Page 130 of Rules Of Engagement: St. Louis
Reality crashed back when camera shutters clicked rapidly around us. I slowly lowered my legs, panic rising as I realized how completely I’d blown apart every boundary I’d rebuilt.
“Naomi, wait.”
But I was already backing away. “I have to go.”
“Don’t. Stay. Please.”
Christian’s grip on my hand tightened, his eyes pleading. But running was what I did best.
“Congratulations on your win.”
I pulled free and disappeared into the crowd before he could stop me.
The morning was gray and windy, and it was time for me to see if my extensive prep had been worth the effort. Rolling hills, sharp turns, and unforgiving pavement would test every ounce of strength I’d built.
I arrived two hours early, needing time to find my zone where nothing existed except me, my bike, and the road ahead.
“Riders, thirty minutes to start time!”
I clipped into my pedals and did easy laps to warm up. The other competitors looked serious and focused. Several were women I’d raced before, including Clara Montclair and Allison Jones, both of whom had beaten me previously.
Today would be different. Today, I was racing for more than medals. I was racing for my father and those like him.
The starting gun fired.
The first twenty miles were strategic, the pack staying tight as we tested each other. Clara made an early move up a steep climb, and Allison responded immediately, opening a gap in the field. I stayed patient, knowing the real race wouldn’t begin until mile thirty.
By mile thirty-five, it was just the three of us. Clara, Allison, and I, trading positions as we pushed each other, edging forward and back. My legs burned, and my breathing was labored, but I held position.
The final five miles were warfare. Clara attacked on every hill. Allison covered every move. I waited, trusting in my training, in the voice in my head that sounded suspiciously like Christian telling me I was stronger than I knew.
With two miles left, I made my move.
I stood on the pedals, shifted to my highest gear, and unleashed every ounce of power I’d been saving. The gap opened gradually, ten feet, twenty, fifty. Behind me, I could hear Clara and Allison responding, their final kicks trying to close the distance.
The finish line appeared ahead. My legs were concrete, vision tunneling, but I held the lead through absolute willpower.
I crossed first, pumping my fist as the crowd erupted.
“And the winner, with a course record time, Naomi Blackford!”
I coasted to a stop, chest heaving as volunteers surrounded me with congratulations. Someone placed a medal around my neck, but I was scanning the crowd, looking for?—
“Yes, baby, yes! I knew you could do it!”
Christian pushed through the spectators, wearing comfortable clothes like he hadn’t been at work, which I knew was unusual for today.
I didn’t run to him; my legs were shaking from the race. But when he reached me, he didn’t hesitate.
He swept me up, lifting me off the ground as he spun us around.
“You were amazing! I watched the last ten miles from different points—you destroyed them!”
“You were here? The whole time?”
“I couldn’t miss this. I wouldn’t dare.”
I looked up into his face, saw pride and admiration shining in his eyes, and realized something that terrified me more than any race or risk I’d ever taken.
