Page 69 of Forbid It

“How was your run?” Iwan asks.

“Huh?”

He raises an eyebrow expectantly.

“Oh yeah, it was fine.”

“Look, I don’t know what happened, but Cassie was out of here like a rocket before you even stopped running the water. I don’t know what you did, but I’m going to have to explain to my children that their new favorite person disappeared without a goodbye.”

I grit my teeth, suddenly furious at the thought of Ffion and Sammy’s sad little faces when they get home.

Why would she do this? Leave without saying anything?

I bring her into my house, introduce her to my family, make them fall in love with her, and this is what we get in return?

Any disappointment I feel gets swallowed up by rage. In a second, I’ve jumped to my feet and pulled my running shoes onto my feet.

“I’m going for a run,” I throw over my shoulder at my brother as I cross to the backdoor.

“I thought you just went?” he calls.

I don’t reply as I take off at speed. My feet eat the pavement as I run along the tree-lined streets. I have no headphones, no direction. I took off without even a simple warm up, but I’m too aggravated to stop.

How dare she? I was ready to go into that room and apologize for taking things too far, for blurring the already see through lines, and she just took off? Without even a goodbye?

I see my dad’s car gliding down the street up ahead and turn onto a side street without a second thought. I can’t bear the thought of them waving as they pass me by, or god forbid, stopping to talk to me.

I run and I run, until my thighs burn and my muscles protest from not warming up. There’s a voice in the back of my mind telling me I’m going too far, pushing too hard. This isn’t the regimented structure I live by, this isn’t the organized strain I put my body through to keep me at peak performance. This is chaos, this is running to keep my mind empty of any thoughts of the girl I fundamentally cannot have. The girl who would jeopardize my career if her father ever found out what just happened in my bedroom.

I don’t stop.

I keep going and going, my thighs trembling and my hamstrings tight. I remember the agonizing flare of pain that knocked me down three years ago, the snap that I felt in my leg when it collapsed underneath me. The feel of the astroturf under my forehead as I rolled onto my front, curled up in a ball in front of forty thousand people.

There’s a tingle in my leg, a reminder of the dainty control I have on my health, and I almost want it to snap again. I want this to be over. There’d be no more consequences, no more risk, just done.

I turn the corner, and my pace finally slows. The community centre ahead is desolate, the astroturf worn down, and the goal posts nicked and weathered. The lines are faded, but I make it to half way before my feet stop completely.

My hands come to my hips as I take a shuddering breath. It’s seven miles from my house to here, the football club where I used to play. Dad used to drop me and Iwan off here for practice, and then he’d stand by the sidelines all day and watch us. The rain would be hammering, accompanied by a bitter cold wind that would freeze me in my boots, but he’d just stand there. As unmoving as a mountain.

There’s a fresh breeze in the air so unlike the cloying heat from yesterday’s heatwave, and nothing like the unyielding heat in California. The sweat cools on my skin.

There’s a ruckus from the direction of the entrance, and I can see cars parked out the front. A practice must be starting soon. Unwilling to start the trek back home, I climb the stands and sit on the home bench where my dad used to sit. The parents start to fill in, filtering around me. Some give me odd looks–as they should, considering I do not belong to any of the children running onto the pitch in their football boots.

“There you are,” a voice says from behind me, and I let my head drop as my dad falls into the seat beside me.

“How’d you know I was here?”

“Well, my first clue was watching you run full pelt down Llewellyn Road. And the second was Rhodri texted me.” Dad waves his hand in hello to Rhodri, the same coach that’s been here for the last thirty years. Rhodri returns his wave before turning his attention to the group of eleven year olds lining up in front of him.

“What’s up, bach?” Dad asks softly, the term of endearment one that he only ever pulls out when I need his help.

I shrug, sitting back in my seat and rubbing my hands across my head. “Cassie left.”

Dad keeps his attention on the pitch. “I heard. We all like her. She’s good for you.”

“We’re not together, Dad.”

“Neither are your mother and I.” He shrugs. “We’re just friends.”