The Wall of Winnipeg and Me (47 page)

Trevor made a small noise in the back of his throat that had me leveling my gaze at him.

I didn’t want to talk to him; now he was just downright pissing me off. “Is that what this is about? Do you think I’m here to blow all of Aiden’s money? Did you think I was trying to win him over or something?” I asked slowly, carefully trying to finally understand what it might be about my personality that had made him so hostile from the moment I’d started working for him.

From the way he pulled at his ear, in that nervous tick I’d picked up on years ago when he was frustrated, I’d hit the nail perfectly on the head.

“
Really?
You interviewed and hired me. I didn’t even know who he was until you told me.” Yeah, I was getting just as defensive as I thought I sounded. “You could have fired me if you had that much of a problem with it.”

“Fired you?” His hand went to the back of his trimmed, salt-and-pepper head. “I tried firing you at least four times.”

What?

Trevor’s lip snarled. “You didn’t know?”

“When?” I coughed out.

“Does it matter?”

It shouldn’t but... “It does to me.”

The angry, bitter man simply gazed at me like I was dumb. “He wouldn’t let me.”

You know nothing, Vanessa Mazur.

I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand at all.

“The last time I suggested we find him someone else, he said the first person that would go between the two of us would be me.
Me
.”

Some things just sort of clicked together. Why Trevor had always been such an asshole to me—prima ballerinas didn’t like dancing in anyone else’s limelight. Why he had fought so much to try to keep me from quitting—to save his own hide. Why he’d been so on edge since we got married and didn’t tell him—because it seemed like we were ganging up on him, which was a partial truth.

But the news made me reel.

It felt like the rug had been pulled out from under my feet.

He’d liked me. Aiden had fucking liked me. He hadn’t been joking so many months ago.

The way Trevor cleared his throat was rough, catching, like he was trying to compose himself after losing his shit. “Anyway, tell Aiden I’ll be calling him soon. You two might be packing your bags and moving to colder pastures,” he noted. “See you.”

I didn’t say another word to him. What the hell else was there to say?

With shaking hands, I picked up my phone and typed out a message to the big guy.

An hour later, I got my response.

He wasn’t even trying to bullshit me.

Was he on crack?

I’d barely typed that out when I realized how stupid of an argument that was. If he’d asked. Aiden was like me, he wouldn’t have asked. Ever.

W
hy was
I still doing this?

Why?

Why hadn’t I just said, “Van, who gives a shit whether you can run a marathon or not? You did more than you ever imagined you could. Who do you have to impress?”

As much as I hadn’t wanted it to, life had taken its toll on my head and confidence. Since everything happened, I’d barely been able to add another mile and a half to my distance, and that was pushing it. I walked and bitched while I did it, and afterward, I was so tired and my knee ached so badly, I crashed out on the bed after my shower and refused to get up.

Every sign said doing the marathon was a terrible idea.

Nothing changed the fact that I missed Zac’s company, and the way he motivated me to keep going even when we were both cussing about how stupid doing this was.

I had to do it. I’d trained for months. Not finishing wasn’t an option.

I could do it.

I wasn’t freaking the fuck out. Nerves weren’t making my hands shake. I wasn’t subconsciously rubbing over my ring finger every few minutes, searching for that token of Aiden he’d given me that I’d left at home because I was too scared to lose it. Aiden’s necklace was tucked under my shirt for good luck. Surrounded by so many people who were smiling and just seemed so fucking stoked to participate, it honestly disheartened me a little.

Twenty miles. I could run twenty miles. That was something to be proud of, wasn’t it?

I had barely thought that when I mentally smacked myself. Of course twenty miles was something, but I’d put my body through hell for these last few months for what? For this.

If I didn’t do this, I needed to get my ass kicked. Even if I came in fucking last, I had to finish it. Screw it.

I shook out my hands. I could do this.

“Are you Vanessa Mazur?” a voice to my right asked.

Finding a woman wearing a T-shirt that said she was volunteering at the marathon, I forced a smile on my face and nodded. “Yes.”

She thrust out a cell phone in my direction. “You have a call.”

A call? Gingerly taking the basic flip phone, I watched as she backed away before raising it up to my ear. “Hello?”

“Muffin,” the deep voice answered.

I pulled the phone away from my face and took in the screen, recognizing the number. “How the hell did you get this number?”

“I didn’t. Trevor did. I tried calling your cell, but it went straight to voicemail,” Aiden explained.

“Yeah, I left it in my pile of stuff,” I pretty much stammered, still trying to process that he’d somehow, some way, gotten in contact with me. He hadn’t called me since he’d left. We’d only communicated via text message, and the sound of his voice went straight to my heart.

In what had become a typical Aiden way, he asked, “Are you all right?”

“No.” I looked around to make sure the woman who handed me the phone wasn’t listening. There were too many people around, all living their own lives, worrying about themselves. “I’m trying to talk myself into doing this even if I come in last,” I admitted.

