Pepped Up and Ready (Pepper Jones #3) (8 page)

As I settle onto his lap, Jace’s eyes close and his head tilts back. I inhale sharply, his handsome features striking me as they have millions of times before, and I wonder if it will ever stop. Light flickers from the fire over his sharp jawline and cheekbones, and I study the curve of his lips, tracing my finger along them.

“Wes used to sell to Gage,” Jace begins, reminding me why I’ve positioned myself this way. I remain expressionless. He doesn’t know that Wes already told me this. “I didn’t like it. I knew Gage was bad news. He’s powerful. Did you know his grandfather was a senator?”

I shake my head. No. But I’m not surprised.

“Even though we dealt to a lot of UC guys, we tried to keep a low profile. There wasn’t a lot of competition for what we were selling,” he pauses and cringes, “so we could afford to be selective about who we distributed to. Anyway, Wes got to know the Sig Beta frat and was convinced Gage was an arrogant prick but would be a good customer. I told him not to, but…” Jace shrugs.

“He did anyway,” I finish. Wes is one of the few people who can get away with pissing off Jace without losing his trust or friendship. “So, then what?” I still don’t get how this leads to what just happened.

“I’m sure Gage knew or suspected Wes and I worked together or whatever, but Wes can be smart about some shit, at least, and he recently confirmed that Gage was prodding about me but Wes didn’t tell him shit.”

Jace glances up and Frankie is holding two bottles of beer. Jace grins and takes them. “Thanks man.”

“Anytime,” Frankie says, and I know they are talking about more than the beer.

Jace offers me one but I shake my head. He puts them both down on the ground and tugs me closer.

“So Gage was a real dick to Wes when he stopped dealing. It was fucking weird. You wouldn’t think that anyone would take losing a drug dealer personally, but Gage treated it like a breakup. I don’t think the dude even uses himself, but it’s like he got off on selling to his frat brothers or something. He also liked being buddies with Wes, I think. Who knows?” Jace’s eyes drift from mine, and I can tell that question makes him think about his own reasons for doing what he did.

But Jace never self-contemplates for long. “Anyway, we hadn’t heard anything from him until he started kissing my ass when preseason started. I’d actually never officially met the guy before that day in the parking lot. They help everyone on the team with moving, but shit like that has kept happening. He’s always inviting me to events he says are exclusive, like I should be honored to get to go. Eventually he wouldn’t go away so I had to be a little bit of an asshole,” Jace explains, like,
what the hell else was I supposed to do
?

“And he didn’t take it well?”

“Apparently not.” Jace reaches down to take a long pull from a beer.

“So, no motive in taunting you like he did? Just being immature about getting his feelings hurt because you didn’t want to be his friend?” The fact that Gage tried really hard to be Jace’s buddy isn’t odd. I’m sure most of the fraternity presidents suck up to him. Who wouldn’t want Jace Wilder at their parties?

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Jace frowns, unsure. “He’s brought up Wes a few times and I got the feeling he was trying to prod me somehow. This was the first time he’s brought you up, but I guess he’s been saving that dig for the right moment. Not sure why tonight was it.”

“I think he was fucked up. Did you see Kayla? Maybe they were both on something and just acting stupid,” I suggest.

“Can’t we just hide away and avoid all this drama?” Jace asks.

“What fun would that be?” I joke. We both know that’s impossible. And besides, Jace likes being around people, being a leader. It’s who he is. He didn’t want to go back to the dorm tonight because the people around us rejuvenate him – mostly – and fill him with a sense of purpose. I’ve accepted that about him, but now he needs to accept it about himself.

I spend the night in Jace’s dorm for the first time. Between classes and morning workouts, I’ve tried to make it a habit to go home and sleep in my own bed. I don’t think Gran would disapprove so that’s not an issue. It’s that Jace’s dorm bed is tiny and it’s always noisy. We both need to stay focused and we can’t afford a bad night’s sleep. But I wake this morning to Jace’s hand on my tummy, his body curled around me. I love being the little spoon.

