The Speed of Light: A Novel(34)

There has to be something. My eyes scan the office—the Warhol painting on the wall behind Nikki’s desk, the shelves with design and photo books. They finally land on the picture of Nikki and Claudia, arms around each other’s shoulders, medals hanging from their necks, standing at the finish line of a half marathon they ran together last fall.

The words blurt out. “I want to run a race.”

Nikki snorts, and I look up, glaring. “Sorry,” she says quickly. “It’s just . . . that doesn’t seem like you.”

I shrug. “It’s something I’ve always admired other people for doing but always thought was out of reach.”

She rubs the back of her neck. “You sure that’s a good idea? With your legs and everything? I mean, maybe you should check with your neurologist.”

I wave my hand dismissively. “They’re the ones who told me to try and have healthier habits. If I’m supposed to exercise, why not try to run a race?” Honestly, I’m not sure if the neurologist’s office would approve—and I’m not sure I could take it if they didn’t. Nikki’s still eyeing me, though, so I sigh. “If my legs start bothering me, I’ll stop.”

She nods slowly, as if allowing her mind to wrap itself around the idea. “A short race, right? Like a 5K?”

I have to bite back a chuckle—to a nonrunner, a 5K is anything but short. But it is the shortest possible race, and my mind is made up. My nod is confident.

Nikki nods back, cementing our plan. “Okay, then. You want to run a race, you’ll run a race. I’m thinking the Turkey Day 5K on Thanksgiving weekend—it’s the last local run this year, so we’ll have plenty of time to train.”

I scoff. “Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence.”

She holds up a hand. “Hey, it’s important to take things slow. But don’t worry—I am going to train with you. Starting today. You’re coming to the gym with me after work.”

My phone buzzes—a text from Connor.

Hey, beautiful. Movie tonight? I’ll bring pizza and The Empire Strikes Back.

Damn. My first test. A trifecta of temptation staring me right in the face—luscious food, one of my favorite films, and my hot new boyfriend.

A thrill shoots through me—is he my boyfriend?

No time to deliberate—Nikki reads my text and stares at me, a challenge in her eyes. I raise my chin, defiant, then text back:

I would love to, but I can’t tonight—going to the gym with Nikki. Rain check?

Sure. Have fun.

I nod at Nikki. “Okay.”





CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Two hours—two full hours of smelling stale sweat and humiliating myself on treadmills, ellipticals, and various other contraptions, each oddly resembling some ancient device of torture.

But thanks to Nikki, I did it.

Now, I’m dragging myself down the hall of my apartment building, soaked in sweat, arms and legs leaden, my feet shuffling across the faded gray carpeting because I’m drained of the energy necessary to lift them fully. And this is only the preshow. Tomorrow I’ll be slugged with the main event: soreness so powerful that it’ll hurt to move.

But dammit, it feels good somehow, like I’ve accomplished something.

I’m smiling to myself as I pass my neighbor’s door, which clicks open a crack. “Everything all right, Simone?” Mrs. Wallace steps out, pushing up her thick glasses with one hand and clutching closed her powder-blue terry-cloth robe with the other.

I smile. “Oh yes, everything’s fine.”

The old woman’s eyes widen, scanning me—my face flushed red from exertion, hair askew and matted with sweat. She scratches her soft white curls, puffs out her wrinkled brown cheeks. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Yep, just getting back from the gym.” I shrug.

She looks confused but chuckles, then lifts up a finger for me to wait, disappears back behind the door, and returns with a pan of chocolate cupcakes. “I did it again.”

They’re fresh, and as the gooey sweet chocolate floods my nose, drool pools within my mouth. “Oh, those look amazing, Mrs. Wallace.” I lean back against the tan wall, trying to distance myself from this temptation.

She beams. “You know I love to bake, but it’s always way more than I can eat all by myself.”

“Well, maybe I’ll just take one . . .” She thrusts the entire pan toward me, holding it out until I take it. “Okay, twist my arm. Maybe I can bring them into work so I don’t eat them all myself.”

Mrs. Wallace crosses her arms, a twinkle in her eye. “Or, you could share some with that strapping young man I’ve seen you with.”

She winks and turns back toward her apartment, the door shutting behind her with a soft click.

I stare down at the thickly frosted goodies in my hands, willpower sapping out of my weary bones. My stomach rumbles, struck by the intense hunger that comes after a workout. With a deep breath, I rush through my own apartment door, slamming it shut behind me, and stalk over to the fridge—I stick the cupcakes all the way in the back, behind the stale box of baking soda and last week’s never-to-be-finished quinoa. “There.” I nod, satisfied.

In my bathroom, I crank up a playlist on my phone so I can sing in the shower—off key but happy. Towel-clad, I pad to my bedroom afterward, toss my smelly heap of gym clothes in the hamper, and slip into the pajama set Mom gave me for Christmas—my coziest jammies, with fuzzy red pants and a top adorned in snowflakes.