Dan picked up the bag as Libby dragged Karim in his stroller past him, her words resounding in his ears.
She couldn’t possibly know the half of it, but fuck it, she was right.He did have to move on from his accident—and hewastrying to move on, wasn’t he?That was the whole point of coming to the Cooks?This was supposed to be his time for reflection.For getting stronger, mentally and physically, without the press constantly in his face.
He opened the bag.His running shoes, the ones that had gone missing at Christopher Mac’s house, were inside, along with a handwritten note.
You’ve won the battle.Show off your scars.
“What the hell’s this supposed to mean?”he called out, barely seeing Libby through the trees now.
“You’ll work it out!”she called back.
Dan read the note again.Battle?The battle for life and death?The one his father had lost, but he’d somehow won?
A conscious decision to move on?
Libby was full of crap.She had no idea what these past six months had been like.Six months of pain.Six months of dealing with the mental shit as he processed the fact that he could no longer do the one thing he’d loved doing.Not only that.Running was his career.His main source of income.It was what defined him.
And his scars?Wasn’t that what everyone wanted to see?The shell of the elite athlete the angry horse had left behind.The stiff leg, the limp.The ruined career.The failed engagement.Absolutely everything that he’d lost.
Except he hadn’t lost his life.His mother.His sisters.His friends.His achievements.His house.His money.He still had a healthy pot of that.Certainly more than most.
Count your blessings.
Well, he just did, thanks, and did he feel any better?
No.
Dan toed the undergrowth.
He felt like a shitty, ungrateful bastard.And he couldn’t shake this irritation at Libby—because she’d made him face up to being that shitty, ungrateful bastard.Rightly so, but still.It pissed him off.She’d also called him a prick, dick, and arsehole more times this past week than anyone else had done in his whole life.He’d deserved it, but now, everything was gnawing at him to prove to her that despite how it appeared, he wasn’t a prick, dick, or an arsehole.Not at all.
“Libby, wait!”He hobbled after her, and by the time he reached her, she was already on the track that led back to the village.
She stopped, and as she raised her eyes to his, something vulnerable flashed across her face.Something that made him feel like she truly did care about him.Not just his story.And damn it, he cared about her too.Before the other night, he’d genuinely liked Libby.Still did.And the more he stood here, staring at her like this, the more he accepted that she wasn’t full of shit at all.
Annoyingly, she’d profiled him pretty accurately.
“Um… I… Thanks for the shoes,” he said.
“You’re welcome.”
“So, um…” The humidity was suddenly getting to him.His cheeks were hot, and his brow slicked with sweat.Was today the day he moved forward with his life?Rebuilding it wouldn’t happen overnight.Or even next week.But what if right now was the start of the rest of his life?“So… I’ve counted my blessings,” he said.
“Okay.”
“And I’ll stop sulking, too.Eventually.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“Will you tell me about your notebook now?”
She shook her head.“Forget the damn notebook.”
The forest rustled beside them.
He tried again.“Why were you interviewing the priest the other day?”
“It’s what I do.”
