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fourteen
Delaney had a little more Heaven’s Door, then crawled under the thrift shop quilt made from pinks and greens, her secret favorite color combo, and fell asleep on the couch. She woke the next morning to the sound of the needle scratching at the end of the Bob Dylan album. Faint beams of sunlight pushed through the half inch along the bottom of the window where the shade hadn’t quite met the sill. She sat up and stretched, feeling remarkably levelheaded considering she didn’t usually drink. But whiskey, in small amounts, had been a part of her life since she could remember. Dad wasn’t a heavy drinker, and he didn’t buy pricey stuff, but there was always a bottle of Maker’s Mark behind the counter and he and the guys usually ended the day with two fingers. When Delaney was little he’d let her stick her pinky in the glass and taste it. It was only a drop and it made her nose wrinkle but she didn’t care. If her guys were doing it, she was going to do it, too.
Delaney checked her phone, half expecting a cancellation text. Nothing from Sean, but there was a text from Boom.
Happy Independence Day!
She checked her watch. Well hell. It was the Fourth of July. Now that she thought about it, she’d seen pop-up stands selling fireworks all over the place but hadn’t really paid them much thought, other than getting a creepy-crawly feeling down her spine. Delaney wasn’t going to lie, setting off fireworks had been fun as a kid. She and Dad would drive into Missouri and load up on all the fireworks that were illegal in Nebraska and once it got dark they’d spend hours setting off bottle rockets, spinners, smoke bombs and firecrackers. The multicolored spray under the dark sky, the smoke rising high as the moon, the smell of sulfur and the dying edge of that year’s crop of June bugs buzzing in the streetlamps had made everything seem magical.
But explosions were different when you’d spent a good chunk of your life hoping your convoy didn’t hit an IED.
Thanks, Boom. You too.
You doing ok, Pip?
Yeah, I’m good. Going for a run.
[vomit emoji] Any news on the bike?
Not yet.
Hang in there, Pip.
Delaney decided not to tell Boom, or any of the other guys, that one of the Dudes had tried to come up here, into her apartment. She hadn’t told the guys anything about the Dudes because that would open up a long line of aggressive questions Delaney wasn’t prepared to handle over text. She toured her apartment, giving everything a once-over with new eyes. What could he possibly have been after?
No point in driving herself crazy about it. Delaney shook it off, dressed for the 10K in shorts and an airy tank top, then bypassed the kitchen, deciding to run fasted. Many people loaded up on big breakfasts, but fitness had been a part of Delaney’s life so long she knew what worked for her and what didn’t. The big breakfast would come after the run, not before, unless she felt like hurling a few miles in.
As she laced up her shoes she tried to tell herself that she’d agreed to do this today because of the bourbon and that she should probably lay off making deals unless completely sober, but that would all be a lie. She wanted to run and she wanted to win this race, and she would make that bet again, in the light of day, with no liquor running through her veins. Delaney hated to admit it, but she’d made this bet because she’d come to like how she felt around the big, gruff detective and by running this race she had an excuse to be around him some more. Plain and simple.
She headed downstairs and grabbed her truck keys. She’d have to wear completely different clothes to ride the Rebel, so she would meet Sean at the bike trail that ran along the highway in the old Ford. Delaney arrived early and parked in the supermarket lot. She waited only five minutes before Sean arrived, also early.
“You can still back out,” he teased as they met by her truck and walked up the slope of hill that led to the bike path.
“That’s no way to give yourself a pep talk, Detective.” Delaney messed with the buttons on her GPS watch, trying to decide if she was going to use it, as they’d already mapped out their route.
“Turnaround spot’s by the entrance to the park,” Sean reminded her.
“I know.” Delaney stared at the watch, waiting for it to acquire a signal. “Trying to decide if I want to try to go for a personal best today or just take it easy.”
“Oh, really.” Sean gave her a fake glare.
He looked different today, for some reason. Maybe he hadn’t shaved or his hair wasn’t combed as neat, when typically everything about Sean was as neat and crisp as the mints he ate. Maybe Delaney had never seen him in the reddish wash of morning sunshine, or with a backdrop of traffic whizzing by. He seemed less like a detective, less like a fitness geek. Before now, Delaney could picture Sean in one of two scenarios: Detective Sean and Gym Sean. She could envision Detective Sean chasing down a perp, talking on his radio, cuffing a suspect or, strangely, doing paperwork at his desk. She could envision Gym Sean knocking her over during handstands or gasping in a puddle on the floor after their 5K race. Then there was the Sean from the “My House” video, which was an entity unto itself, but today was completely different from all that. Today, Sean just looked like a rugged, handsome guy going out for a weekend run. Just a runner named Sean.
And she didn’t hate it.
“When’s the last time you ran a 10K?” he said.
“Um.” Delaney shook herself out of her own head. “Two weeks ago. You?”
“Eh.” Sean looked up at the sky, like he was mentally sorting days or months. “Two years ago?”
Delaney laughed and looked back to her watch. Still no signal. “Good luck today, then.” She’d decided on her strategy: start out below race pace, allowing Sean to think she was giving the first half of the run around 80 percent. Pick up the pace for the next two miles and then, for the last one, open up the gas tank.
“Oh, I don’t know.” Sean started bouncing on his toes, like he was getting ready to run the Rocky Steps up the Philadelphia Museum of Art. “I think I have a...three, two, one, go!”
And he took off.
Delaney looked up from her watch in time to see Sean tear a blue streak down the bike path. He didn’t stop and say he was kidding. He didn’t turn around and come back for a proper start. He really kept running. He really had just cheated, and was not ashamed of it. Delaney burst into laughter. “Okay, Detective,” she said, just as her watch beeped with acquired GPS. “Game on.”
