"Ready to get smoked?" he asks, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through me, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. The challenge hangs between us, electric and charged.
I roll my eyes, but I can't suppress the smile that tugs at my lips. "In your dreams, old man," I shoot back, the words coming out with more bravado than I actually feel. My muscles are still tight from yesterday's yoga session, and I haven't pushed myself this hard on a run in weeks.
"Old man?" The words hit him like a physical blow, his chest puffing out in mock indignation. His eyebrows climb toward his hairline, creating dramatic valleys in the smooth skin of his forehead. "I'll have you know I'm in my prime."
"I'll go slow for you," I assure him, my fingers curling around the cool metal of the door handle. The mechanism clicks open with a satisfying sound.
"You're getting a little too comfortable with me—" he starts, but I've already pushed the door shut, the solid thud cutting off whatever lecture he had planned.
The cool morning air rushes in to greet me, sharp and invigorating against my skin. A smile spreads across my face as I begin my stretches, the familiar burn in my hamstrings awelcome anchor to reality. Through the tinted window, I can see Vince watching me.
The first mile is easy, just the rhythm of our shoes on the path and some light conversation.
The asphalt trail winds through the park, flanked by towering oak trees whose leaves rustle in the gentle morning breeze. Our footsteps fall into an almost synchronized pattern, a steady cadence that becomes a sort of meditation. Vince asks about my yoga practice, his questions surprisingly insightful, and I find myself opening up more than I intended, describing the flow of sequences, the importance of breath, the way it centers me when my mind spirals. He listens intently, his occasional comments thoughtful and engaged, not just polite filler.
The sun begins to rise, casting long shadows across the path and painting the sky in shades of pink and gold that catch in his hair when he turns to look at me. Then I do the thing I always do when I get too comfortable: I ask a question I probably shouldn't.
"Hey. Can I finally hear the marriage story?"
"You're not going to let this go, are you?" Vince pants slightly, our pace picking up as the trail curves around a small puddle.
I grin, pushing myself to keep up. "Nope. You promised unimportant conversation, and I'm cashing in."
He shakes his head, but there's a smile playing on his lips. "Fine. But if I trip and fall, it's your fault."
"I'll catch you," I say without thinking, the words tumbling out before I can stop them.
Vince's stride falters for a half-second, just enough to throw off our rhythm. He recovers quickly, but I notice. "Don't make promises you can't keep, Andy."
The sun has climbed higher now, filtering through the canopy above and painting dappled patterns on the path ahead. I can feel the burn in my thighs as we run.
"Kaitlynn and I..." he starts, his voice measured. "We were high school sweethearts. Married at seventeen."
My eyes widen. "Seventeen? That's young."
"It's Minnesota," he shrugs, as if that explains everything. "Half my friends did the same. Lived with her parents, had Malia and Tina back-to-back. Started our family before we could legally buy a beer."
We reach the top of the trail, and he slows to a jog, gesturing toward a bench overlooking the park. I follow, grateful for the brief rest as my lungs protest the exertion.
"When I graduated," he continues, leaning against the back of the bench, "couldn't find steady work in Minnesota. LA seemed like the answer. Had some connections here, figured it was worth a shot."
"And it worked," I say, stating the obvious as I stretch my calves.
His expression turns wry. "It worked too well. Minor roles at first, then bigger ones. Networking got my foot in the door, but I worked my ass off to keep it there."
He turns to face me, his eyes finding mine in the growing daylight. "But I was never home. Never there for dinner, for school plays, for the million little things that make up a family."
"That's when everything fell apart," his voice drops, losing its teasing edge completely. "She started acting paranoid, convinced I was cheating. Put a tracker on my car, monitored my phone, even showed up to a taping once to 'catch' me."
I stay quiet, letting him continue.
"Then she put hidden cameras in the house. That was it for me. I filed for divorce, but she wouldn't sign. Said she didn't believe me, didn't believe I wasn't cheating."
Years later, she still hasn't signed. Vince refuses to force the issue. He wants closure, sure, but he wants it to be mutual. Inthe meantime, he keeps their weekends sacred. His girls are his priority.
I can't help but admire how much he cares.
Despite everything, he doesn't sound bitter. If anything, he still has hope Kaitlynn will come around someday and the split will be mutual. Vince is a mess, sure, but he's a soft mess. He's a bleeding heart.
