Page 2 of Chasing Wild Heart

“The only thing I’m interested in is why she’s not the lead runner on the team,” I clarify in a more authoritative tone.

Daphne shakes her head as if the answer is obvious and I’m an idiot for even asking. “Because she doesn’t want to be.”

“Why?” I demand, frowning. “I don’t get why she’s wasting her potential to settle for second or third place when she could be winning.”

“What if she doesn’t want to win?”

My feet stop momentarily, and my mind spins confusingly. Why would a four-year all-state runner from Nebraska not want to win? And why would she choose an Illinois university known for its prestigious arts program than a full-ride scholarship to a more acclaimed college with an equally acclaimed cross country team?

Doesn’t want to win?Everyone wants to win. Well, everyone should want that. I mentally scoff at the people that like to play for fun. Because where’s the fun in losing?

“Huh? Why not?” My long strides easily catch up to the annoying freshman.

“You really are a moron,” Daphne replies with a dramatic sigh. “She just wants to run.”

“She should be winning,” I push. “Doesn’t it piss you off she’s holding back? That she’s wasting her potential?”

“Because she was some all-star runner in high school?”

“So, you know who she is and what she can do!”

“For fuck’s sake, Dash,” she curses exasperatedly. “None of us really care where she places since we’re not exactly dominating the division. We’re here because we like to run.”

Like to run, my ass. Should be here to win,I think to myself.

“Also, don’t we all have the potential to win?” Daphne asks, weaving through the crowd and stopping near the trail, where lead runners will cross shortly. “But yet I’m not hearing you yell extra hard at anyone else. Talk about having a favorite.”

“She’s not my favorite,” I mutter, pushing up the long sleeves of my navy t-shirt.

“So, why aren’t you shouting at Tabby? She’s the one who has been finishing in the top twenty this season,” she presses, glancing at her watch before swinging her gaze to the empty path. “You not paying attention to Eden part of your master strategy to help her improve her PR?”

How is this girl so intuitive when she’s not sure China is a country?I wonder sourly before a smidgen of guilt slips through. Is Eden the ginger who hums during runs? Or the one who wears the hideous neon green shoes?

Words of denial sit on the tip of my tongue when Daphne claps enthusiastically and I narrow my eyes to see a familiar form approach.

“Let’s go, Eden!” she shrieks, bouncing up and down in place. “You got this!”

“Good job, Eden!” I shout, watching bright green blurs skim over the dark green course. “Nice pace. Keep it up.”

Wait a second,my mind processes slowly. Eden. Pace. Since when did the number five or six runner keep pace with Juni? Answer: never.

Either Juni decided to “fuck it” and walk or Eden picked up her pace, risking the chance of burning out toward the end. But when the tall, lanky brunette sprints past us, her stride looks strong and her breathing sounds fine. In short, she’s not struggling.

“Where’s Juni?” I frown, desperately tamping down the dread clawing through my stomach, as I search among the long line of more runners nearing us.

Is she injured? Did I push her too far? Shit! Where the fuck is she?

“Gone,” Daphne replies far too cheerfully and not entirely helpful before yelling out Audrey’s name.

Shouts and whistles from other spectators interrupt my further interrogation. I struggle to even focus on encouraging the rest of the team when my mind demands to know what happened to Juni.

My jaw clenches tightly at the thought, because this is a job. I’m the fucking coach. Well, technically the assistant coach. The entire team is my responsibility, not some extraordinary athlete from my home state.

Damn her for distracting me.

“Where is she?” I ask, glancing over the once-continuous line break into sporadic clumps of two or three runners.

“With Tabby,” Daphne replies easily. “They’re probably finishing the race now.”

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