Page 95 of Summertime Friends

“You ran without me? And a second time today?”

“Maybe. . .” I sit up on the couch. Liam’s training for the Berlin Marathon this September. He’s deep into his training, longer runs than I could ever imagine running or would want to. What sane person wants to run twenty-six miles? When he began training, I started running. It was good to try something new.

Running together for the past five days has been a joy. It’s comical to watch, I can only imagine. He looks like a horse on a slow trot, while I look like a cheetah at full sprint, yet they are at the same pace. Liam doesn’t complain though. He doesn’t worry about meeting his miles or speed when we are out together. It’s sweet and makes me wish we could spend all our mornings like these.

“I run without you at home,” I inform him. I don’t say that I ran again today because it was the only way to escape myself and the nightmare—past and future. Until today, I only ran to stick to the plan he sent me and to be close to him.

Today, it was like I was running away from him.

“I know. I didn’t expect it, that’s all.” He leans down and kisses me.

“What time is it?”

“Quarter to five.”

I slept longer than I wanted to.

“Want to walk to the supermarket with me?” I nod, and he helps me up. Still in my athletic clothes from earlier, I put my sneakers back on. Liam doesn’t change. He’s still in his navy suit, fitted perfectly to his body. Every muscle, every curve accentuated. Even the color, a shade of navy, complements every feature.

He’s handsome—I keep saying or thinking handsome to match the sophisticated way he’s dressed, but he’s Theo James level of hot. No, definitely hotter. Liam in a tailored suit, though? That does me in.

39

EMERSON

Now

Fidgeting for my apartment keys, my hand trembles as I open the door. I miraculously get to my room and lay myself down on my bed. I stare up at the ceiling and scream in the pillow I hold to my face.

“Why?!” I scream the word over and over.

Why did he say what he did?

Why do we hurt each other?

Why did I leave?

Why can’t I return to that night?

Why has it taken us this long?

My phone is buzzing in my purse.

I grab it from the interior pocket. Chloe is calling me again. I’ve already sent it to voicemail five times.

She tried to get me to talk in the hallway before we returned to the table, repeatedly asking me to tell her what was happening. I told her it wasn’t the right time. She huffed at me, annoyed, and walked back to the table.

Chloe texts me now.

Chloe: Are you okay?

Yes.

Chloe: Liar.

Chloe: Whatever that was, you aren’t okay.

I don’t know how to be.

---