Page 85 of Alphas Like Us
I reach the other machine. “You realize running requires shouldermovement?”
“Pretty much everything under the sun requires shoulder movement. I’m aware.” He climbs onto the unmovingbelt.
I do the same on my treadmill, but I lean casually on the handlebar. Watching him push buttons to change his machine’s settings. “What’s so special aboutrunning?”
He ups the incline and the speed but doesn’t pressstartyet. “I planned to train for the ultra marathon this summer, and before you sayI can’t run anymore, I’m not letting Sulli down. I have to fuckingtry.”
Sulli and Maximoff signed up for the ultra marathon almost an entire year in advance of the August race day. Thingschange.
Shithappens.
Like a carcrash.
But he’s lost a lot recently. The H.M.C. board was furious when Maximoff decided to cancel thenight with a celebrity. The charity sent out a scathing press release a few days ago, and Ernest nailed Maximoff’s career in acoffin:
Maximoff Hale continues to value himself above the needs of others, and his entitlement has caused this charity to suffer in recent years. He bowed out of an event and instructed his family to do so, which would’ve earned millions for our upcoming humanitarian projects. Due to his carelessness and irresponsibility, we are permanently severing ties with Maximoff Hale. He no longer represents H.M.C.Philanthropies.
He has no job for the first time in years. He can’t swim, his greatest stress reliever gone. And he still has no license. When he drove, he had this compulsiveneedto push faster. And faster. Speeding, even on the days when he shouldn’t or didn’t needto.
It’d be easy for Maximoff to put all of his energy into the one thing he hasleft.
Theultra.
And thatneedto push and push won’t be a foot on a pedal. It’ll be on hisbody.
I hold his gaze that doesn’t ask for comfort this time. “Okay, but you can’t run, and as much as I love fucking with you, I take no enjoyment in telling you that there’s no chance you’ll be able to compete. The ultra is in Chile, Maximoff. It’s rocky terrain that’ll move yourshoulder.”
This morning, I drove at a snail’s pace over a small speed bump, and he winced between histeeth.
Maximoff clicks into a Cross Training program. “I cantry.”
I roll my eyes, and the corner of my mouth gradually rises. Fuck, I adore this guy, even when he’s so hardheaded. But no matter how far he pushes, I’ll be right by his side. Ensuring he’s not killinghimself.
I glance at his machine’s screen. He’s on a speed setting that shouldn’t overexert him rightnow.
And as our eyes lock, I tell him, “Prove it.” See, I’d much rather Maximoff realize he’s not healed up yet at thispace than a speed that’ll just annihilatehim.
Make no mistake: I’m watching his body very fucking closely in case I need to rip the emergency stopcord.
We both pressstartat the same time, samespeed.
Maximoff starts walking briskly. No painyet.
I jog. Looking over athim.
He glances at me. And then he picks up his pace, jogging—pain suddenly cinches his eyes. We’re stride-for-stride for exactly twostrides.
His jaw sharpens and he steps onto the stationary track, legs spread. It always hurts seeing him hurt, a rock wedging in myribs.
He snaps his eyes shut for a longersecond.
I lower my machine’s speed to a walk. “What do you need?” Iask.
He blows out a measured breath, opening his eyes on me. “Yourhonesty.”
I stay walking on the moving belt next to his powered off treadmill. “I honestly believe you’re too hard on yourself and you’re too afraid of disappointingSulli.”
Maximoff listens intently. He’s thinking hard, and then rests his weight against the machine’s handlebar and monitor. Not starting the treadmill backup.
