Heathcliff smiled, his gaze on the rushing water. “More than you think.”
There was silence, the only sound water, wind, and buzzing insects. I’d just begun to inch back into the trees when I heard Brayden ask, “So, what’s with the girl at the party last night. Hawthorne, wasn’t it?”
“Back off, Brayden,” Heathcliff warned.
“Oh, ho!” his friend exclaimed. “There’s history there. I knew it.” Opening the cooler, he grabbed another beer, and opened it on the side of the truck. “Old girlfriend?”
“She seemed a little odd to me,” Ginger mumbled. “And that hair. It’s like she’s never heard of a straightener.”
“That’s jealousy talking, Gin,” Heathcliff admonished. “Watch it, okay? You’re better than that, and you don’t know her history.”
Ginger fell quiet, her brows furrowing. “I’m thinking Brayden’s right. You played a big part in that history, didn’t you?”
“Yeah,” Heathcliff answered, no apology in his voice. “I did.”
My curiosity wanted to stay, but my heart couldn’t handle where the conversation was going, so I edged backward. I was back on the road, my gaze on the path ahead of me, when I heard the truck start up, and I bristled. No matter how fast I ran, they were going to pass me as they left. Even so, my sneakers pounded the dirt, moving quicker than they’d ever moved. Sweat rolled down my back and into the loose white tank top I wore over a blue bandeau. My gray cutoff shorts were cotton and short, not the typical running shorts, but they kept me cool.
Behind me, a truck revved, pulling out into the road from the creek path. My shoes kept moving, the sound of the engine at my back growing louder. I stayed to the side of the road, wincing when I realized the pickup was slowing.
“Hawthorne?” Heathcliff called.
I fell into a walk, my breathing labored as he pulled up alongside me.
“Figures,” I heard Ginger hiss.
“It’s a small town after all,” Brayden teased.
Glancing askew at the truck, I threw them a small wave, and then started to jog again. The pickup kept following, the truck so close they might as well have been running with me.
“When did you start running?” Heathcliff asked.
On an exhale, I answered, “Two years ago.”
It was getting embarrassing jogging while they followed, my tank top soaked with sweat, my face red from the heat, and I slowed to a walk before stopping completely. The truck stopped with me.
“I’m okay,” I said. “You don’t have to follow me.”
Heathcliff stared, his gaze falling to my legs, to the muscles I’d earned there over the past couple of years. “What made you start running?”
“What does it matter?” Ginger breathed from the back seat. I don’t think she knew I could hear her, but with the windows down and the wind blowing, it was hard to miss.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I got talked into it by a friend and discovered I really liked it. He talked me into a few 5K’s after that, and it’s sort of become a side hobby I guess.”
“He?” Heathcliff asked.
If my cheeks weren’t already flushed, I would have blushed, and for the first time, I appreciated the heat. Motioning at the road, I took a step back. “Actually, I think I’m going to turn around now. I’ve got some work I need to do.”
Heathcliff patted the side of his truck. “Need a ride?”
“No,” I hastened to say, clearing my throat when I realized how harsh it came out. “My favorite part is the walk back.”
Next to Heathcliff, Brayden leaned forward in the passenger seat. “Walk back? You don’t run both ways? Why?”
My gaze met Heathcliff’s friend, noting the genuine curiosity there, and I shrugged again. “I like running because it lets everything go. I like walking back because it reminds me why I ran in the first place.” My feet backed up on the road, throwing up red dirt. “Thanks for the offer, but I’d best be going now.”
Turning, I walked away, my breathing slower but my pulse quick. Every step I took felt weighted, dragged down by the gazes I knew followed me.
“Come on,” I heard Ginger call.
Tires crunched over dirt and gravel, driving away from me. Our town was too small, and with Heathcliff in it, it felt like it was choking me. I was trapped between the girl who’d once loved a boy and the woman who wanted to know what he’d become.
I’d run to rid myself of the conversation I’d had with Heathcliff the night before. On the walk back, I kept recalling it, my mind playing the scene at the creek over and over again.
Something told me Heathcliff was leaving again, and I couldn’t risk getting close enough to let it hurt. Uncle Gregor was right. I’d learned a lot from my first broken heart. Weirdly, it had even healed me, but something told me the man Heathcliff had become wouldn’t be as gentle as the boy he’d left behind.
Chapter 27