Page 48 of The Run Back Home

Still, I don't move. Not yet.

It didn't even register that I was doing it at first—stalling. Waiting.

I'm cooling down, I told myself. Doing a proper post-run stretch.

It wasn't until right now, when I reached for my left toe for the third time that I realized what was happening. My hamstring burned as I pushed it too close to its limit, leaning farther down while staring at the trail entrance near her building.

One hour, six miles, and a whole lot of lying to myself is what it took to get me to this point. I pulled on my joggers and a clubhouse sweatshirt, rode the elevator down a dozen floors, and turned left toward the park instead of my usual right toward the parking lot—all without much questioning.

It was hard enough a few years back to admit—to accept—that I still feel most at home here. That I still find that comfort Liam taught me to seek in the grass and trees and benches.

But running here? Never. I'm not that much of a masochist.

Or at least I wasn't until today.

And it's been nice, I can't lie. I haven't run outside like this—without having to dodge pedestrians or Golden City traffic—in forever. I forgot how even the trail is beneath my sneakers. How much easier it is not stepping off a curb every time I hit a new corner. How freeing it is to run however fast or slow I want to the sound of birds chirping instead of horns honking.

And all of that beats running on a treadmill for miles. Running and running while staying in place.

Somewhere between my warm-up lap and mile two, I had convinced myself that I was just ready to mix things up again. This park is my space, and it's time I act like it.

But now, as that stretch in my hamstring yanks me back to reality, I realize I've done it again—convinced myself that expecting Lenny O'Reilly to be here isn't as crazy as it sounds.

"Fuck," I mutter to myself.

I stand back up, shaking my leg and head simultaneously, cursing myself under my breath. I flap the bottom hem of my sweatshirt, looking for any sort of relief. The wind blows like it's on my side and trying to carry the truth away with it, but even the cool gust doesn't offer any comfort against my sweat-locked skin.

I don't even know why I think she might show up. I don't know why I'd even want her to. All I know is that the same thing has started happening to me since I saw her here two weeks ago that used to happen in goddamn high school. Lenny—or Nora or Lenora or whatever it is she goes by these days—O'Reilly shows up, and for some reason… so do I.

Not just appearing out of nowhere, but finding her—seeking her out without realizing I'm doing it. Right elevator, wrong time. A coffee cart I'd otherwise pass right by calling my name at the hospital after I schedule V's appointment.

Waiting for her in fucking parks.

Like I'm seventeen again.

But the payoff's not the same.

With that thought—and the resentment I feel for both of us—I turn toward my building and take my first step.