Then I deleted it. The conversation had included more than Dani. The kiss. The apology. The confession that Evelyn had lied. I did not know how to summarize any of it without turning Daniinto the person responsible for making me feel better. She had been my coach. She was my fake girlfriend. My friend. A woman I wanted unavailable for reasons I had not defined. None of those roles entitled her to immediate access to every vulnerable moment.
I put the phone away. The bus arrived. On the ride home, my right knee began to ache. Not sharply. A dull discomfort at the outer edge. I adjusted my leg. The ache faded. I told myself it came from sitting awkwardly. By evening, it had disappeared. I did not document it. This was my first mistake.
Tuesday’s training involved four miles with short tempo intervals. The ache returned during the second mile. I changed my stride. Not enough to stop. Enough to reduce the pressure. Dani noticed within thirty seconds.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“You changed your gait.”
“I adjusted to the incline.”
“The track is flat.”
“My right shoe feels different.”
She moved beside me.
“Stop.”
“I’m in the interval.”
“Stop.”
The promise from the assessment returned. When I tell you to stop, you stop. I slowed to a walk. Dani watched my feet.
“Where?”
“What?”
“Pain.”
“There is no pain.”
“Amy.”
“Mild discomfort.”
“Where?”
I pointed to the outside of my right knee.
Every trace of teasing vanished. “How long?”
“Today.”
“Truth?”
I checked the lane numbers instead of her face.
“Yesterday.”
She stopped walking.
“You ran on it?”
“It disappeared.”
