Mission accomplished.
I pulled in a slow steady breath and kept my gaze trained on her. I had to resist the urge to smile and tamped down the triumph that bubbled within me.
“Okay.”
* * *
We went to the little café area outside on the terrace. The minute she chose the farthest table away from everyone, I knew she was going to tell me something private, something I’d suspected but hadn’t wanted to confirm.
We sat opposite each other. I kept up my strong demeanor, never faltering, never allowing her to see just how much she’d hurt me over the last couple of weeks.
She looked me over and pressed her lips together. I took the moment to look at her too and couldn’t help but notice the paleness in her skin and…
She had no eyelashes.
God.I immediately felt like the bitch. I’d have sworn only days ago she’d had lashes. She may have looked sick, but I would have noticed if the lashes were gone then.
Her brows looked fine, so I couldn’t tell if whatever was wrong had affected them. Mine were microbladed so I would always have the outline of eyebrows shaded in if something unfortunate happened to my brows. She could have done the same.
“Can this talk be off the record? Please?”
I straightened up. “Yes, of course. It’s not like I’m here with you for an interview. I’m just here.”
She nodded and got the tense look again, like she found it difficult to speak.
I took the risk again and decided to be bold. “You’re sick again, aren’t you?” I enquired.
She nodded, slowly and thoughtfully. Then she stared right at me with sad eyes.
“The cancer came back, a small lump, this time in my lungs. I’ve been having chemotherapy. Radiation didn’t work, but chemo is helping. It’s helping a lot, but like before, it’s taking its toll on me.”
I didn’t know what to say. This was sad on another level.
What could anyone say besides sorry? When Ryan had told me his wife died of cancer, I hadn’t known what the hell to say then either.
Now Sally had it again.
“I’m truly sorry to hear that. I…truly am.”
“Thank you. Brooke, I’m not going to be able to do the marathon in July, and I really think this is it for me. My days of running are over. I don’t want this to get out, but when it does, people will pity me all over again. They’ll lose faith in me. It’ll be a joke to even compete because I won’t win.”
Winning—that was never her thing. Her victories were the result of her inner strength and her belief in herself.
“Winning isn’t everything.” I reminded her.
“I know, I do know that, but you enter a race to win, right? Look at me: I’m wearing a wig. I look like shit, and people will soon know something is wrong with me. I always wear my hair up when I run, but now I don’t have any.” A tear ran down her cheek, surprising me.
I shook my head at her. “Fuck hair, and who gives a shit what people think? You said a marathon’s a marathon whether you walk or run. What matters is that you do it.” I held her gaze.
Her lips parted and she wiped away another tear that ran down her cheek.
I sighed and thought I’d elaborate. “People will understand if you’re too sick to compete. Your fans will understand and love you whatever you decide to do. They’ll still love you whether you win or lose, because it’s never been about that with you. You got the title of ‘Most Influential Person’ for a reason. I can assure you it wasn’t because of how many medals you’ve won. It’s because of how many people you inspired to believe in themselves.” People like me.
She looked at me like she couldn’t believe what I was saying.
“Really?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
