See You at the Finish Line (Run, Love, Repeat #1)

31. Paige

I see Adam’s jaw drop out of the corner of my eye, but I don’t give Maxim the satisfaction of a reaction.

“No.” I shake my head. “I’m not.”

It’s Maxim’s turn to be surprised.

“You assaulted a player on the team you work for.”

“He assaulted me first. Does that mean he’s getting fired too?”

“What? No, of course not, and that’s not my concern or responsibility. You are my employee, and you’re fired.”

I step forward, closing the ridiculous gap he’s left between us. I feel Adam move with me, a silent, sturdy presence at my back. I’ve never felt safer.

“No, Maxim, I’m not fired. Legally, you can’t, and if you pursue this route, HR will have a hell of a lot more to clean up than just this ‘incident.’” I put that last word in air quotations. Maxim looks like he bit into a mushy grape.

“You signed a contract that—”

I put a hand up. “Let me stop you right there. I read every word of that contract and nothing in it said I could not defend myself. That’s what happened, and if you try to fire me again without cause, I’ll have your job.”

Damn. I can’t believe that came out of my mouth. I stand a little taller, feeling a little of the old me seeping back in as I hold my ground.

Maxim looks as stunned as I feel. A big dog with no bite. But that’s an insult to big dogs everywhere, and Q deserves better than to be compared to a man like this.

He sputters like a fish out of water.

“If that’s all, the race is about to start and I have a rivalry to win.” I turn on my heel and walk away, Adam following a step behind me.

“Is that what I am? A rival?” he asks, voice loaded.

“What else would you be at this point?” I turn to face him. His brows are pinched, his eyes alight with amusement.

“I don’t know. Rival seems too basic. I was thinking more along the lines of archnemesis.”

“Hmm. You were the catalyst to my villain origin story, so I’ll consider a change in title for my autobiography.”

“I’m honoured. To be clear, though, how exactly was I your catalyst? And how can I be sure to do it again?”

I look at him, unsure if he’s joking or not.

“Does the supervillain ever fess up to what he’s done?”

“Whoa, right up to supervillain. Damn, I’m fast.”

“Not as fast as me.” I flip my ponytail in his face, and he groans, bringing a smile to my face .

Henry Whyatt is wrapping up his speech and the energy among the runners is high. When the energy of the crowd hits me, it surges in like a tidal wave washing over me.

It could be a 5k or a 240-mile race, but the feeling is the same. A runner is a runner, no matter the distance or the speed, and I feel the urge to cry at how much I’ve missed this.

The runners are unable to stand still, stretching, checking their watches for the fiftieth time. Spectators hold signs on the sidelines, the crowd waiting in anticipation. Starting line jitters creep up the length of my spine.

I check my watch to make sure it’s ready, and as soon as the countdown begins, I can’t help but jump up and down on the spot a little, trying to stave off the excess energy.

As a sprinter, I’m ready. I’ve got this speed race in the bag. Adam can eat my dust.

5ks are not speed races, but I’m making this into one.

He’s watching me out of the corner of his eye, a concentrated expression on his face, and I know he’s getting ready to compete. He’s an athlete, and our little bit of banter is not enough to make him hold back. I’m ready for it, in fact, I’m counting on it. He may be taller, but his stacked muscles will not help him when it comes to racing.

That’s why most elite male runners are lean and a little lanky. Too much muscle creates too much wind resistance. Not that I’m complaining.

The starting gun fires—not a real gun, of course, this is Canada—and we’re off. Just before we cross the chip line I turn to Adam .

“If I flash you right now, will you be distracted?”

His jaw drops and I smirk as he stumbles. I surge through the crowd, bypassing runners to get out in front.

“That was evil!” I hear from behind me. I look back, and only for a second, to see he’s caught behind a group of power walkers who didn’t get the memo to line up based on their estimated finish time.

Corrals are important in races so runners don’t find themselves in Adam’s current situation, especially races with big prize money like this one. I’ll take it, though.

I laugh as the adrenaline of racing for the first time in two years soars through me. It’s like my mind is waking up after hibernation, and it feels good to stretch my muscles and lungs.

My eyes fixate on two women in front of me as I hear the pounding of footsteps behind me. I have no idea if it’s Adam, but I barrel ahead anyway, skirting around the women, knowing I’m not pacing myself like I should. But the competitive side of me has been buried for so long, she’s rearing her ugly head.

I’ll be damned if I don’t win this race.

My feet fly on the pavement like they were born to do. I’m so proud of myself for not tripping on anything, even though it’s a road race and there’s really nothing to trip over except my own feet.

As soon as I think about it, my legs are determined to glitch, but I switch my focus from winning to not smashing my face into the concrete. I have to slow down, otherwise I’m going to fall flat on my face.

