“I’m a coach.” Lincoln didn’t elaborate more beyond, “A running coach.”
“Oh, yeah?” Sean perked up and glanced back. “I guess there was some big race in town. Were you a part of that?”
“A little,” was all Lincoln answered. I didn’t add that I had been part of that race.
“Good thing it was only a little.” We were starting an incline, and Sean had to pause before he added, “I guess there was some controversy. It’s been playing all over the news.”
Hearing my drama had played out on a major news network powered me up the incline. I wanted to know what was being said, but keep my distance from it. The story had likely run its course and would be played out. But it was my story, and I had left.
“That’s…too bad.” Lincoln’s voice was tight, but I was glad he replied. I didn’t feel like it.
“Yeah,” Sean puffed. “The title was stripped from some poor runner, and she quit altogether. The rumor is she has cancer, and it was her last race.”
I stopped, leaning into the rise of the land as I stared at Sean, my gaze flicking back to Lincoln. His jaw was clenched, and his eyes were haunted.
My diagnosis was out there? Were my parents getting bugged for details, or had the sensation died down?
Sean continued. “She got so screwed. It’s what got me out today. Like, she can’t do what she loves anymore, and here I am, on the sofa, eating crackers.”
He’d been inspired by my loss?
Sean swiveled his head between us, but there was no recognition in his eyes. I looked different than when I raced, and any photos of Lincoln flashed in the media were his old racing shots. Neither of us were wearing racing numbers with our faces frozen in a mid-sprint grimace.
One of us had to say something, or Sean might figure it out. “I’m glad it got you out here. There’s something positive at least.” I turned back to the path and kept moving, my legs numb. “I came hiking today, too, because I wanted to live a little before… I’m moving. Life change and stuff. You know how it goes.”
“Do you coach too?” Sean asked.
I wasn’t about to confess to being that runner he saw on TV. “No. I… I’m changing jobs. I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.”
“I hear you.” Sean sighed. Lincoln was quiet on the subject. “I manage an electronics department. Half the staff is going to college and can’t wait to leave for a better job, and the other half don’t care about anything but the paycheck. It’s not where I thought I’d be. Were you like me and hoping to find the answer under the big blue sky?”
“Sort of.” Sean and I weren’t only on a similar life journey, but our reasons for being on this trail were strangely linked. “I guess I have to decide what I want to be when I grow up. But I have to move…and stuff…first. Mostly, I just wanted to enjoy today.” And wasn’t that the truth.
“I wasn’t enjoying it until I met you guys. Now it doesn’t suck so bad.”
Funny how things turn out. Losing my title had staggered me. If my last race before retirement was stolen from me like that, was it a sign? Were my sponsors going to take legal action because I couldn’t fulfill my contract? Was Coach Simmons going to quit talking to me? That day had felt like the worst in my life, topping even the day I got diagnosed—because I could still distance myself from that.
I’d gutted through those laps, passing each runner until I was in the lead. I’d laid it all out, and I’d won, but I lost. Was that a metaphor for the rest of my life?
But then I chewed out Lincoln. And because of that, I was having a great vacation and greater sex. Because of that day, Sean’s week was a little less miserable.
The ripples of my life had reached him, literally giving him water when he needed it.
Huh.
I could get lost in my head, wonder what it all meant, but much like I’d decided to do with the race, I wasn’t going to think about it. I also wasn’t going to dwell on how I hadn’t been thinking about my life beyond this week. Other than making arrangements to move and scheduling the surgery, that part of my future was tucked neatly away in my mind, only to be opened as necessary.
“After this hike, what are you going to do?” I didn’t ask just to get the attention off of me. I didn’t want Sean to go home and wait for another sign.
“I dunno.” He drew even with me as the trail widened and squinted into the sun. “Maybe grab a few groceries. Learn a new recipe.”
“I’ll give you my email. We’ll swap recipes.” I didn’t think before I made the offer. Swapping foodie ideas might be hard when I was steeped in pain meds. “But with my move, don’t be surprised if I don’t get back right away.”
