Page 32 of Will to Run

“I don’t have a choice, so I have to be,” she says, then rests her cheek on my back between my shoulder blades as we begin our amble along the path.

“You did good, Del,” I say, patting her hands.

“You’re too kind. We all know I fucked this up big time.”

“Nah. If you had fallen off, gotten hurt, and Storm had run off into the sunset, we would have been in lots more trouble. This is nothing but a speed bump.”

I feel victorious when she elicits a small chuckle, but then I feel her breathe out a long breath.

“Thank you, Jaxon. I’m glad you were here.”

While we slowly follow along, our bodies sway together with the cadence of the horses’ rhythm, and I keep my hand over hers. We don’t talk for most of the ride back, but it’s fine. Something about having her close to me feels like enough.

17

DELLA

My first full day went better than expected, and the two that followed were no different. With each passing day, I feel a little lighter. It’s crazy how quickly that happened after cutting out the cancer of a toxic pending marriage to an asshole. I am getting more efficient with every stall, and befriending a whole slew of fun people, too. The seasonal hires give off college 2.0 vibes; a transient, younger crowd floating from here to the ski towns in the winter… responsible enough to get things done, but still have the luxury of freedom.

But the best part of my barn chores is, without a doubt, seeing Jaxon first thing in the morning. He is there before every perfect Amberheart sunrise, looking delicious, and performing a masterclass in flirting with me. He dragged me outside the three mornings I’d been there so we could watch the sun peek out, and each morning, I found that the two of us would get closer and closer, but never acknowledge what we were doing. By Thursday, we were sitting on the picnic bench so close together I should have been in his lap. Right before the sun peeked into the heart, he put his arm around my shoulder, and I leaned into the touch, putting my head on him.

Up to this point, I haven’t seen him nearly as much as I would have liked, but I can’t fathom all the things he’s juggling. It’s probably for the best because when we are together, my God. There is electricity in the very air in which we exist. And the forced distance has given me a little time to show a modicum of respect for myself. I’ve been out of the game for a long time, and I’m not sure if this is a rebound or what, but I’m drawn to him in a way I can’t explain. Every time he looks at me, warmth spreads through me, and each moment he brushes up against me, my insides take flight.

There is still a tiny undercurrent of guilt, but I think that comes from the optics of moving on so quickly. I’ve been talking to Quinn at least twice a day, and she has been amazing at switching between Dr. Quinn and friend Quinn. After my daily processing sessions, where I’m opening up with some of the things I was previously embarrassed to share, I know walking away was necessary. Any sadness, guilt, and anger are directed at myself for agreeing to the whole charade in the first place.

Tripp never loved me. But I never loved him either.

On Thursday night, my packages arrive from Chicago. This must have cost my aunt hundreds and hundreds of dollars, but I have my stuff. Opening the boxes and pulling the things out is an experience in itself. I make two piles: one of things I’m keeping, and one to donate because they're too closely tied to a memory I don’t want to remember.

When I get to the bottom of the third box, there’s a photo album I don’t even have to crack open before the tears well in my eyes. It is my painting portfolio. My mother and I would take pictures of the things we painted and print them out to put in this book. My aunt didn’t pack up many sentimental items like this because everything is temporary right now, and I just need the bare minimum, but she included this. It means more than she’ll ever know. As I run my thumb along the cover, my heart drops into my stomach thinking about everything this book represents. It lived on the bookshelf in the family room, and although I could never forget it, it just became part of the background. I never would have thought to ask her to send it, but it’s here. And it’s forced my attention back to the painting I lost the courage to work on up to now. Maybe this is my sign.

Abandoning the fourth box, I throw on my painting clothes, go to the room I’ve set up with tarps and drop cloths, and start.

It’s the first time a brush has touched a canvas since August 2, five years ago, and I get lost thinking about that day as my hand mindlessly moves over the surface in front of me.

AUGUST 2nd - Five years prior

Being home for the summer afforded me daytime hours to paint with my mom. That particular afternoon, we had been painting and laughing together, talking about what a good time we’d had over the summer months and how we were both feeling bittersweet about my return to school.

When I got a call after dinner to go out, I was hesitant. Selena was notorious for getting into tricky situations, but we had a long history, and it was the last time I would see her before I went back to school, so I agreed.

When she came to get me, she said hello to my parents, who chit-chatted before the two of us went off to enjoy the night. We were heading to a party in Wicker Park, but when we didn’t get off the highway at the exit we were supposed to, I felt a sinking feeling in my gut.

“Weren’t we supposed to get off at that exit?” I asked, pointing at the ramp we’d just sped by. I’d given her the benefit of the doubt that she missed it by accident and was waiting for the correct exit to turn around.

“Oh, yeah, I know. I just have to pick something up first to make this party even better.”

My heart sank further. I didn’t even have to ask what it was, because there was nothing else it could be. When she finally got off, I insisted she take me home, but she promised she was just going to run in… it would be less than two minutes. I argued with her some more before wondering if I could just jump out of the car and call for a ride. But it was an area I wasn’t familiar with, and overall, it looked questionable, so I stayed put.

She tried to guilt-trip me, saying that I had agreed to come, but at that point, I was over arguing about the lie; I was just seething. Grabbing my phone, I texted my mom about what was happening. She told me to share my location and that she’d follow to pick me up when we stop. I said yes because I figured it would be quicker than calling an Uber, given where we seemed to be headed, and I didn’t want to be riding in the car with whatever shit Selene was picking up.

My mom must have left right away because she shared her location back to me, and she wasn’t far behind at all.

We finally pulled up to a house and parked outside a place that looked uninhabited. Windows were broken, and the porch looked like it was falling off. Since she assured me it would be quick, part of me hoped the person with the drugs would come to the car for the exchange, but when she killed the engine, I knew that wasn’t the case. She turned to me and happily chirped that it was time to go inside, like we were going to get candy from a corner store.

“Fuck you, Selene. If you think I’m leaving this car, you’re fucked in the head,” I gritted through my teeth. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever been that angry before in my life.

“Stop being such a baby. These guys are actually pretty cool.”