“You doing okay?” Wesley called from ahead of her.
“Oh . . . kay!” she managed to cry out between fast, desperate breaths.
Her thoughts fell away, taking too much energy to maintain as their run—or jog or whatever—continued on well past her point of comfort. Bridget focused her gaze on Wesley’s sneakered feet as each hit the payment, then rose in the air once again, propelling him even farther, even faster.
One, two.
One, two.
It became a meditation, drowning out all other thoughts or rationalizations until the only thing she could do was count Wesley’s footfalls and keep pushing herself forward in an inexplicable need to keep up with the new neighbor she wasn’t even sure she liked all that much.
She could have turned around and taken Teddy home at any point, but she wanted to see this through. For some reason, she wanted to prove to Wesley and that knowing smirk of his that she could do this, that she could surprise him in a good way yet again.
One, two.
One, two.
A few more counts . . .
And then, just like that, they found themselves in the apartment courtyard again.
“Good job,” Wesley said as he completed a quick series of stretches.
Bridget fell forward with her hands on her knees, unsure whether she would throw up or simply get high on the sudden rush of oxygen into her lungs. She stayed like that until her breaths became a bit steadier. Her legs, too.
When Bridget finally looked back up, Wesley and his dogs had disappeared. Without saying goodbye.
Chapter 6
Bridget slept much better that night. Of course, every time she inadvertently kicked or stretched, pain shot though her no-longer-jellied legs. She briefly allowed herself to wonder what had happened to Wesley and why he had disappeared so abruptly without saying goodbye, but she was honestly too tired to care much about it—or him.
The exhaustion spread through her body like a calming drug, leaving her too tired to move, to think, to feel anything other than the exhaustion from that night’s run.
And she loved it.
So when five-thirty rolled around the next evening, she was dressed and waiting in the courtyard with Baby and Rosco tied to a joint lead.
If Wesley was surprised to see her there, he didn’t show it in the slightest. “How many dogs do you have in there?” he asked, glancing toward her third-floor window.
“Just the three,” she said, then took off running before he could beat her to it.
Wesley let out some kind of grunt-laugh hybrid as he fell into stride behind Bridget. “I thought you had your fill yesterday,” he teased without adding even the slightest hint of a smile.
“You thought wrong,” she shot back, picking up speed despite the unhappy protest that had already settled into her previously unpracticed muscles.
He shook his head and muttered something to himself, but Bridget didn’t care to ask him to repeat it. She wasn’t here for him. She was here for herself and for her dogs. Whether or not Wesley liked or respected her was beside the point, really.
The run went by faster that evening. Even though it hurt even more than the day before, she could already breathe easier. It was amazing how fast progress became evident with this new hobby of hers.
She both loved and hated it at the same time, and apparently that was just the combination she needed to obsess over it. And that new infatuation was perfect for pushing grief out of her mind—at least for the duration of the run.
Once again, her legs screamed for relief, but today she found the pain exhilarating rather than irritating. That pain served as proof she’d pushed herself hard, that she could overcome challenges, that she would overcome them.
Running wasn’t the first hobby Bridget would have chosen for herself. Actually, it fell a lot closer to the end of her hypothetical hobby list than the beginning. Regardless, though, she’d happened into it, and she couldn’t stop now.
That just wasn’t how she was wired.
She also wasn’t wired to let things go.
“Why’d you leave without saying goodbye yesterday?” she demanded of Wesley when they returned to the courtyard and he started moving into his cooldown routine. Oops. So much for not caring about what he thought of her.
“Did I?” he asked, kicking one leg behind himself and then grabbing his foot to deepen the stretch. He didn’t even look at Bridget, but rather toward the yellowing grass below.
“Yes,” she said, trying to imitate one of his stretches as she stared him straight in the eye. Eventually, he’d look toward her again, and she’d be ready with a heated glare that rivaled his icy indifference. “And you know it.”
“Are you planning on running with me every night now?” Wesley shifted his gaze toward her but didn’t react to the expression he found waiting for him.
Did this guy have no emotions at all? Or just when it came to Bridget? Whatever the case, his lack of reaction bothered her. How could he nothing her when he hardly knew her? The jerk.
“Is that not allowed?” she hissed. “When you gave me that invite, I thought you meant it.”
He sighed and dug his fingers into the thick fur of his all-white dog. Bridget recognized Snow as a malamute now, an enormous one at that. She wondered if Snow had a past life as a wheel dog for the Iditarod. He certainly looked strong enough, and he was much better behaved than her own hyperactive canines. That fact also irritated her. So what if her dogs weren’t the best trained? They were the best loved, and that’s what really counted.
Wesley looked at his dog as he spoke. “Look, Bridget. Right? We can run together, but I’m not really looking to make friends here.”
“If you don’t want friends, then why did you even invite me to join you?” She grew short of breath again, but this time from outrage rather than exercise. True, she didn’t want to make friends, either—but that wasn’t something you just told people. At least she was trying to be polite. Why couldn’t Wesley offer her the same small courtesy?
