Plotnik, who always did love to place a bet, frowns at him. “You’re a piece of work.”
“What?” Gutierrez shrugs. “Bro, it’s Phoenix.”
Nobody asks Gutierrez what the hell that means. They’ve been with him so long, they don’t need to.
I listen to the familiar shit-talking from my old crew as I stretch my calves, my hamstrings, my arms.
“Don’t worry.” Casella jostles me with his elbow. “You won’t be the one wearing your underwear outside your shorts. We all know it’ll be Tomcat over there.”
Tomcat, aka Thomas, sits on a pony wall, eating his third race-sponsored donut. The guy absolutely cannot say no toa donut. They’re his kryptonite. At this rate, he’ll likely be vomiting halfway through the race.
“How about,” I say, taking a break from stretching my calves, “we make a different bet? If I win, you all have to wear your underwear outside your clothes?” This way, Tomcat may still be on the losing end, but he won’t be the only loser.
The crew’s collective gaze is on me. Gutierrez points at my chest. “You have yourself a deal, hero.”
The crew knew I was coming today. I was registered to run with them. They had a custom-printed shirt ready for me, to match theirs. The front says Phoenix FD, the back says Running for Ryan. Nobody acted like anything big was happening when I walked up. There were hugs, the mutedthwackof solid back slaps. Gutierrez boomed, “What’s good, buddy?” and hugged me a little harder than the others. He and I went to the academy together.
I hadn’t allowed myself to feel how much I missed these guys. These friendships.
The race begins.
They all keep up.
Halfway through, Tomcat peels off and pukes in a potted palm tree.
One by one they slow their pace. Gutierrez is the last, and he’s trying to pass me. As the finish line banner comes into view, I turn on the afterburners and sprint. He’s not expecting it, and yells something I can’t hear.
Avery and my parents are waiting at the finish line. I run straight to Avery, who’s bouncing on her toes, her smile wide and proud. My mom and dad clap for me as I plant a kiss on my girl. Endorphins stream through me, concealing the screaming burn of all my muscles.
Mom holds out her arms for a sweaty hug, and my Dad delivers a hard squeeze to my shoulder. “Proud of you, Son.”
The rest of the crew trickles over the finish line. Even Tomcat, accompanied by Casella.
“Lookin’ green around the gills, Tomcat,” my dad bellows.
“Donuts, sir,” Tomcat responds, and my dad shakes with laughter.
The guys are all enthusiastically greeting Avery. It’s been years since they’ve seen each other. Plotnik lingers, urging Avery off to the side and speaking quietly to her. She nods, accepting whatever it is he’s saying, and smiles graciously.
We have reservations at a nearby breakfast spot. In the car, Avery hands me a package of wipes. “I love you, but you stink.”
I hold up the package. “Baby wipes?”
“Read the front,” she says, shifting into drive. “Man wipes.”
Avery glances in her rearview mirror. My parents are behind us.
“How are you?” she asks, glancing at me quickly.
“I’m good. Really good.”
I read the follow-up questions she hasn’t yet asked, and answer them. “Everybody was normal. Like nothing happened. I was nervous when I first walked up, but then it was all ok somehow.”
“They love you.”
I ball up the used wipes and toss them into an empty plastic bag on the floorboard. “What did Plotnik say to you after the race?”
Avery signals her turn. “He apologized.”
