Page 3 of Resisting the Running Back

I’m about to congratulate him when the buzz of my watch tells me someone’s calling. I glance at it and see it’s Sophie. I flash my phone at my brother before I answer. “Soph?”

“Miller?”

I can hardly hear her since the music is blaring at this club, so I hold a hand over my ear.

“Where are you?” she asks, her voice loud and clear…and hoarse, as if she’s been crying.

“I’m in Vegas.”

She lets out a small sob. “Okay. I’ll, uh—” She interrupts herself with another sob.

“Who did this to you?” I demand.

“I broke up with Tyler, and—”

“I’ll be right there,” I say, cutting her off and ending the call.

This is an important night for Tanner, of course. It’s my thirtieth birthday, too.

And there’s no one I’d rather spend my thirtieth birthday with than the girl I’ve loved since I was fourteen.

Sophie Summers.

“I need to go,” I say to Tanner.

“Where?” he asks.

“Phoenix.”

“Is everything okay?” he asks.

I shrug, and I glance around the room because we didn’t get far enough into the conversation for me to know what’s going on. All I know is that she called, so I will drop everything to be there for her.

“I don’t know. Happy birthday, bro.” I slap his shoulder, and then I lean in so Cassie doesn’t hear me. “Good luck tonight. We’ll celebrate when we’re back in San Diego,” I promise, and then I head out.

My phone starts to ring again, and I see it’s her calling again.

“Soph?” I answer.

“Oh my God, it’s your birthday. I’m so sorry. Happy birthday,” she says. She sniffles.

“Don’t be sorry.”

“Don’t come all the way here, Miller. I didn’t mean to interrupt your night out celebrating.”

“It’s fine. I’m already en route to my hotel to grab my suitcase, and then I’ll hop on the first flight. It’ll be a quick trip from Vegas, and it’s been too long since I’ve seen you anyway.”

“It has,” she agrees.

Not seeing her was both one of the drawbacks and benefits of moving to San Diego.

She’s been with that douchebag for two years now, and seeing her with anyone is tough, but seeing her with someone who never deserved her was excruciating.

“It’s not just any birthday, you know,” I say casually.

“Your thirtieth,” she says flatly—probably because it means that one month from tomorrow isherthirtieth birthday, and I’m not sure either one of us was really ready to face that number just yet.

I wonder if she remembers the promise we made over fifteen years ago. She probably didn’t mean it. I did.

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