“I’ll give you mine too.” Lincoln for the save. “I need to eat something more than a chicken breast every once in a while.”
We talked food the rest of the way. I told Sean about two of my favorite quinoa recipes. “Use chicken broth. It’s the key to the flavor.”
Lincoln had a lot more ways to make grilled chicken breast on repeat tolerable than I did. He was discussing the finer arts of shredding it and adding it to barbecue sauce when we reached the trailhead.
“There you are.” Lincoln stuck his hand out for a shake. “Congrats, man. You did it.”
Sean shook both of our hands, his sheepish gaze dropping to the ground. “I can’t believe… You two are the best.”
“Wait, our contact information.” I dug out my phone.
He rattled off his number, and as I sent him my info and Lincoln’s, he asked, “So, you know all about what I’m going to do. What about you, two?”
I was about to say more hiking, more rafting, some sightseeing, but after Sean mentioned the news, staying in Colorado wasn’t as appealing as before. Lincoln was looking around, his gaze landing on hikers going in and out of the gift shop at the other end of the parking lot. He shifted like he was ready to sprint if a bunch of paparazzi jumped out of the bushes.
Our gazes met, and I made my decision. “We might take this vacation out of state. Live a little, right?”
Chapter 10
I shouldn’t have done it, but I did. Digging up those news segments was easy. After the hike, while Lincoln had waited to drive back to Manitou Springs, I hid in the bathroom, popped my headphones in, and listened. They made my story sound tragic. Victa’s spokesman made Lincoln sound like a saint who knew more about track than God.
I wanted out of Colorado. If it weren’t for the hike and trying to keep my weight up, I’d ask to go to the hotel, pack our stuff and leave immediately. Instead, we’d stopped for a pasta recharge.
Twirling linguine on my plate, I met Lincoln’s gaze. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“Leaving Colorado? No.”
“But you’re my sugar daddy, and I didn’t ask first.”
His flash of a smile disappeared behind guilt that he tried to cover up with reason. “What’s one hotel here or somewhere else?”
“The gas to get there.”
He lifted a shoulder. “I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”
He would, too. I could ask to go to Paris, and I bet he’d drive right to the airport.
I set my loaded fork down. “What are we doing here?”
He ignored his garlic chicken—breast meat, of course—and folded his hands in front of him. “What do you mean?”
“I know what you said earlier…about me.” And I still didn’t believe it, maybe that was why I was confronting Lincoln. “But is this only because you feel bad? Is it that you want a vacation and don’t want to be alone?” I held out my hands like look at me. “Because at the end of the week, I’m going home. And things are going to change drastically for me.”
He held my gaze for a few heartbeats. “Do you want to keep seeing me at the end of the week?”
“I can’t.”
“Would you want to?”
“In another life, yes. Based on these three days together, yes.” I couldn’t cry. Based on these three days? It w
as more than a matter of time. Based on how he made me laugh, how easy it was to spend time with him, how he made me feel in bed… The backs of my eyes burned. “But two more nights, and I’m flying home. I’m going to be busy, and then I’m going to be incapacitated. And then if I get a clean bill of health, I’ll have reconstruction surgery.” And then…
If everything went well, maybe I could think about romance. Romance trying to explain to someone why my chest looked different from other women’s, even after I got cosmetic surgery. Trying to convince someone to stick around until my five-year cancer-free mark when I could breathe a little easier.
All that was months away. Months. Maybe even a year. Or maybe I’d wait until the magical five years had hit, whether it was true or not, because as a kid, those emotions leading up to Mom’s fifth year of cancer-free proclamations had been everything. And how she’d rejoiced and smiled easier and laughed harder afterward.
“Five years from now, yes, I’d like to see you again.”
He blinked. His mouth opened, closed, and he blinked again. “Five years?”