“You’re about to run a marathon. Do you think it matters if you come in last as long as you finish it?” he asked.

I blinked and let the anxious tears pool in my eyes for the first time. “But what if I can’t finish it?”

The voice on the other end let out a sigh. “You can finish the marathon. Graves aren’t quitters.”

Graves. Graves weren’t quitters. I didn’t want to cry. I wasn’t going to let myself lose it now of all times. At least not completely. “But I’m not really a Graves, and I haven’t even been able to finish twenty-six miles, much less twenty-six point two. Not once. I’m dying by twenty.”

“Vanessa,” he rumbled my name in a way that felt like a caress to my spine. “You’re a Graves where it matters. I don’t know anybody else who could do what you’ve done. Come out on top of what you have. You can do this. You can do anything, do you understand me? Even if you limp your way through the last sixteen miles, you’re going to finish it because that’s just who you are.”

This weird hiccup thing crept up my throat, and the next thing I knew, I dropped my hand away from my face to control myself. It didn’t take long, but it was the most difficult control I’d ever tried to get ahold of. With a few deep breaths, I put the phone back to my ear, emotion overwhelming my nostrils. “In case I die on my run, I want to tell you something.” I wanted to tell him I loved him. Fuck it. What the hell had I been waiting for?

He was a good man. The best type of man—for me at least. The more I thought about what was between us, the more I picked up on the breadcrumbs he’d been leaving for me for some time now. He cared about me. He more than cared about me. I knew it from the bottom of my soul.

“Tell me afterward. You’re not going to die,” he replied, smoothly with conviction.

“No, I need to tell you now just in case,” I insisted.

Aiden let out a sigh. “You’re not going to die. Tell me afterward.”

“But what if—?”

“Vanessa, you can do this. I’m not doubting you for a second, and you shouldn’t be doubting yourself either,” he demanded. “I know you’re hurting right now, but I’m willing to bet none of your sisters would be able to do what you’re about to do.”

He’d gone for the killing blow. The one thing in the world to resuscitate me. Aiden got me and he got me good. “I’ve got this,” I said in a muffled voice. I had to have this. There wasn’t a choice, was there?

“You’ve got this,” he repeated with more conviction. “You can do this.”

Now or never right? “I’ve got this.”

He made a light noise, a tender one. “That’s my girl.”

His girl? “I am?” I just outright asked him, hoping more than a little he wasn’t just… that was stupid, Aiden wouldn’t just say that.

“The only one,” he said it like there was no other choice in the world.

How could I not tackle universes with that kind of possessiveness from the most driven man I’d ever meet? “I might not be able to walk after I cross the finish line, but I’m going to do it. Can I call you after I’m done when I’m lying on a hospital bed?”

“You’d better.”

I
have been
through some shit in my life. I knew what pain was, I’d dealt with it on and off for years, sometimes more
on
than other years. I understood the basics of working hard and succeeding. And I liked to do my best at everything I attempted. I always had, and I wasn’t going to worry or wonder why that was.

But the marathon…

I’d prepared as much as I could to run it, considering everything. I knew my limits and my body.

But after that fifteenth mile marker…

Everything began to shut down.

I wanted to die.

Each step began to feel like hell incarnate. My shins were crying invisible tears. All my important tendons and ligaments thought they were being punished for something they’d done in another lifetime.

And I wondered why the hell I’d ever thought doing this would be my crowning achievement after my long road. Couldn’t I have just raised money for a charity or something? Was I too young to be a foster parent?

If I lived through this, I could do anything, I convinced myself. I’d do an Iron Man competition, damn it.

Okay, maybe I’d prepare for a triathlon if I finished this prison sentence.

If I finished it.

If.

If I didn’t die. Because it sure as hell felt like I was on the cusp.

I was thirsty, hungry, and every step sent a streak of pain straight up my spine and into my head since I’d begun to lose my stride and run sloppier. I might have had a migraine too, but my pain receptors were too focused on everything else to notice.

But I thought about Aiden, my brother, and Diana. I thought about Zac.

And I closed my eyes and pushed. Each mile got harder; hell, each foot became more difficult to move. I was slowing down because I was crossing into the Underworld.

But I could die after I crossed the finish line, because I hadn’t trained and busted my ass for months not to. If anything, I became more and more determined to drag myself across the finish line if it came down to it. By the time I made it to the last mile, I was more limping and lurching than even walking. My calves had locked up on me. My shin splints were going to be a serious pain in the ass for weeks to come, and my quads were shredded.

Honestly, I felt like I had the flu, Ebola, and strep throat combined.

Thinking back on it, I wasn’t sure how the hell I managed to cross the finish line. Sheer will and determination, I guess. I’d never been so proud of myself or pissed off at myself than right then.

I thought I started crying, mostly because every bone and muscle in me was crying, and because I couldn’t believe I’d actually made it.

