids make me happy. That event made me happy.”
“Yeah. That was obvious, your smile … Wow.”
I beam back at him. No one’s ever made me feel so great before.
“See,” he says with a wink and I think I’m going to die. The most lovely form of torture on earth. “You seemed at ease out there.”
“Yeah, it’s easy to be myself here.” I shrug. “Around you, too.”
Justin laughs. “Yeah, I know. I swear, no one believes me when I tell them about the spunk in your soul.”
He tells people about me?
Justin stands up, brushing off the sand from his shorts. I follow quickly, not giving him the chance to reach down and pull me up. Too dangerous. My hand may weld itself to his if our palms touch again.
He reaches down and catches my hand anyway, pulling me up but suddenly using his weight to throw me into the water. I grasp his other arm, pulling him in after me. He falls, pinning me under him in the foot of water. I’m totally lost. I can’t look away from his green eyes, somehow darker as he gazes back down at me. I know I’m crossing the friendship line, but I can’t help it. I’m not going to live my life missing moments like these.
He smiles, brushing the hair from my face. His Adam’s apple gulps before he rolls off of me, letting go of my palm. Disappointment washes itself over me with a wave. I welcome the water, giving me a moment to recover from his rejection. He knew, in that second, he knew that I wanted to be his. He had to.
When I’ve got control, I use the rejected energy to bolt from the water, making sure to splash in his face on my way out. I’m totally cool. Nothing happened. Just having fun. Friendly fun. I dash up the beach.
He doesn’t miss a beat, sprinting past me. “Race you to the truck!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The best part of every day is my time with Justin. I thrive on his laughter. My heart aches when I crawl out of his truck in the evenings, hurting worse every day. He is my last thought of the day and my first every morning. After that moment on the beach, I have raw determination to stop thinking about him. But the more I try, the more Justin consumes my thoughts. Thankfully, or crappily, the constant flow of texts he receives from girls helps remind me just where we stand. I now love that chime of his phone. It keeps me grounded in reality.
As we pull into my driveway after a miserable, humid week of painting, Justin’s phone chimes four times.
“Your following beckons,” I say, handing him the phone from the console.
Justin sighs. “All in a day’s work, right?” He checks the messages.
I fold my hands in my lap, remembering the way his hand grasped mine at the race. My back warms, still radiating from the heat of that touch. He hasn’t touched me since. I squeeze my hands together, restraining myself from throwing the phone into the pile of fertilizer Mom has dumped on the driveway.
“It’s from Jen. She’s grilling out at Lake Nokomis. Want to come with me?”
My heart stops. Another evening with Justin? Yes!
Justin repeats himself, thinking I didn’t hear him.
“Sure, that sounds like fun.” My insides are reeling.
“Great.” His broad smile accentuates his right dimple. I smile back like a fool, opening the truck door and sliding out of the seat.
“How quick can you get ready? I’m starving and they already started the grill.”
“Twenty minutes?” It’ll be tight but I can make it work. It’s a lake so wet hair will be fine.
“Wow. You can be ready in twenty?” Justin whistles. “I can’t even do that. How about I’ll pick you up in forty?”
“I’ll be ready.”
“Sweet. See you soon.” The motor sputters and a cloud of white vapor goes poof in my face. He leans out his window, “Sorry about that.” I wave the cloud away, coughing.
“Sure you can make it home in that, Justin?” Dad’s voice calls from the garage. I spin around. I had no idea he’d been standing there.
“She’s never failed me yet, Mr. Zwindler.” He laughs as he slowly pulls the truck out of the driveway.
Dad puts his hand on my shoulder. “If that boy dares to pick you up tonight in that vehicle, I’m loaning you my car.”
I roll my eyes at him. “The truck’s fine, Dad.”
Dad shrugs. “It may be but it doesn’t matter. It’s the principal.”
“What are you talking about?”
“A rule of thumb. Don’t pick up a girl for a date in a vehicle that makes her father doubt her survival.”
“It’s not a date.”
Dad laughs.
“No, really. We’re hanging out with friends.”
He lifts his right eyebrow at me.
“Jennifer will be there,” I add. I’d never felt the need to tell Mom and Dad that Jus
tin and Jennifer’s relationship was over. The Jennifer card eliminated most awkward conversations whenever they brought up Justin.
Dad opens the door to the mud room. “Well, I stand corrected.”
It isn’t a date.
I can’t think of this as a date.
“You know Mom was dating someone else when we met?” He follows me through the kitchen. “I’m just saying, it can be a date.”
I spin around and glare at him. He responds with a toothy and teasing grin.
“Dad.” I scowl. I sound just like Mom.
Dad throws his hands up and walks away. “Okay, okay. It’s not a date.”
“Thank you.”
I bolt up the stairs and throw myself into the shower. Dad has stolen a few precious minutes from me. I multitask while scrubbing vigorously, choosing my outfit from memory. I’ll go with my new jean shorts and the purple and white polka dot tank that I bought with Laura a few days ago. I’m so thankful I went on that shopping trip.
I pull open my makeup drawer, swooshing on a light layer of foundation and some mascara. We’re going to the beach. I don’t need anything more.
My heart pounds as I play with my wet hair. Is this really a date? The butterflies that have taken up permanent residence in my stomach zoom around like they’re in the Daytona 500. I pull my hair to the side, braiding it down the edge of my neck. I wipe the steam off the mirror so I can see the final result. I look fresh and dewy. Perfect for a skin commercial but not exactly perfect for a date.
My reflection tells me what I know deep down.
This is not a date.
I sigh, momentarily hating Dad for planting the idea. I know better. Justin isn’t the type of guy who’d spring that sort of thing on a girl. He’s old fashioned. If he was asking me on a date, he would’ve made that clear. I urge my heart to slow. I need to relax. This is not a big deal.
I wait for Justin on the front porch. I’m not that surprised when Dad conveniently decides to mow the front lawn. I let my gaze meet his with daggers when he passes in front of me.
He’s such a dad.
A tinted Cadillac Crossover pulls up the driveway. Dad looks at me and sighs in defeat. I think he was really looking forward to telling Justin and his truck off. Too bad.
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