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“A little something to say I’m proud of you.” She tugs on the zipper. “I thought you could wear it to your celebratory dinner with Ethan tonight.”
As she sweeps the garment bag aside like a ceremonial curtain, I suck in a breath. It’s the stunning, sapphire-blue cocktail dress from Bloomingdale’s—the one I’d drooled over but could never justify buying myself.
“Brynn, this is too much,” I say, although I can’t help caressing the silky soft fabric. “Besides, I doubt Ethan is taking me somewhere this fancy simply to celebrate me finishing the marathon.”
Her gaze softens, and when she speaks, her voice is low, almost a whisper. “Not only that.”
“What do you mean?”
Hesitation flickers in her eyes, like she’s not sure how much she should reveal. “Let’s just say, I know my brother. And wherever he takes you, this dress will be perfect.” She holds my gaze a moment longer and adds softly, “I hope you two have a really good time.”
My heartbeat skips, then stops altogether. Is she—Did she…?I blink, wondering if I’m reading into things. It almost sounds like Brynn gave us her blessing. And I honestly don’t know how I feel about the possibility. At a loss for words, I pull her into an embrace, the dress pressed between us, and murmur a simple but earnest thank-you.
“Break a leg today,” she says, borrowing the common showbiz sentiment for good luck before thinking better of it. “Or, maybedon’tbreak a leg.”
“Thanks,” I laugh. “I’ll do my best.”
“You’re going to do great. I told Ethan to record you crossing the finish line.”
“For proof?” I tease.
“No, you cynic. Because I hate that I’m missing it. I know you’ll finish.” She pauses before adding gently, “You’re not the same person you used to be, Q. And I don’t merely mean from when we were kids. You’ve grown even during these past few months. I don’t think I’ve told you this, but I admire you tremendously. And seeing how brave you’ve been has given me a lot to think about. About myself and about how much I’m going to miss you.”
Tears cascade down my cheeks now, but I don’t care. I throw my arms around her again, and for a moment, we simply cry together, finally allowing ourselves to grieve our inevitable goodbye.
Her words release something inside of me—the tightly clenched fear that no matter how hard I try, I’ll still be seen as Quincy the Quitter, the girl you can’t count on.
Encouraged, I carry her words with me, metaphorically tucked in my pocket as I complete mile after mile. When my muscles ache and my feet throb, I pick a spot in the distance and press forward, remembering that regardless of the past, I’m capable of more than I once believed.
It isn’t until the course rounds a corner that my resolve wavers. The mass of runners before me appear to rise toward the skyline as they ascend the Gapstow Bridge, cresting at the top, then disappearing down the other side.
I stop abruptly, causing another runner to bump into me. We both mumble an apology, and he runs on ahead. But I can’t move.
My labored breath becomes even more ragged, and my chest squeezes painfully. I close my eyes.It’s only a bridge, Quincy. A mechanism to get from one side of the pond to the other. It’s not some formative fixture in your life that holds power over you.
I open my eyes, forcing myself to take in the sturdy stone arch. It looks so different in spring, beautiful, even, to a casual observer. Against the backdrop of vibrant greens and blossoming branches, it’s easy to see why it’s a popular proposal spot. To most people, it marks a new beginning, the start of something wonderful. To me, it signifies the end—the end of hope, of an unattainable future.
I think of Ethan waiting for me at the finish line. He believes I can do this.
Icando this.
Gathering a shaky breath, I move one foot forward, then another, until I break into a run. Each time my rubber soles pound against the stone, images flash in my mind, tiny shards of disjointed memories.
Chad’s smile, so boyish and brash.
Thud. My heel hits the ground, carrying me closer to the bridge’s summit.
Another vision flickers, sharp and quick like a knife.
Chad falls to one knee. There’s a glimmer of something shiny and metallic.
Stop! Stop! Stop!I press both hands to my temples, willing the memories away. Burying them with thoughts of Ethan—a beacon of hope and subtle strength—I manage to make it down the other side. My pace quickens, leaving the bridge even further behind, further into the past where it belongs.
Suddenly, I experience a strange burst of energy. Gone is the fatigue, the heaviness, the strain. Harnessing what must be the legendary second wind, I sprint toward the finish line.
Ethan is waiting just beyond the billowing balloon archway, the most enticing sight I’ve ever seen.
But he isn’t alone.
