Page 140 of First-Time Caller
Speed-walking, as it turns out, is not the same as running a five-mile loop through the park.
Jackson doesn’t take pity on me either, his form and his pace unflinching as I wheeze and struggle behind him. I’m six feet behind him when we loop the pagoda in the middle of the park for the second time, and I trip over a discarded box of Royal Farms chicken, tumbling and rolling off the path.
I don’t bother getting up.
I lie on the ground and stare at the swaying branches above me. Jackson appears in my line of vision, his canteen straw in the corner of his mouth and his sweaty hair pushed back over his forehead. He’s not even out of breath, the bastard.
He frowns at me and props his hands on his hips. “What are you doing?”
“I tripped over a chicken box,” I point in the direction of the five-piece meal that got caught beneath my shoe. “Who just throws a chicken box away like that? On the sidewalk.”
He doesn’t turn to look. “I’m not talking about the chicken box. What are you doing here? At the park.”
“I don’t know, man. I’ve been following you.”
God. I can’t feel my legs. Or my arms. Sweat slicks down my back. I might never get up again. I’ll make my home here on the side of the pedestrian pathway in Patterson Park. Maybe they’ll decorate me for Christmas like they decorate the pagoda.
Jackson nudges me with his shoe. “You don’t like mornings. You don’t like to run. And you don’t like to spend time with people, so I’ll ask again. What the hell are you doing here?”
“Maybe I need to do more things I don’t like,” I reply, my voice hoarse from all the unnecessary panting. I lift my arms up and then flop them back to the ground. “Maybe I need to stop acting like an asshole all of the time.”
Jackson scratches at the back of his head, still studying me. “You’re not an asshole all of the time.”
“Most of the time,” I correct.
“Some of the time,” he amends. He sighs, then extends a hand to help me up. I groan the entire way up as he leverages me to my feet. He brushes a leaf off my shoulder. “What brought on this introspection?”
“Lucie,” I say, not bothering to wiggle my way around it. I’m too tired, and I miss her too much. “She cracked me right open, Jackie. I’m trying to be better.”
“And this sudden desire for morning exercise? That’s you trying to be better?”
I nod. “It is.” I stretch out a cramp in my side. I either need water or my internal organs are exploding. The backpack is suddenly a brilliant idea. “I haven’t been the best of friends to you. This is my apology.” I swallow. “I was also hoping you could help me come up with a plan.”
Jackson reaches out and presses two fingers against the pulse in my neck. I swat his hand away.
“Sorry, I just wanted to check your vitals. You just willingly asked for my help.”
“Trying to be better,” I repeat, teeth clenched. A better person probably wouldn’t sucker punch his best friend in the face. I want to, though, and his face splits into a grin like he knows it.
“You need help with a plan to win Lucie back?”
“Obviously.”
“Good.” He slaps me on the shoulder, turns on his heel, and starts jogging away. “Buy me a cruffin and we’ll talk it through.”
“You and this fucking cruffin,” I mutter.
I watch his retreating back, heave a sigh, then start to limp after him.
UNSENT TEXT MESSAGES FROM AIDEN VALEN TO LUCIE STONE
AIDEN:I keep waiting for you to walk through the door even though I haven’t given you a reason to.
AIDEN:Have you had the pineapple pizza from the place on Broadway?
AIDEN:I can’t stop thinking about you.
AIDEN:Fuck, Lucie. I think I could let myself love you too.
