Page 11 of Freefall

She starts to climb in, but I stop her. “Wait.”

“What?”

“I’m Nate.” Her eyes sparkle like she somehow already knew that.

She walks around the car, stopping in front of me. She’s not short, but I still have a good nine inches on her. She reaches out a partially gloved hand. I take it, instantly feeling the electricity thrumming beneath the fabric. “Harper.”

The day I met her carved itself into my memory like initials on a tree. I’ve thought about it more times than I can count, yet I’ve never gone over every detail so thoroughly as I have since seeing her again yesterday.

I wipe the sweat from my brow with a towel, chugging my water bottle before pouring some over my head and pressing two fingers against my thrumming pulse. My heart rate is starting to come down, so I head to the bathroom and turn on the shower. This is what I do after every workout session.

Towel.

Water.

Pulse.

Shower.

Four steps. Nice, even, predictable.

The hot spray hits my sore muscles, and I let out a groan. This is the comedown. Some people get their high from drugs or alcohol. I get mine from running until my lungs burn and working my muscles until they ache.

It started back in high school when I first joined the football team. I wanted a way to quiet all the noise in my head, and it worked. Something about being out on that field made the intrusive thoughts fade into the background. I quickly became addicted to the thrill, the adrenaline that came from pushing my body to its limits. Winning was simply a side effect—one my teammates and coaches appreciated, but not something I ever cared much about.

Still, I quit after high school. I don’t know if I would have been good enough for college ball, but I knew I never wanted to go pro. It was easier to go out on a high note.

Exercising still gives me that adrenaline rush I crave, and usually it clears my head, but not today. Today, I combed through every detail of the day we met—what she wore, the first words she spoke to me, the way she pretended to walk on a tightrope because it scared her more than walking into that office.

So I kept running, hoping the scream of my muscles and the fire in my lungs would push her out, but they didn’t.

Her damp waves, those denim shorts.

Do you trust me?

I ran until I puked, then came home and lifted weights. Even now, standing with hot water cascading down my back, soothing my abused body, I can’t get her out of my fucking head.

I keep asking myself the same question.

Why did she come back?

I gave up trying to figure out why she left a long time ago, maybe because I knew I’d never get an answer, or maybe because I knew deep down I already had one. But why come back? Why now?

The soft buzzing of my phone drifts through the sound of the water. I shut off the faucet, grab a towel from the hook, and check the screen.

“Hey, man. Everything okay?” I answer. It’s the second time Luke has called today, and my mind goes immediately to Emory and Rowan.

What if something happened?

“Other than the fact that you’ve been ignoring my calls? Yeah, everything is fine.”

Rolling my eyes, I walk into my bedroom and pick out a pair of jeans and a gray T-shirt. It’s Saturday, and even though I’ll still be working from home for part of the day, I can be casual.

“You called once. I didn’t think you were so dramatic. Your girlfriend is rubbing off on you.”

I regret the words the second I say them.

Luke clears his throat. He knows better than to make a joke right now. “Speaking of Em…she, uh, wanted me to ask how everything went yesterday.”