Wesley shrugged and continued to focus on Snow as he stroked the dog’s thick double coat. “I don’t know. It seemed like the neighborly thing to do, and you kind of caught me off guard there.”
“Me? You’re the one who came into my work,” she reminded him. “If you don’t want me to run with you, just say so.”
Wesley shook his head as he looked up at her. “Fine. I don’t want you to run with me. At least not if you’re going to keep trying to have heartfelt talks at the end of each one.”
Seriously? They’d only run together twice, and she’d barely spoken to him either time.
“Heartfelt? Are you kidding me?” Bridget knew she should throw her hands up and walk away, but something kept her rooted to the spot. She shouldn’t let him get to her, especially when he could barely look at her, let alone speak to her with even a hint of kindness.
Wesley cleared his throat, but before he could speak again, Bridget launched into a tirade as all the stress she’d kept at bay with that night’s exercise therapy came tearing out of her in a jagged burst.
“Don’t worry. I’m not some desperate girl begging for a friend. I already have the three best friends in the whole world, so why would I chase after some wishy-washy, lying jerk?” There, she’d given him what he deserved. Now it was time to move on.
His eyes rose to meet hers, the usual sky blue of his iris almost aqua now. It softened his entire face, but it was also too late. “I didn’t mean to—”
“But you did,” Bridget spat. “Don’t worry. I won’t bother you anymore.” She wasn’t sure whether Wesley wanted to respond, but she spun on her heel and marched away with her chin held high in the air.
Chapter 7
That night Bridget found herself every bit as exhausted as the day before but far less at peace. Her mind refused to let her get the rest her body needed.
Rude, arrogant . . .
Wesley didn’t even know her, not really. How dare he decide he didn’t w
ant to be her friend, or assume she wanted to be his?
Jerk.
As she tossed and turned in bed, his once-enticing features recast themselves in her mind. His pretty sky-blue eyes now appeared sickly, empty. His strong legs were no replacement for a kind personality—definitely not a trade worth making. His smirk now seemed cruel, as if he considered himself above her.
Although she finally managed a few hours of unbroken sleep, thoughts of Wesley continued to haunt her almost immediately upon waking. And during the day, she glanced over her shoulder constantly during her work shift, terrified he might appear.
Wesley obviously hadn’t spared the most fleeting of thoughts for Bridget, so why couldn’t she get him out of her brain?
Who cared what he thought?
Okay, she did.
But why?
* * *
Once Bridget returned home, her three dogs arranged themselves by the door and stared longingly at the leashes that hung nearby.
“Sorry, boys. Not today,” she said, shaking her head.
But they refused to lose hope, especially when Teddy heard Wesley and his dogs pass through the courtyard a short while later.
“No, not today!” she shouted, immediately hating herself for losing her temper. Hadn’t she chosen this new home because of its dog friendliness?
Friendly dogs. Terrible people.
Well, at least the one person she’d met had turned out pretty awful.
Then again, why should she let Wesley dictate what she could or couldn’t do? She’d never been a shrinking violet, and she refused to turn into one now.
“Okay, Teddy. It’s your turn today,” she told the ecstatic Pomeranian as she laced up her running shoes. “Let’s go.”
Wesley was nowhere to be seen, but just to be sure, Bridget took a new route around the neighborhood.
Today’s internal chant was I on-ly need me. Each syllable landed with one of her own footfalls. Wesley had inadvertently shown her a new hobby she had already begun to love, and now, well, she didn’t need him for anything else.
I only need me.
She’d once needed her mom but couldn’t rely on her now that she was gone. Her dad had become little more than a walking ghost, and her friends all had losses of their own to contend with.
That left Bridget alone.
And that was fine.
It had to be.
Despite her best attempts, everything she’d been running from caught up with her and weighed heavily on her already tired body and heart.
“I on-ly need me,” she puffed aloud, her voice cracking on that last word. Why couldn’t that be true? She so needed it to be true.
Realizing she hadn’t made it very far at all, she turned around and retraced her steps. By some ill stroke of luck, Wesley stood in the courtyard performing his stretches when she returned. Bridget tried to run past him, lest he see her patchy face and red-rimmed eyes.
But then something stopped her and made her turn back around.
He already stood gaping at her; he’d watched her run past without a word. But she still had plenty of words to say to him.
“What you did really sucked,” she told him in hardly more than a whisper, feeling more defeated than angry right about then.
“I know,” he said with a frown. Finally, an emotion, but it came too late to satisfy her.
“You don’t know me at all. I happen to be an excellent friend, but if you prefer to play the tortured hero or whatever it is you’re doing, that’s fine by me, too. I’m new to running and I need a partner. We don’t have to like each other. We don’t even have to talk. Just please . . .”
She let her words fall away when Wesley pinched the bridge of his nose and sucked in a deep breath—not out of anger, but perhaps sadness. She hated that she needed him, but his presence gave her something to focus on. Today she’d been eaten alive by her own mind mosquitos.
