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

38. Adam

“Are you ready?” I ask for the millionth time as Paige glares up at me.

“No.”

“Your therapist said it was a good idea.”

“My therapist is a quack.”

“No, she’s not. She’s incredibly kind and helpful and she’s giving you the kick in the ass you need.”

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

There’s a crowd of people around us probably listening to our conversation, but I don’t care. I’m solely focused on Paige.

“Do you have your phone?”

She raises her hand, shaking her phone at me. Her attitude is cute.

“And it’s on?” I raise my brows, which earns me an eye-roll.

“Yes, Coach, it’s on.”

I cough. I’m going to need her to call me that again later, with fewer people around .

“Good. Now if at any point you feel scared or nervous, all you have to do is look at your phone for reassurance. And if that doesn’t work and you need a break, we’ll stop.”

She sucks in a deep breath and releases it slowly. “Okay,” she says, resigned to her fate.

The cheering around me floods my eardrums and I feel the pull of adrenaline. It’s not only the race this time—it’s Paige too. I know this will be hard for her and I wish I could take it all away. But the only way to face her fears, to overcome her PTSD, is by staring down her triggers and surviving them.

We’ve been in Utah for two weeks taking care of Levi. Leah is coming home from the hospital tomorrow, but she’ll still need help. We went shopping for some stuff yesterday and I had to talk Paige out of getting her sister a welcome home present, considering the present she had in mind was a cemetery plot.

What am I going to do with this woman?

Thankfully she listened when I told her that while it’s funny to talk about, someone who just had a near-death experience might not appreciate the humour in receiving a final resting place as a present. Or an urn. Or a gift certificate to a funeral home. I didn’t even know they did that.

She got Leah her favourite junk food instead. I like to think I’m having a positive effect, not only on her life, but also on the lives of people she buys presents for.

Paige’s therapist told her that last time she took too much time off from running, so maybe doing another race soon is a good idea. Running on her own proved to be too challenging for her, and even running with me wasn’t enough.

The distraction of a race, the adrenaline and competition of being surrounded by other runners are good. When she came home—not home, Leah’s house—and told me about her appointment, I signed us up for this 10k within the hour, giving us five days to prepare.

“Racers, on your mark, get set, go!” The race announcer shoots a gun and off we go. I laugh at the simple phrase, having not heard it since I ran cross country in high school.

We start at a nice easy pace. The goal of this race is to get through without a panic attack, or at least as few as possible, managing them as they come. Paige checked in on every person she knew before starting, but I can see when she begins to spiral. It’s only been two minutes but her breathing is getting heavier.

“Phone,” I tell her and the fact that she doesn’t argue is a testament to how she’s doing. She looks at the screen and is relieved to see nothing there.

“Okay.” She takes a deep breath. “I can do this.”

“Yes, you can!” I give a little arm pump, doing my best impression of a cheerleader, which earns me one of those earth-shattering smiles and an infectious laugh.

As we pass the mile marks, she checks her phone less and less frequently. It’s an easy pace for the first five kilometres and then I notice Paige ever so slightly pulling forward. I match her pace, and she shoots me a smile before taking off. I chase her as we weave around other racers .

The only time she slows is to check her phone.

At the five-mile mark, she gets a text and stops abruptly, making the runners behind her curse and swerve around us. I pull her to the side of the road so we’re not blocking anyone.

“What is it?” I say, feeling my own dread start to rise. Second-hand panic, who knew?

A breath of relief whooshes out of her, followed by an epic eye roll. “It’s okay, it's just Leah.” She shows me the text.

Seeester

Sunday 8:37 a.m.

just checking in

seeing if I can give you a heart attack

did it work?

I laugh as Paige shakes her head and replies with a middle finger emoji before we begin running again.

“There’s only two kilometres left. Want to race?” Paige asks, already speeding up.

“You’re on,” I say and blast past her.

I hear her swear under her breath, and then she’s on my tail. She’s fast but it’s only two kilometres, and since she won the last race, there’s no way I’m letting her win this one. Plus, the frustration of losing will distract her.

“See you at the finish line!” I call back, picking up my speed.

I’m in front the whole way so I have no idea if she checks her phone, but I know she’s keeping up with me. I cross the finish line first and immediately turn to watch her cross right after me, taunting her with a silly little happy dance. She laughs and keels over, trying to catch her breath.

“Did you let me win last time?” she asks, sucking air into her lungs.

“Hell no, I would never,” I say sincerely. She beat me fair and square.

“Then how the hell did you beat me here?”

“Easy. Pride.” I beam and she laughs again. We get our medals and down some water. I’m feeling high on this adrenaline. Who needs drugs when there’s running?

“Any texts?” I ask.

She checks her phone, an odd look in her eye. “No.”

As she bends over to brace her hands on her knees, breathing deeply, I lay a hand on her back and rub soothing circles.

She shakes me off and takes a few steps away. Just like that, my stomach drops. She’s glaring at me.

“Why didn’t you text me back?”

My mouth drops open. My head reels as I try to think. I have nothing. I am so confused.

“What are you talking about?”

“After Moab. I texted you and you never texted me back.”

That pulls me up short.

“You never texted me.”

It’s her turn to look confused .

“What? Yes, I did.”

“You didn’t even send the pictures,” I say quietly. I was never mad at her. It had hurt, not hearing from her, but I understood. She didn’t want anything to do with me after I got her disqualified, after my friend ratted us out.

“I sent the pictures, Adam, and I texted you, asking to see you again. You never replied.”

I’m shaking my head before she’s done talking. “I never got any texts, Paige.”

“What?!” She pulls her phone out and immediately starts scrolling. When she finds what she’s looking for, she shows me the screen.

Stalker

Friday 5:45 a.m.

Here are your photos, stalker*Attachment 6 photos*

Wednesday 8:30 p.m.

Hey Adam, I hope you’re doing okay. I just want to say again how sorry I am. I know you’re probably pissed as hell at Caleb and maybe at me too. I’d love to see you, maybe go out for a drink if you’re still in town. Let me know.

I take the phone from her and read the messages over and over again until they’re committed to memory. I never got these. What the hell? Maybe Caleb deleted them somehow ... I click on the aptly chosen moniker she gave me and stare at the contact information. Oh, fuck no.

“Paige ... This isn’t my number.”

“What?”

“You have 236-519-5274 but my number is 236-516-5274.” My mouth is dry.

She shakes her head. “But that means ...”

“I never got your texts.”

She stares at the phone and lifts her eyes to meet mine, horror on her face.

“I put your number in my phone wrong,” she whispers.

One slip of a finger and two years of wondering why she never reached out. Why she never sent the pictures. Assuming I knew why and accepting it because I didn’t want to overstep. Because deep down, I didn’t think I deserved her after everything that had happened.

We stare at each other, neither of us quite processing what this means.

And then her phone rings.