Unfortunately, I’m going to have to make my way to the shared bathrooms. Swinging my legs around and standing up, I grab hold of the dresser as the weight sends shooting pain through my legs, searing my shins in particular. They’ve ached in the mornings on occasion – okay, maybe every morning for the past few weeks, if I’m honest – but the pain is so intense in this moment I can barely walk. My left one in particular feels like a knife is slicing through it. Sucking in a breath, I sit back down on the bed and begin to gently massage the tendons running along my shins. They finally loosen up enough to allow me to hobble to the bathroom. When I limp back to bed, Jace cracks an eyelid.

“You okay, Pep?” he mumbles from the pillow.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “Just achy from the race yesterday. Go back to sleep.”

He pulls me in next to him. “Sounds like you could use a massage.”

“I bet you could too.” I squeeze his biceps playfully.

Jace tenderly rubs his hands over my legs and begins to mold my muscles, gently at first before adding pressure. It’s the sweetest way to wake up. If only I hadn’t attempted to walk first. Maybe I could have continued to deny what’s happening to my shins. Maybe I still will.

By the time we’re through with a thorough exchange of massages, we’re starved. We’d normally walk to Hal’s, our favorite greasy spoon diner, but we’re too famished, so we take Jace’s Jeep instead. One perk to the athletes’ dorm is that they have their own parking lot. Despite the massage loosening up my muscles a bit, my shins still hurt and I probably look like an old granny with arthritis as I hobble to the passenger side.

Jace often has aches and pains after games, but he knows this is unusual for me. I try to brush it off because I can’t handle his concern. Denial is the best approach right now. Sometimes people run through these things. My friend who graduated with Jace’s class, and my former co-captain, Claire Padilla, once had hip pain early in the season. I don’t remember her taking any time off and it just went away on its own. As long as I keep weight training I’ll get strong enough to push through this.

Jace takes pity on me and drops me off right in front of the diner before finding parking farther down the street. As he pulls away and I turn to the door, relieved there isn’t any sign of people waiting for a table, the front door swings open. When I see it’s Ryan Harding, I immediately try to walk normally, praying he didn’t catch me limping a moment earlier. I don’t want a lecture.

Even worse, he’s with his dad, the coach of the UC team, the team I want to be on next year.

“Hi Ryan.” I raise my hand in a wave and nod at his dad. “Hi, Mr. Harding.”

“Pepper! How are you? And you know it’s Mark.” He gives me a brief hug, which prompts Ryan to do the same. I haven’t seen him since that day outside the gym, right after he broke up with Lisa. And I never did return his phone call.

I’ve seen Ryan’s parents at enough races to feel fairly comfortable with them. But Mark is still the head coach of the team I plan to be on, and I’m always a little nervous around him, wanting to make a good impression. Ryan’s younger brother, Kevin, is a freshman at Brockton Public this year, and he’s already one of the fastest runners on the varsity team. They congratulate me on the race yesterday and we talk about how Kevin’s first high school race went – good, neutral territory. I’m about to ask Ryan about his training when I feel Jace behind me.

This might be the most awkward introduction ever.
“Mr. Harding
,
this is Jace Wilder, the guy I dumped your son for.”
I don’t actually say that, but I don’t need to. Judging by the way Mark is sizing up Jace, he knows exactly who he is. But they surprise me, greeting each other with handshakes, having met before. I often forget that Ryan and Jace hung out with the same group of friends. It dawns on me that they may have even spent time together this fall at UC. Weird.

After rehashing the football game with Jace, we say our goodbyes. I can feel Ryan watching me as we walk into the diner and I hope he doesn’t notice the stiffness in my gait.

We order our usual $4.99 special, with Jace getting coffee and me orange juice.

“You know he’s still got it bad for you, right?” Jace asks.