“It’s not about you.” Wesley raised his eyes to meet hers. They glowed with that same aqua color she’d seen the night before. “It’s about me. And even though that’s the oldest line in the book, it’s true in this case. You don’t want a friend like me.”
That last statement caught her off guard. What was he hiding?
Actually, it didn’t matter. Whatever his secrets, they didn’t impact his ability to run alongside her, to help quiet her brain for a little less than an hour each night. After all, she had secret hurts, too—and she definitely did not intend to share them with Wesley.
“Fine. I won’t ask you any questions. I won’t ask you anything. Only please can we just keep running together?” she continued, almost begging now. “I need this.”
“I know what you mean,” he said, finally chancing a smile. That small gesture transformed his entire face. The angles became gentler, more like art than weaponry. She’d never met anyone who looked as he did—or acted like him, either. What made him different? And why couldn’t she turn away?
Wesley had been rude, condescending, aloof from the start, yet something about his cold presence soothed her overworked brain, her broken heart.
“I’ve never had a running partner before. Well, except for these two guys right here.” He placed a hand on each dog’s head, and they looked to their human friend with lolling tongues and loving eyes.
“If they’re both boys, then why did you name them after a Disney princess and a hair accessory?” Even though Bridget had just promised not to ask any questions, she couldn’t stop herself from speaking the thought the moment it crossed her mind.
“What?” he asked with a snort. “You can’t honestly think that.”
She picked up her Pomeranian and clutched the little dog to her chest. “He’s Teddy, because he looks like a teddy bear. Cuddles like one, too. Now how did your two get their names?”
He studied her for a few seconds as if waiting for Bridget to retract her question. When it became clear that she would not, he licked his lips and looked at the black and white dog to his right. “Beau’s a rescue, and he came with his name. Short for Beauregard.”
“And Snow?” she prompted, nodding her head toward the dog at the left. “He’s obviously named for Snow White.”
“I’ve had him from puppyhood. It’s part of a . . .” Wesley winced and looked away. “Never mind, that doesn’t matter.”
Bridget watched as he began to disappear behind his icy shield. Not again.
“And you named him after your favorite Disney princess?” she joked, hoping it would be enough to bring him back into the sun.
Wesley let out a sarcastic chuckle. “Jon Snow, actually. He’s my lovable little dire wolf.”
She petted each dog, then held up Teddy so Wesley could officially say hello. “Now that we’ve all been properly introduced, can we do this? Can we keep running together?”
“I’m pretty sure you don’t need my permission.” Wesley shook his head and sighed.
But Bridget only smiled. “Yeah, but maybe I want it, anyway.”
They stood, each waiting for the other to back down. They stood for so long that the dogs began to whine nervously.
Finally, Wesley gave her a quick half smile and said, “Okay, see you tomorrow.”
Chapter 8
Bridget and Wesley ran in comfortable silence every evening that week and the one that followed it, too. And with each run, Bridget’s legs ached a little less, her breathing came a little easier.
While she found the progress exhilarating, it also meant that she had an easier time keeping up an internal monologue while engaging in what was supposed to be her escape.
“What do you do when it starts getting too easy?” she asked Wesley one day as they approached the end of their route.
“You’re not there yet.” He smiled and shook his head, both of which he did much more often now that they had started to grow comfortable with each other. Comfortable, but not friendly. Just the way each of them liked it.
“I think I am. I mean, I can talk now.” She paused
to take a deep breath. “And think, too.”
He slowed so that Bridget could fall into step beside him. “Is thinking a bad thing?”
“Sometimes.”
Wesley nodded but remained quiet until they reached the courtyard once more.
When they were already partway through their post-run stretches, he spoke again. “You can never run away from what’s in your own head,” he offered cryptically. “Although sometimes I think it’s worth trying.”
And with that, he and his dogs retreated to their apartment, leaving Bridget alone with the same thoughts she’d been hoping to escape. More than seven months had passed since she’d buried her mother. Why was the grief still so fresh and new?
She’d hurled herself into one project after the next in a desperate attempt to keep herself busy—and like running, they all worked at first. Then the newness would wear off and her pain would surge again, a tidal wave that had only gained strength from its temporary damming.
In another few months, she’d resume her college studies. She’d already signed up for the maximum course credits allowed. College would keep her busy, especially since she planned to receive perfect grades. But would it distract her long enough to finally forget what she had lost?
Bridget doubted it. Still, she could only keep hoping, keep trying, because the alternative . . .
Life required hope, and in that way, success was oddly counterproductive for Bridget. Achieving the object of her desire would also remove it as a coping mechanism. And what then?
* * *
Independence Day passed rather uneventfully with a simple barbecue at her father’s. Caleb insisted on playing the role of grill master, but proceeded to burn everything he touched. In the end, they filled up on seedless watermelon and potato chips. While their first holiday without her mother had proved to be every bit as sad as she’d feared, at least it had provided a break in the monotony of what had become her life.
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