I arch an eyebrow.Someone is not a fan of his cousin’s boyfriend.
She lets out a nervous laugh. “We broke up… At the wedding.”
“I’m sorry.” I try to hide how not sorry I actually am.
My brother may tease that he’s destined to be the loveable single cad to Garrett and my coupling, but I suspect his feelings for Sonora are deep. Even their failed in-person meet-cute at the New York City marathon, followed by her relationship with Micah, hasn’t dulled his feelings. Since meeting Sonora on thatonline blind runners’ group over a year ago, he hasn’t dated anyone.
“I am so sorry, Sonora.” Anker reaches over and squeezes her shoulder.
“How’d you end up here?” A smirk tips my mouth.
“After the breakup, I called Elliot. He works for the airline and got me a flight with a detour in Los Angeles. He lives in Long Beach. He’s here volunteering with the MVP Foundation and dragged me along to cheer you on.”
“How long is your detour in town for?”
“Until tomorrow,” she says.
The laser-like focus of Anker’s attention on Sonora is palpable. The air around us crackles with the charge between them. Part of me wants to tap Anker out, so he can run off with Sonora to take up as much time as he can while she’s here, but I know he won’t do that. Not to mention, we have a marathon to run to ensure the promise of the thing between them becomes something real.
“Let me take you out,” Anker blurts.
“What?” Sonora guffaws. “You’re about to run a marathon.”
“After.”
“I—”
“Runners, two-minute warning,” the announcer booms from somewhere in the distance.
“We should head out to let you all get ready,” Elliot says.
Anker reaches for Sonora’s hand. “May I take you out tonight?”
Brushing her long, dark hair behind her ears, she shifts foot-to-foot. “Meet me at the MVP booth after?”
“Yeah.” Anker grins, releasing Sonora’s hand as she and Elliot begin to walk away.
“The Larsen lore strikes again.” Tossing my hands up, I wiggle and dance beside my brother.
“Looks like someone is a Larsen lore convert.”
“I’m a Sonora and you sitting in the tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G, convert,” I sing.
“Stop,” he laughingly groans. “Let’s focus on the 26.2 miles we need to run.”
“Just name your firstborn after me.”
“Talk to your boyfriend. He won naming rights in a poker game.” He hands me one end of our tether.
“Oh god, I forgot… And you have dibs on his kidney.” I shake my head. “Seriously, what kind of poker are you playing?”
With the airhorn’s shrill whine, we take off in a power walk. We’ll remain in the back of the running cluster to keep us safe as we work toward securing a spot hugging the right side of the course.
Chaotic. Loud. Too many people. It’s everything I thought it would be and so much more. Once we break from the initial cluster of runners and find our spot hugging the right side of the track, we transition from a power walk to a steady jog. My muscles burn and twitch awake before settling into the run. A euphoric sensation drips along my veins.
We don’t run 26.2 miles each time we train, but we have done a few practice marathon sessions. This is so different. One, this one really counts. Two, despite this being in the city where I live, the twists and turns of the course zigzagging through Seal Beach’s streets are more disorienting than I anticipated. It’s like looking through a smudged-up pair of glasses. Some shapes are familiar, while others are distorted. Three, the kinetic energy that ripples through the race pulses anxiety along my veins.
Our strategy is to toggle between power walking and slow jogs. Some miles flash by like the snap of fingers. Others drag on and on—like, now. The once delicious runner’s high is replaced by this overwhelming urge to drop. My muscles scream to just stop. Each slap of my foot against the pavement pulses a dull ache down my legs.
