The Gratitude Guarantee (Boyfriend in the Bargain #4)

13. Zach

13

ZACH

I t’s hard not to be distracted as I warm up for the race. I force myself to look away as Brenna bends over beside me, hugging her knees in an impressive stretch. She’s definitely more limber than I am, and that purply-blue outfit she’s wearing highlights her trim figure very effectively. I don’t think she has any idea how appealing she is with her chill-pinked cheeks and wide hazel eyes, and I know it’s not just me. I gave the stink eye to a couple other guys I caught staring, though I can’t say I blame them.

“You ready?” she asks, looking up at me with anticipation lighting her face. I’m glad she seems to have recovered from whatever had her looking like she wanted to smash her phone this morning.

“Ready as I can be. Although maybe not as ready as those guys.” I point surreptitiously at a trio of men wearing pilgrim outfits with their running shoes, complete with hats. “Is wearing a costume to a 5K typical? Am I underdressed?”

Brenna smirks. “There are always a few folks who really get in the spirit of the holiday. There’s this one guy who wears a full turkey suit every single year.”

“Really?” I turn, scanning the crowd. Sure enough, I spot a man about twenty yards away with his arms spread wide, showing off the colorful yellow and orange panels stretching from his wrists to his waist like feathers fanning out. “Hey, do you think he’d take a selfie with us?”

“I’m certain he would,” Brenna says. “He’s kind of a local celebrity. I’ve seen him signing people’s race shirts before.”

“Let’s go.” I don’t hesitate to shoulder my way through the crowd. When we reach him, I extend my hand with a friendly smile. “Hey, man, nice costume.”

“Thanks! You want to hear a turkey joke?” The man’s eyes twinkle with mirth. I had to wonder when I first spotted him if he was a little bit off his rocker to come to a race dressed like this, but now I’m pretty sure he just has an overdeveloped sense of humor.

“Sure.”

“What do you call a turkey the day after Thanksgiving?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know, what?”

“Lucky!”

A smattering of people around us chuckle, myself included. “Would you mind taking a photo with us?” I ask, gesturing between myself and Brenna.

“Be glad to.” He positions himself between us with his wings up and another runner offers to snap the picture for us. Soon there’s a small line of people who also want a photo, so we thank Turkey Guy and excuse ourselves.

“These are perfection,” I say, swiping through the photos as we walk away. I glance at Brenna. “Does he actually run in that thing?”

She nods. “He’s surprisingly agile.”

We come to a stop near the starting line, and I eye the mass of runners gathering around us. “What’s our strategy here?” I ask.

“Do you think we should split up?” she asks. “Both try to get our own best time for the collective score?”

“Depends on how fast you think everyone else will be.”

“Mom wasn’t joking about Heather being slow, but I think Ben ran track in high school. Isaac doesn’t like to run, but his last name is Hartford so he’ll want to win.”

I chuckle at that. At least there’s self-awareness attached to the competitiveness. “How about we stick together at first and see where we’re at relative to everyone else when we hit the halfway mark? Then one of us can pull ahead if we feel like we’re not pushing as hard as we want to.”

“Yes,” she agrees with a nod. “That makes sense.”

The announcer calls for everyone to line up, and I bounce on my toes, getting psyched up to run my best. I’m excited to try a 5K and compete with a crowd of other people. I might get addicted. Come to think of it, competitive running could be my new hobby.

At the sound of the gun, I surge forward and Brenna matches my pace. I’m not sure where the rest of the family went, but the two of us have a plan and we’re sticking to it. We only go a few paces before the wall of runners in front of us impedes our progress. I spot an opening to my right and reach down to grip Brenna’s hand, tugging her after me as I dash between a pair of college-aged women who are chatting as they jog casually.

When we break free of the throng, I exhale a sigh of relief and let my legs pump a little faster. A light squeeze reminds me I’m still holding Brenna’s hand as we run and I drop it quickly. I glance down at her, afraid I’ve made her uncomfortable with my familiarity, but she smiles. “Off to a good start,” she says between breaths.

After another quarter of a mile, I’ve settled into a steady rhythm, though maybe not as quick as I would prefer, and Brenna doesn’t seem to be straining either. “A little faster?”