My eyes dart to his. “You heard what Lisa is saying about why they broke up?” I ask, knowing it’s not just that. Ryan once told me he could tell Jace felt more than friendship toward me, and I wonder if Jace has the same ability to read other guys. Ryan’s certainly more transparent than Jace is about his feelings.

Jace’s lips curve into a smile and he laughs softly, shaking his head. He blows on his coffee before taking a sip. “No, Pep. I mean, yeah, I hear what people say about that, but it was obvious before they broke up.”

I clench my fork. “Don’t treat me like I’m naïve, Jace,” I say quietly. “He might have preferred we stay together instead of break up, but he doesn’t have it
bad
.” I don’t want Jace to think I’m oblivious to how my ex-boyfriend feels about me, but I don’t want to accept that Ryan is still in love with me because I don’t like how that makes me feel. Shitty. There’s nothing I can do to make him feel better.

Jace shrugs. “Relax, Pep. I’m not angry about it. I know how the poor guy feels. He was cool about keeping his distance when he was with Lisa. Hopefully he’ll keep that up.”

“Well, don’t worry, that was the first time I’ve seen him since school started.” I’m snappier than necessary. Jace isn’t being unreasonable. I’d feel the same way if Jace had an ex-girlfriend. Before me, he never actually had a real girlfriend.

I know my attitude doesn’t have much to do with Jace or Ryan though. It’s the burning sensation vibrating through my legs that’s pissing me off. I will go on a run today, no matter how much it hurts. And that thought makes me so frustrated I actually feel like throwing my fork across the diner. My inner toddler is raging.

When I get home I take twice the prescribed ibuprofen amount and lace up. Dave follows me around in anticipation but I give him a banana – his favorite treat – instead of bringing him with me. I need to be alone, and that includes my canine bestie, for this run, which I anticipate being torturous.

Miraculously, running with severe shin pain isn’t much worse than walking with it. At least for the first fifteen minutes…

By the time I get back to Shadow Lane an hour later I’m tempted to crawl up the stairs to our apartment. Instead, I use the railing to help me get to the top. Gran takes one look at me when I stumble into the kitchen and asks me what’s wrong.

“Can you run out to the drug store and get three large bags of ice?”

Gran nods solemnly and grabs her keys. She doesn’t ask any questions, and I love her for it.

I don’t want to say out loud what’s happening because then it will be true. Even Gran, who knows next to nothing about training, would tell me to take at least a few days off. But what if I take a few days off and my shins don’t get better? What if a few days turns into a few weeks?

Ten minutes later I lower myself into an ice bath. The pain of the ice water hitting my skin and practically stopping my heart is nothing compared to the ache in my chest. Regret. Anger. Confusion. I let the tears stream freely down my face. It’s an ugly cry with snot and gasps and I’m sure Gran can hear me out in the hallway. What have I done?

When I finally reflect on it, my shins started to feel tender before school even started. During the summer. I thought it was just an adjustment to ramping up my mileage, and that it would go away as the season went on. I kept telling myself that, even as the mild tenderness became increasingly painful. If I didn’t talk about it and didn’t think about it, I could pretend it didn’t exist. But that can’t happen anymore.

A text message from Ryan is waiting for me when I pull myself togetherenough to leave the bathroom
.
You were limping. Are you okay
?
I delete the message.

Gran pokes her head in my room, wringing her hands. She must have heard my meltdown.

“Pepper, why are you hurting yourself like this?” she finally asks.

I close my eyes, hating that question. If only she had tried to tell me to take a break, or that it was okay if I didn’t win Nationals, or anything that would allow me to yell back, “You don’t understand!”

But she’s right. I am hurting myself. And the answer to that question will sound stupid if I say it out loud.
Because I have to. Who am I if not a runner? I need to be someone who matters.
I want to be more than just some girl. I want to make a mark. I don’t say any of that.

“I don’t know,” I say instead.

After a long silence, Gran leaves me alone to bake cookies. The Christmas music comes on as I open my laptop to check my email. Gran always listens to Christmas music when she bakes. It’s almost as comforting to hear the music as it is to eat the goodies.