“It was the goal number for my mom. It’s not like she still doesn’t worry every time she goes in for a checkup, but not like those days. Those times before her five years cancer-free. I’d have to see what my own doctors say, but it’s what’s in my head.”
“After Friday, you want me to wait five years before I try to see you again?”
I nodded, feeling like a fool. Yes, please. Hold off on dating and marrying anyone for almost two thousand days, and we’re good.
“Why not before?” he asked.
“You have a job. A life.”
“What if I wanted you in that life?”
I chewed my lower lip as I figured out what to say. His gaze tracked my teeth, but it didn’t stay. Worry simmered deep in the depths of his irises. “I’ve been trying hard to leave the negative behind. I’m sure you figured out why I want to leave Colorado rather than risk being recognized as the poor runner with cancer that—”
I looked away, losing my focus on the people passing by the window. People I now hoped didn’t look my way, didn’t see me as the girl whose photo was splashed across the news. Or worse, recognize both of us, then see me as a liar trying to play off their sympathies.
They might not recognize me from how I flew across that finish line with my arms wide and a big grin on my face. Tears had rolled down my cheeks. The shots the news had were from a distance to show Aria behind me. Like, predicted, the only photos they had of Lincoln were his old racing photographs. Then there was the one of him hunched with the officials, his expression fierce and stormy.
He’d been pissed that I won.
The hurt was hard to ignore, but to save my vacation, I would. Staying in Colorado wasn’t an option. I wanted to go back to Oregon, get my stuff, and move home to Indiana.
“I’m not afraid,” he said.
I’d been lost in thought. “Afraid of what?”
“Your surgery. It won’t scare me off.”
So tempting, but I had to take care of myself first. “It’d be a long-distance relationship, and when the season starts again, you can’t be torn. Go to worlds. Get Aria a podium placement. Have a life.”
He scowled at his chicken, cooling on its bed of rice. “That’s work. I want my life to have you in it.”
“Now isn’t the time for me to date, Lincoln. This week was it. I told you that on Sunday.” The corners of his jaw flexed. “Once Friday comes, I’ve gotta concentrate on me.”
He finally nodded. “I understand. Where do you want to go?”
Out of Colorado. That’d been my only goal. Where did I want to go? It was my time, and I didn’t want to spend it all traveling. It’d be a long drive to any of the surrounding states, and nothing against those places, but there weren’t many bucket list attractions.
Old Faithful?
More driving.
Why was this so hard?
Lincoln read me like a training plan. “What’s one place you wanted to see when you were younger and haven’t gotten to go yet.”
“There are so many. I mean, everywhere.” Traveling used to be a big dream, but then I’d gotten bogged down in early mornings and training routines. “I had the Disneyland princess fantasy like many other girls. But that’s too far away.” And too expensive.
He flagged the server and dug out his wallet. “Let’s go.”
“What? Like, now? I can’t af—”
“Disneyland is on me. Let’s see what we can get for a flight.”
Was he serious? His carved jaw softened when he spoke to the server to pay our bill and assure her the food was fine even though we didn’t eat half of it.
And then he said, “I’ve got to get my girl to Disneyland.”
The young server’s face broke out in a smile. “Oh, you have to stay for the fireworks. They’re amazing. Do you want a to-go container?”
Chapter 11
We’d settled into our hotel room and had done nothing more than drop our luggage by the door and collapse on the bed. Since he’d done the bulk of the driving and was paying for the room—the entire trip—he could sleep as long as he wanted.
Which turned out not to be much. His arm tightened around me.
“Are you awake already?”
“A few hours of sleep was all I needed.” Lincoln was curled around me, and we’d just woken up to the alarm he set.
The drive was long, but when we looked at flights and rental cars, driving through the night wasn’t an absurd plan. Lincoln took the first shift, and I tried to sleep. Then I took a turn. With the help of satellite radio and red licorice, I got us to California. Then he finished the trip.
I was going to Disneyland.