I pass the 1km mark and check my watch, my eyes bulging. I’ve never gone this fast before. It’s been three minutes and fifty-five seconds but I feel the rush of adrenaline ease. I pushed myself too hard that first kilometre and have to slow my pace to about four minutes and twenty seconds, creating an opening for Adam to catch up.

Resisting the urge to constantly look behind me, I focus on how my body feels, adjusting my cadence and keeping my strides short and quick. I’m out in front now, leading the race for women.

There are a few men ahead of me, Mateo included, and I distract myself from the repercussions of my lack of pacing by watching his beautiful curls bounce up and down. He looks effortless, making me feel like a charging rhinoceros in comparison, but at least the distraction works.

I suck deep breaths into my belly, out of practice with the best breathing techniques. It’s frustrating to have to constantly think about something that used to be as easy as, well, breathing.

Breathing into the belly helps get oxygen to your blood faster. It’s uncomfortable at first, but like everything else, my body seems to wake up and remember we used to do this every day.

As I pass the 2km mark, I hear footsteps behind me. The hairs on my neck perk up and an involuntary shiver runs down my spine. I know that it’s Adam. He’s breathing heavily and I instinctively pick up the pace, hearing him groan.

“Seriously?” he mumbles. The fact that he’s so close both thrills me and compels me forward, my running time dropping back down to under three minutes per kilometre, or in my American conversion brain, six minutes and twenty seconds per mile. Not bad.

“Struggling back there, Ashford? ”

“No,” he wheezes, and I laugh, using up precious energy, but I don’t care.

He doesn’t catch me. We reach the turnaround point and high-five each other when we’re on opposite sides of the course. He’s a few seconds behind me and that’s the only reason I’m able to keep up this pace.

I may pass out at the finish line, but I’m not letting him catch up. I may even set a new PB.

The fastest I’ve ever completed a 5k was in twenty minutes and sixteen seconds. That was years ago when I was twenty-two, and those sixteen seconds still haunt me. I might break that twenty-minute mark.

I hit 3km and surge forward, passing the 4km mark when I see Adam in my peripherals. No way in hell am I going to let him beat me even though my lungs are screaming and my legs are protesting.

I refuse to lose to an actual rhinoceros. Adam’s tread is surprisingly light for his size, but he’s suffering from the wind resistance created by his broad chest. What a problem to have.

For Adam, it means he’s losing, and he can enjoy the view of my gorgeous ass as I cross the finish line before him.

Cheers go up in the crowd as I blast through the finish line in first place for my division. Mateo is already there, congratulating me by swinging me into a hug like it’s the most normal thing to do, and Adam follows a minute behind me. I cannot wait to check my chip time when the results start coming in .

I have to brace my hands behind my head to open up my airways, concentrating on sucking down air and not on the wall of muscle that’s staring at me with awe.

“What?” I ask Adam breathlessly.

He shakes his head, his chest heaving. “Sometimes I think about what the end of the ultra would have been like.”

My arms drop to my sides, my head spinning. I can’t let this go on any longer. I’m so confused by the mixed messages he’s sending me, and with all my energy put into that race, I have nothing left to stop me from speaking my mind.

“Why did you say getting disqualified was life’s way of telling you I was the wrong choice?”

He looks me dead in the face like he’s trying to process my words.

“What are you talking about?” He looks as confused as I feel.

“When you were at my apartment, you said you agreed with your dad that if life throws something unexpected at you, it’s because the path you were on was wrong. Weren’t you talking about Moab?” There it is. No beating around the bush.

I brace myself for what’s about to come out of his mouth, for whatever excuse he’ll make, for the honesty that will break my heart.

Instead, I hear my name being called from the spectator area.

“Paige! Paige!” It’s Shay calling for me, panic in her voice.

“Shay?” I run over to her. “What’s wrong?”

“Have you checked your phone?”

My entire world stops right there.

No, I haven’t checked my phone. I left it at home and even turned it off. Nothing bad can happen if I can’t get phone calls .

Running is safer without my phone. And I completely forgot about it.

“Your sister’s ex called, there’s been an accident.”

Her words barely register as the ground rises to meet me, but before I can get there, strong arms tighten around my waist, holding me upright.

“Paige?” Adam’s worried voice pierces the fog.

“Leah. Not Leah.” My voice quivers as Shay’s words echo in my head.

I’m only vaguely aware of Adam picking me up and carrying me through the alarmed crowd. He places me in an unfamiliar car and shoves a water bottle in my hand, ordering me to drink. I do so because my brain has shut off. I’m on autopilot.

I’m numb.

Your sister’s ex called, there’s been an accident.

I can’t believe it’s happening again.