But when I spotted that giant, brown-haired man bee-lining through people like a runaway train, I definitely started damn near bawling. People cheered me on, but I couldn’t find it in me to thank them because I wanted only one thing and it wasn’t close enough.

I wanted the big-headed mirage coming toward me, and I wanted it three hours ago. I wanted it two weeks ago.

Even from the forty feet that separated us, I could see him through my blurry eyes, frowning as he found me mixed up in the crowd. I dropped to my knees, ignoring the personnel that surrounded me, making sure I was okay. Realistically, I knew I wasn’t dying. Not really.

It was just… traumatic. And all I wanted was a hug, a shower, food, and a nap.

Mostly though, I wanted that human-sized steamroller barreling through the people who separated us with even more urgency. He was like Moses parting a sea of people. The second he stopped in front of me, I held my arms out and let him grab me under the armpits, deadlifting me before engaging those giant biceps and pulling me up to be eye to eye with him. I didn’t appreciate that incredible feat of strength because what he did afterward…

I threw my arms around his neck and he hugged me. In front of everyone, he hugged the living shit out of me as if he hadn’t walked out on me and left me alone when all I wanted was him. I wrapped my legs high above his hips like a spider monkey, not giving a crap about the wedgie my shorts were giving me, much less that there were photographers, who were supposed to be busy taking pictures of the marathon runners, circling The Wall of Winnipeg and me in our moment.

Yeah, I cried into his neck and he pressed his face against my hair. His words were low, reassuring, and whispered.

“That’s my girl. That’s my fucking girl.”

“What are you doing here?” I practically bawled into him.

“I missed you.”

“You what?”

His arms tightened around me. “I missed you very much.”

Oh hell.

“I had to come see you,” he continued on.

“You were here, and you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t want to distract you,” that low voice explained, his hand cupping the back of my neck. “I knew you were going to do it.”

His words only made me want to cry more, but not necessarily just tears of joy. “I’m dying. I need you to get me a Segway. I’m never walking ever again,” I blubbered.

“You’re not dying, and I’m not buying you that,” he said.

“Everything hurts.”

Was he laughing? “I’m sure.”

I realized I didn’t care if he was laughing at my expense. “Can you carry me?”

“You’re insulting me, Van. Of course I can.” I thought he kissed my cheek, but I couldn’t be sure because my eyes were closed and I was scared to open them and find that I was dreaming and imagining this all happening. “But will I?” he asked.

I only embraced him tighter and squeezed my exhausted thighs around him as much as I could, which probably only lasted three seconds total. It was a miracle I managed to do that, honestly.

I was pretty sure his mouth grazed my temple and I sniffled, pausing. “Are you kissing me?”

“Yes. I’m so proud of you.”

“Okay,” I whined with a sniffle. Yeah, I hugged that big neck even tighter. “Will you take me home, big guy?”

My no-nonsense, no-bullshit Aiden said it. “After you walk around for ten minutes to cool down.”

“
Y
ou need
to replenish your carbs,” Aiden said as he came into my room with a plate in his hand. On it was brown rice, black-eyed peas, an entire avocado, what looked like roasted and sliced squash, and perched on the edge was an entire apple. He had a glass of water in his other hand and a small bottle of coconut water tucked under his arm.

I sat up in bed with a yawn, tossing the throw I’d slept wrapped in to the side. “You’re an angel.” I still couldn’t believe he’d come back. It didn’t seem real.

He walked over to the side of the bed, dropped his hip on the edge, and passed over the glass of water first. “Did you have a good nap?”

Considering I’d gone straight from the car to the bathroom, where I’d sat in the tub cross-legged and showered, and then dragged my way back to my room and passed the hell out, I felt pretty well. The muscles in my legs were incredibly tight and even my shoulders felt extremely tense. I felt ill, but I figured that was only because I should have eaten more than the two bananas Aiden had shoved into my hand on the car ride back and the bag of mixed nuts Zac, who had been waiting on a bench after the marathon, shared with me.

“Yeah,” I told him, chugging down half the water before taking the plate from his hand and digging in without another word.

I caught Aiden watching me when I took the time to look at him, but I was so busy inhaling the food, I didn’t do it much. About three-fourths of the way through my plate, I finally wiped at my chin with the back of my hand and shot him a grateful smile. “Thank you so much for making that for me.”

“Uh-huh.” He pointed at the corner of his mouth. “You have rice right there.”

Wiping at the spot he was pointing out, I asked, “How long was I asleep?”

“About three hours.”

Three hours? Shit, I didn’t think I’d slept that long.

“Van.” Aiden’s face swam into my groggy vision. “What were you going to tell me before your run?”

Aww shit. Shit, shit, shit
.
Had I completely forgotten about it? No. I’d thought about what I’d told him at least a thousand times in the four hours it took me to run. I’d wanted to kick myself in the ass for saying anything at least half the time. The other half of the time, when I was reminding myself I was amazing and I was running a marathon so I could tackle the world and Iron Man competitions, I felt like I’d done the right thing.