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"Not nearly as much as I'll miss you."
"We can still run together," I say, the thought of losing our early morning conversation saddening.
Three days a week for that last four years, we've talked on the phone while Chloe pounded the pavement of downtown Denver. She always runs outside while I prefer the safety of my treadmill. It's hard to talk and run at the same time. If I didn't worry about her out there alone, in the early hours of the morning, I wouldn't force her to call me.
But I do worry. More than she'll ever know.
So instead of sleeping in, I pull myself out of bed and wait for her to call. Sometimes, I turn on the treadmill, sit next to it, and drink coffee. Other times, I actually get on and run. Either way, she's on the phone with me until she's back in the building.
It's kept her safe so far. Only once have I been concerned for her safety even with me on the other end of the line. A homeless man stopped her, asked her for help, and wouldn't take no for an answer. She was able to slip past him and keep going.
But my heart stopped in my chest as I listened to their interaction. Memories of my own experience slapping me across the face, bringing back visions of the only time in my life I'd rather forget. The one part of my past I've never shared with anyone, even Chloe.
"Babe, I'm going for a run,"I call down the hall.
Chances are, Liam's still asleep. Ten minutes ago, I tried to wake him up. My efforts were met with resistance. We got in late last night. He drank twice as much as I did and told me before we crawled into bed he was skipping his first class. That also means I'm running alone this morning.
As much as I hate when he skips, I get it.
We had a big night last night. Liam graduates in two months with his master’s degree, and they honored him last night for his academic achievements along with three other students. If we were in high school, Liam would be the valedictorian of his class.
Locking the door behind me and sliding the key in my sock, I glance down at my right hand. My mother's wedding ring sparkles, the porch light above me catching every angle. I love that she gave it to me after my father passed, but I hate it at the same time.
It’s a constant reminder of my father, both in a good and bad way. I loved him and miss him every day. My mother’s wedding ring reminds me of the day we lost him. Of the pain I felt the moment I knew he was gone. Every now and then, the pain comes back when I look at the ring and the memories ambush me.
Stretching my arms and legs, I take off down the dark street toward campus. The sun should start rising any time now. It's my favorite part of the day. It's as if the neighborhoods come alive as daylight breaks.
Until that moment, it's just me and the road beneath my feet.
And the random stranger running toward me on the other side of the road.
Waving as I pass him, he nods and continues at a pace much greater than mine. As I turn the corner to head back to the house, the vision of him running comes back.
He was dressed in jeans and a dark sweatshirt. The hood was pulled up, his face hidden.
What kind of person runs this early in the morning, dressed like that, unless they're running from someone or something?
Just as the thought crosses my mind, I catch sight of him again. He's a few houses ahead of me, standing in the middle of the sidewalk, bent over at the knees. He looks like he's trying to catch his breath.
A feeling of unease washes over me and I cross to the other side of the road to avoid getting too close to him. As I pass, I keep my eyes trained on him. When he looks up at me, our eyes meet, and he nods again.
Suddenly, a set of arms wraps around my middle and lifts me off the ground. My gut instinct is to scream, but a hand is covering my mouth. Fighting as much as I can, I kick the person holding me and try to escape his grasp until he puts a hand on my throat and squeezes.
The man across the street slowly approaches us, his eyes burning into me. He stops a few feet away and his eyes leave mine, looking past me to the person holding me hostage.
"Take the ring and let's get out of here," the man behind me says when the streetlight above us flickers off, sunlight starting to surround us.
When he reaches for my hand, I curl my fingers into a fist and squeeze as tight as I can. They can't have it. It's irreplaceable.
"We can do this the easy way or the hard way," the man in front of me says.
He can't be more than eighteen years old. Dark hair. Dark eyes. I'm attempting to commit his face to memory when he punches me in the stomach. It hurts, but I push the sting away.
Tightening my fist when he attempts to take my ring again, the hand covering my mouth moves away just as he punches me in the jaw. Pain radiates through my face. Without thinking, I attempt to raise my hand to my face. He takes advantage and pries my fingers open, removing my ring.
"Give it back," I demand through gritted teeth.
He doesn't reply. Instead, his buddy tosses me on the ground and kicks me in the stomach twice before they run off down the street. Lying on the sidewalk, I hold my stomach as the pain begins to spread. When I finally push myself into a standing position, I feel moisture begin to pool in my underwear.
Something isn't right is all I can think, and I slowly make my way back to the house, holding my stomach the entire way.
Chloe spendsthe next hour attempting to convince me that Adam coming is a good thing. I appreciate her support, and I can see the worry on her face.
The only thing is, my focus has shifted. I'm no longer worrying about Adam, his upcoming visit, or the way he makes me feel completely lost without him. I'm thinking about my past and the things I'll eventually have to share with him if we take our relationship to the next level.
