Heartbreaker (Unbreakable #1)(89)
I’d even begun to trust with my art again: I approached the owner of Eiselmann’s Gallery, where we’d held the Industrial Grunge party, and made arrangements to create a few pieces to sell there.
But when I touched my Vibrams to the dirt, adhesive racing number affixed to my shirt and baseball cap tugged down low, I missed him. A huge part of me wanted to share the incredible experience of the race with him, show him how far I’d come.
The starting gun fired, its shot echoing off the rock walls of the mountain to my left, scattering my thoughts. Our pack of men and women took off together, one hundred and thirty-seven in total, according to the race official who’d checked me in at the starting area.
Not having raced before, I kept toward the back to begin, wanting to make sure all the extremists had full command of the trail at their breakneck pace. Runners had varying options to race: five miles (once around the four-mile lollypop loop and back to the finish line) or nine miles (taking a second turn around the loop). I went for the five-mile race.
Before long, I passed several runners, both women and men. A few bottlenecks occurred at boulder outcroppings, forcing me to scrabble up the steeper outside so I didn’t have to slow down.
In the last mile of the loop, while negotiating a downhill filled with loose granite and ducking under pine branches, my shoulder got jostled, a rude female competitor shoving her own path through. I stumbled, causing a slide of loose rock, then fell into a tumbling roll over jagged riprap along the edge of the trail.
Pain flashed into my head, my knees, and my hands as the world spun wildly. And then I finally skidded to a stop on softer dirt. On a dragged-out groan, I slowly rolled onto my back. I had a sudden splitting headache while I sucked in deep breaths, beginning to take stock of my injuries. I could breathe without pain. Always a good sign.
“You okay?” A deep voice rumbled above me.
I blinked open my eyes to see a dark-haired stranger staring down at me.
“Think so.” My mind flashed to another fall, another trail, and Darren’s concerned words: Shit. Kiki, you okay?
“Let’s make sure everything’s working.” The man assisted me up, then handed me my dusty baseball cap that had been knocked off my head. After a few seconds of arm and leg bending, and his quick check of my pupils, we verified I didn’t need immediate medical attention.
His thigh muscles twitched, and he shifted his weight from one leg to the other. I glanced at the race-number bib on his shirt. He wasn’t a racing official; he was a runner.
“Go!” I laughed, pointing down the trail. “Kick some ass for me!”
After he tore off, two other kamikaze runners whizzed by, bounding down the rocky incline at insane speeds. Once I sensed a safe opening, I walked onto the trail. Other than a headache which had dulled, scrapes and bruises that stung, and general soreness, everything seemed to be functioning properly for me to continue the race.
I took a couple of tentative skips, then settled into an easy jog down the incline, planting careful footfalls on packed earth. When nothing sparked with pain, I picked up the pace until I returned to my former racing speed.
From practice runs, I knew less than half a mile remained of the loop and half a mile of return straightaway, which led toward the finish line. My guard was up, every sense heightened after the fall. I actively listened for footfalls behind me, shoulders tensed, prepared to body check any other runner who felt trail running was a contact sport.
But the remainder of the race passed without incident. Four runners sprinted by in the last hundred yards. I increased my speed, nice and steady, until the finish line blurred by.
Cheers and shouts rang out from spectators, officials, and other race finishers.
But no one for me specifically.
Because I hadn’t invited anyone.
A tiny romantic part of me hoped Darren would be there. But logic told me he couldn’t be. He needed to be strong for his sister. We couldn’t be “just friends.” And not once had he ever sent mixed signals.
Gasping for air, I jogged a few more strides, then slowed to a brisk walk, raising my arms over my head as I spotted the aid station. After my breaths slowed enough, I slammed a few small cups of their electrolyte drink.
Two medics sat behind a table on the end. One of them raised his brows at me and stood. But I felt fine, so waved him off and wandered past, planning to check out the two rows of vendor tents at the near end of the parking lot.
“Congratulations, Flash.”
My heart stuttered. The deep familiar voice slid over my skin like a sensual caress.
This isn’t really happening. I kept walking and lifted a hand to rub my fingers over my scalp through the canvas baseball cap. Must’ve hit my head harder than I thought.
“Flash?”
Darren.
I froze in place. “You’re real,” I whispered, unable to believe it.
My knees began to shake, and I spun around slowly so I didn’t crumple onto my ass.
There he stood. That shaggy black hair I loved so much framed his face. Those deep green eyes sparkled in the direct sunlight. A thin black T-shirt hugged his muscular frame, draped over faded jeans.
Beautiful.
Here.
His eyes suddenly widened and he rushed over, closing the seven-foot distance between us. “Oh, shit. Kiki…” His voice softened at my name and his hand raised, hovering over my left cheek. But he didn’t touch me. “Damn, baby, are you okay?”