There are several recruitment emails from various schools, but I only click on the one from Oregon. An assistant coach has sent me an itinerary for my trip this weekend. I’ll only be there for 24 hours, leaving here on Saturday morning and returning Sunday afternoon, but they’ve got numerous meals, tours, and… my stomach drops as I take in the scheduled run with the team on Saturday afternoon. What will I do if I can’t run?

I slam my computer shut. I still haven’t told Jace that I’m leaving this weekend. He has an away game anyway, and I’d rather not bring it up. He’ll get all moody like he did last time I brought up Oregon. It’s not like I’m actually going to go there, so it might be best to avoid the confrontation all together. No, he’ll be pissed when he finds out. And he’s bound to find out. Brockton might have nearly 100,000 people living in it, but sometimes it feels like a small town.

A knock at my open door startles me from my contemplation. Gran stands there with a mixing bowl in hand. “You have a visitor.”

“Oh?” It can’t be Jace, because he would have just waltzed in here.

“It’s Ryan,” Gran says solemnly. I narrow my eyes at her. Did she call him over here to talk about my… I can’t say the “I” word.

“Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t know he was coming. Maybe he saw you out on the running trail looking like you’d been hit by a truck and decided to come check up on you. Wouldn’t be the first time.” She hums knowingly as she patters back to the kitchen.

Ryan once found me on the trail in a blizzard, close to collapsing from exhaustion. And now I can barely walk to the kitchen. Thankfully my legs are still slightly numb from the ice bath and I’m able to fake a somewhat normal gait as I make my way to the kitchen table. Ryan is sitting with a glass of milk and oatmeal raisin cookies. Whenever he used to come over Gran would try to “bulk him up” like she does with all of my lean running friends. There’s never a shortage of baked goods in our apartment.

He looks up at me as I take a chair on the other side of the table. His light brown hair is shaggy, now long enough to tuck behind his ears. With bright blue eyes and dimples, the longer hair helps detract from the all-American boy look, making him look a little edgier. Like maybe there’s a little more to him than we all think.

Jace’s words from earlier today ring in my head. Ryan is supposed to keep his distance, especially if he truly does still have feelings for me. But instead, he’s sitting at my kitchen table, taking me in like he hasn’t seen me in months instead of hours. Oh dear.

He doesn’t dance around his reason for being here, and I suppose I’m grateful for that.

“I saw you limping bad on your way into Hal’s this morning. And I know you ran an absurdly fast time yesterday, which is awesome. But I’m really worried about you.”

I clasp my hands in my lap, hard. Gran places a glass of milk in front of me. I’m glad she’s bumbling around the kitchen. That way we’re not alone.

“It’s not really your place to worry about me, Ryan,” I remind him. It’s not entirely fair for me to say. If I saw him limping, I’d be worried too.

Ryan’s eyes dart away from mine, like I slapped him with my words. “Maybe not, but I can’t help it,” he admits. “I know you’ve been at the UC gym lifting three times a week and for all I know, you’re running in the morning before afternoon team practices too.”

He’s right. Not every day, but I run on the mornings I don’t lift. I don’t bother asking how he knows how often I’m at the gym. There are usually other athletes there, and someone must have mentioned it to him.

“You know you’ve got four years of college ahead to do double workouts, right?” He means working out twice a day, which is standard fare in college programs. I’d tell him that most high school girls running at my level work out twice a day too, but I get the feeling he just wants to lecture me right now. Which he continues to do for another few minutes before realizing I haven’t said a word.

We sit there, studying each other for a moment. “It’s my shins,” I tell him. “They’re a little sore.” Gran makes a loud banging noise with a pan, presumably her way of calling me out on my lie. They’re more than a little sore. If he goes in our bathroom he’ll see the ice still sitting in the tub. Most people wouldn’t make themselves an ice bath unless they’re seriously hurting.