She nods and picks up speed, which we maintain all the way to the two-mile marker. The crisp breeze and colorful leaves floating down along the route provide the perfect autumn atmosphere, and I make a mental note to start running outside sometimes instead of only at the gym. This is really fun, especially with Brenna keeping pace beside me.

I spot Ben, Isaac, and Sara not that far ahead of us. We’re making good time and gaining on them, so I think we can overtake them. I can tell when Brenna sees them too, because her pace increases without warning, giving me no choice but to catch up or be left in her dust.

Out of nowhere, Kenzie darts over to run beside us. The colorful knit feathers on top of her head bounce jauntily, and she’s grinning from ear to ear.

“Hi!” she chirps. “I left Bella behind so I could run with you guys.”

“Hi, Kenz,” Brenna says from my left. I smile but don’t say anything.

“This is so fun, right?” Kenzie says. “I got behind for a minute because I stopped to pet a dog, but I caught back up. But then Bella had an attitude, so I left her behind and now I’m sticking with you guys because you’re both really nice.”

I bark a laugh at this panted stream of consciousness. How in the world is she able to talk like this while still keeping pace with me and Brenna?

“I can’t wait for pancakes. What are you going to put on yours? Aunt Bee likes lots of strawberries and whipped—ahh!”

Kenzie cries out as she tumbles to the ground. I fly past her, then skid to stop.

“Ow, ow, ow.” Her bottom lip trembles as she rolls to a sitting position and gingerly rotates her right foot. “I think I sprained my ankle.”

Brenna and I squat beside her. “Can you stand?” Brenna asks. I straighten up and offer Kenzie my hand, tugging her up onto her feet. But when she tries to take a step, she sucks in a sharp breath and her eyes well with tears. “I don’t think I can walk on it.”

Runners pass us on both sides and I see Brenna look up in the distance at the retreating figures of her family members. Her face falls for an instant before she pastes on a smile.

“It’ll be okay, Kenzie. You can lean on me and we’ll get you out of here.”

“I have a better idea,” I say. “You want a piggyback ride?”

Kenzie swipes away a tear and offers a tremulous smile. “Go on,” I tell Brenna. “Go as fast as you can and we’ll be right behind you.”

She hesitates for a second, but Kenzie waves at her with both hands. “Run, Aunt Bee! I want you to win!”

A grin splits Brenna’s face, and she breaks into a sprint. I crouch down so Kenzie can climb aboard. As soon as she’s settled with my arms looped around her knees, I start out at a power walk.

“Alright, my friend, you think you could handle it if I go a little faster?” I know I can’t full-out run with a nine-year-old on my back, but I can certainly jog to make up a little time. Her arms tighten slightly around my neck.

“Go for it,” she says, her voice determined.

I speed up as fast as I can without risking another fall that would take out both of us, my legs and back burning with the effort of hauling extra weight. The finish line is in sight, and I see Brenna waiting and Ben going against the flow in our direction.

“I’ve got her,” he says when he reaches us. “Go on!”

He pulls Kenzie off my back, and I sprint for the finish line, channeling my inner thoroughbred.

I pump my arms, lungs burning. I can hear my pulse whooshing in my ears as I give it all I’ve got and zoom through the last quarter mile. I’ve got so much momentum going that I can barely stop when I pass under the arch and reach Brenna.

Staggering to a halt, I brace my hands on my knees and drag in deep breaths. My leg muscles are twitching and sweat pours down my back, but I feel great. Especially when I stand up straight and look around, realizing that people I don’t even know are cheering for me. An older man claps me on the shoulder as he walks by. “You made me go faster, too, young man. I thought if you could run with another person on your back, surely I could pick up my pace.”

I huff a laugh as my eyes meet Brenna’s. The admiration shining in her gaze is unmistakable, and I feel like I grow three inches taller.

“Wow, Zach, that was amazing!” Her words are quiet but I hear them loud and clear over the din of the crowd as if she was the only person here. And when she takes a step closer, her eyes still locked on mine, I sense a tingling in my stomach that feels kind of like…sparks.