The excitement of ten-year-old me bubbled up. Dad had told me that we’d go—one day. A day when I was older, when we could afford to have a good time, or when he could take enough vacation that we didn’t have to rush it.
Then Mom got sick, and I quit asking about vacations. I could be anywhere, but as long as Mom was around, it didn’t matter where. Then I was in college, and spring breaks were a time to go home and hang with Mom and Dad if I wasn’t training. After college, I didn’t have a lucrative sponsor like Victa and kept my travels to where I had to go for races.
“Do you need to sleep longer?” He hadn’t moved yet.
Wanting more sleep wasn’t the reason why I wasn’t getting up. Nestled into his warm side was the best place to be. I’d done a lot of thinking while driving through the dark in the middle of the night.
In two days, I’d fly out from San Diego on Saturday and go back home to Williamsport, Indiana. Mom had left me a message and said Dad was taking care of my apartment in Oregon. That was an okay way to abuse the spare key I’d given them.
When Lincoln dropped me off at the airport on Friday, that was it for us. I would take this week and cherish it and keep Lincoln Keating separate from Coach Keating in my mind. Maybe that’d carry me all the way past surgery and chemo and wouldn’t allow any resentment to permeate my life after cancer.
Because I was taking a play from Mom’s training book. No negativity. Limited stress. And nothing but healing thoughts to stay cancer-free. And I would be cancer-free. I had to start visualizing it like I pictured myself winning races.
And even though it was a fantasy, I was imagining my post-surgery days. I would wake up to go to some kickass job I was super excited about, Lincoln would meet me in the kitchen, fresh from his morning run. I hadn’t been able to decide whether this sort of visualization was helpful or hurtful. I should be more realistic.
But I was going to Disneyland, so fuck reality. I rolled out of the warm cocoon he made and hung my legs over the edge of the bed. “Let’s go. Should we eat first?”
“You’re in the lead for today.”
“As long as you don’t think I’m pushing you.” I snapped my mouth shut and glanced over my shoulder. He’d rolled to his side and propped on his elbow. I didn’t
know what his expression was before I alluded to the race he thought I cheated on, but it was grim now. “Too soon?”
“Nellie…”
I stood and tugged my tight T-shirt down, but the hem didn’t reach the top of my underwear. “It was just a joke.”
“Maybe we should talk about it before you go.”
The bathroom was three steps, then I could disappear around the corner, but it seemed a mile away. “No. No negativity, remember? We’ll just have to agree to disagree.” It didn’t matter if Lincoln wanted to talk until the world ran out of air. I was the one that had the title taken away. Therefore, if I didn’t want to talk about it, I wasn’t going to. At all. “Belgian waffles for breakfast. Maybe we can find a diner before we get to Disneyland.”
I slipped into the bathroom. Leaning my forehead against the door, I closed my eyes. It was a simple comment. I’d said it was a joke, but it was one of those meant to slice him, not make him laugh.
This was supposed to get easier as the week went. But the race and what he cost me popped up more and more. Maybe it was because we were parting ways soon, and my mind was trying to protect me from the heartache. But I didn’t want to leave resenting Lincoln.
This week, while fun and exactly what I’d wanted before I moved home, was a mind fuck. Lincoln and I were compatible in so many ways…as long as I overlooked a major disagreement. And that disagreement couldn’t matter if I wanted to enjoy my next two days. The compatibility didn’t matter. After Friday, we’d be going our separate ways.
He’d go back to his unchanged life and let Victa yank his strings as their personal puppet. I knew what was waiting for me.
So, I’d shower and let these last few minutes swirl down the drain. Then we’d eat. Then I’d go to the land of fairy-tales with a prince who stole my crown.
* * *
As the previous evening had rolled around, not only was I beginning to droop, but Lincoln had resembled a zombie. I had to rest, and he needed serious sleep, so I’d insisted we skip the fireworks. Lincoln resisted until I had physically dragged him toward the parking lot.
Finish Line: A Playing Hard Novella Page 7