Truly Madly Deeply: Chapter 73

“I Try”—Macy Gray

Everyone stared at me.

That included pets, small children, and out-of-towners who had come to support the 10K for Kiddies charity run.

“What’re y’all staring at?” Dylan stomped along the police barriers that bracketed the road, Grav strapped to her chest, bundled in her BabyBjörn. Posters for small businesses that sponsored the event were plastered along the barricades, and the Christmas crowd was thick and festive, nursing hot cocoa with extra marshmallows. “Never seen a woman running before?”

It wasn’t that I was running that made people do a double take, though. It was that I was doing it wearing a neon-yellow windbreaker, neon-purple leggings, rainbow sneakers, and my mom’s technicolor mittens. I looked like I’d been vomited up by a unicorn. Glass half-full: If I veered off course and got lost, they could probably detect me from space.

“How do I look?” I asked Dylan, running in place by the barricades.

“Like my firstborn’s godmother.” She winked, grinning.

My breath hitched. “Really?”

“Totally.” She adjusted Grav’s beanie on her tiny head. “Hey, it’s only fair you’ll get more responsibilities, now that I dumped Tuck.”

“How are you feeling, Callichka?” Mom yelled from across the fences.

I nodded to her. “Perfect, Mamushka.”

“Focus on your breaths,” Zeta instructed seriously, standing next to Dylan. We were going to run a circle around the town and come back to the exact point we’d started from. There were maybe a thousand runners from all across the state. I looked around, trying to spot Row but couldn’t find him. Instead, I saw Allison, huddled in a corner with her dad and her former BFFs from the track team. They were all whispering and pointing at me. Allison looked cheerful, all perky and festive, like our conversation had never happened. To make matters worse—because they were always worse where I was involved—the number plastered on my back—you guessed it—was sixty-nine.

You can do it.

For Dad.

No, not just for Dad. For yourself too.

“Five minutes to go!” someone announced into a megaphone.

“Break a leg, Dot!” Dylan two-thumbs-upped me.

“Knowing me, I think you can count on it.” I stretched and twisted, ignoring my bullies, my trauma, my past, which was right there beside me.

“Don’t you dare!” Dylan wiggled a finger in my direction. “You’re Cal Litvin and you are as tough as a diamond, baby! Show these girls what you’re made of!”

The horn tooted noisily, ringing between my ears, and before I knew what was happening, my feet carried me forward, fast and wobbly. It took me a few minutes to gain my balance. To realize what was happening.

Then, I became steadier. More confident. I soared, hovering over the ground, feeling invincible. The air rolled into my lungs, clean and fresh, and I took it in greedily. I was alert but not scared. And I realized that without even trying, I was passing people left and right, until there was no one beside me and I was leading the race.

Once I let go of my fear, I shed it like snakeskin, letting it drop to the side of the road as I plowed through.

It took me less than an hour to return to the starting point, leaving everyone else far behind me. I almost wanted to stall when I spotted the barricades, cheering people, and hot cocoa stands. I didn’t want the run to end. But as I inched closer, the pitter-pattering of my heart had nothing to do with the run and everything to do with the man standing behind the barricades, holding a glittery, totally nineties-inspired sign that said:

oBITCHuary, I like your stamina. CALL ME!

—McMonster

It was in the same chat format we were used to, nestled inside a blue bubble.

I nearly stumbled over my feet, laughing hysterically, wiping the sweat off my eyes so I could see him better. Row waved the sign high, holding it above his head with that panty-melting, opaque smirk of his. There was a cigarette tucked in the corner of his mouth, and if that wasn’t the most Row thing I’d ever seen, I didn’t know what was.

I sliced through the red ribbon that was stretched across the road, pumping my fist in the air.

“You did it!” Mom squealed from the sidelines.

“I won!” Dylan did a little dance beside her, blowing a raspberry at my old track team members. “I did it. Victory is mine. Pay up, suckers!”

“Row!” Somehow, I found myself running straight toward him. I didn’t even care about people watching. He discarded the sign and ran toward me. We met halfway. I jumped on top of him, lacing my legs around his waist and hugging him close. He smelled of cigarettes and winter and pure masculinity. I never wanted to let go.

“I’m so fucking proud of you,” he murmured into my sticky, sweaty hair.

“I’m so proud of me too.” Maybe I was a little tingly in places I didn’t have the right to be tingly in. “And not just because I did Dad proud in heaven.”

He withdrew his face from my hair, pushing my wet hair out of my face. “Why else?”

“Because I stood up to Allison.”

He pulled back, frowning. “When did you have the time?”

“Christmas Eve dinner.”

“Dot, you savage.” He squeezed my waist. God, I hated that we were going to be friends now. Platonic. Cordial. I wanted his all.

“Row?” I asked. He lowered me down to my feet. Adrenaline still coursed through my veins when our eyes met. “She was the one who sent those people after you. She did…everything.”

“I know.”

“You do?” I cocked my head sideways, surprised.

He nodded. “She came over to my house late last night, probably after you paid her a visit. Looked like a wreck. Came clean. Begged me not to press charges.”

“And?” I held my breath, my eyes unwavering, studying his face.

“And I’m fucking thrilled you stood up for yourself because now I can finally get my pound of flesh.”

With perfect timing, Sheriff Menchin breezed past us, escorted by his cronies. He sailed straight to the corner where Allison and her mother stood.

“Allison Murray, you are under arrest for conspiracy, aggravated assault, and election fraud. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law…”