Page 28 of Running
But then you wouldn’t get the vision of Grace sitting in your hotel room.
And it’s definitely doing something to me, having her in my space. Knowing that her lavender scent will linger in the room after she leaves. That I’ll be able to pull back the memory of her being here.
I watch as she shifts a bit, snuggling into the couch more—like she’s looking for comfort.
“Johnson, I wanted to say again how grateful I am that you helped me get this position in the first place. You really saved the day.”
“Well, I’m glad I could help.”
Her genuine thank you is the most real part of this conversation so far. Everything else has been surface level.
For some reason, the generic, impersonal tone is making me uneasy. Unsatisfied.
So, building off of her thank you, I decide to strip down another layer of our polite façade.
“I meant what I said during the run too, Grace. I know we didn’t talk much the first year you were in Orlando, but I’d like to be friends, truly.”
At first, she looks like she doesn’t know how to react, but then a soft smile hits her face. “Me too.”
I debate whether to bring up our hookup in college, to apologize for getting weird on her that night, or at least acknowledge it. But then I decide that revisiting that night may embarrass Grace—and we don’t have that level of friendship yet.
She’s the one that fills the space instead. “It’s incredible that you gave fifteen million dollars to that program Aiden mentioned. When does it kick off?”
A subject I’m more than willing to talk about. “We’ve hired an executive director, and I’m hoping we can fast-track getting it up and running by the end of the year. I’m on the board and trying to stay as involved as I can.”
Her reaction is one I’ve not yet seen from her—admiration.
“That’s unbelievable, Johnson. What an accomplishment. It’s going to help so many kids.”
Her praise hits my chest hard. False compliments get thrown at me a lot, but from her—I can tell she means it. Especially with what happened between us at college, it feels good to hear she holds me in such esteem.
“Thanks. It’s something I’m really glad I’m able to do.”
“What inspired you to start the program?”
A natural question and one I know I need to develop a standard answer for once we launch, but this is Grace asking, not a reporter. My chest tightening, I debate whether to tell her more about my dad, my history.
Almost no one knows the full story. I’m definitely not ready to share that with her, but I feel compelled to tell hersomething, to release some of my secrets to her.
“My dad.” I swallow. “We’reestranged, I guess is the right word.”
Grace’s expression shifts, and she puts her notebook to the side. “That must be hard.” Her intonation is slow, like she’s taking care with her words.
“He’s not a good guy. Or maybe he would be without alcohol. Mom got us out when I was eleven, but it still had a ripple effect in my life for years after.” I’m not being detailed, but I trust she can read between the lines.
“I can imagine.”
“He was just so…” I think of a way to describe the verbal abuse, erratic behavior, and obsessive need for control without getting too graphic. “Mean. And toxic.”
She shifts towards me, looking like she wants to reach out to comfort me. She doesn’t follow through, though. “That’s beyond tough. You were only a kid.”
“Yep.” I squeeze the arms of the chair tightly. “My coaches during my middle and high school years were critical in helping me rebuild trust in men, to not assume the worst. I lucked outthat they recognized a kid that had been beaten down, and they not only gave me a chance to play ball, but also to reconstruct my confidence in other people.”
She links her big hazel eyes with mine, radiating empathy. “Thank god you had them.”
I breathe out, trying to relax my hands. “So, the program is a way to give back. What those coaches gave me, it’s priceless.”
“If it’s any reassurance, you are nothing like him, Johnson.” Her voice sounds strong and sure.
