“Yeah, I do.” With a growing pain in my stomach, I also know that not talking about things like that normally means there’s a reason. A bad reason.
“Come on.” She gives my butt a slap and starts moving forward again.
I’m forced to join her, though I don’t feel like running anymore. I want to sit and think. Vaguely remembering what Connor told me at Tiger Inn, I ask, “Have you met his dad?”
“At the fall race. He’s usually there with a woman.”
“A wife?”
“I’ve seen a few different ones over the past four years. Maybe they’re wives. Who knows? Then again, Ashton fell from that tree, so . . .” She turns to give me a pointed stare.
“And what’s he like?”
“He seems normal enough.” There’s a pause. “Though I get a weird vibe around them together. Like Ashton’s very careful about what he says and does.”
So Connor’s not the only one who senses something off . . .
“Anyway, so what if he did?”
“So what if he did . . . what?” I repeat slowly, not understanding.
“What if he broke up with Dana?”
“Oh.” Reagan may avoid awkward situations, but she doesn’t hold back on asking the hard questions. I like that about her. Right now, though, I could do without the interrogation. “Then nothing. I’m with Connor. I think.”
“Yeah, what’s going on with you two anyway? Have you . . .” She raises her brow suggestively.
I only shake my head and mutter, “You’re as bad as my sister. No. We’re taking it slow and easy.”
“Sounds boring if you ask me,” she mutters dryly. ”I’ll bet you’d take it hard and fast with Ashton.”
“Reagan!” I give her a playful shove and she starts giggling. But the thought has my stomach doing cartwheels. What if I were with Ashton instead of Connor? No. Impossible.
“You just seem so different around Ashton. And anything to do with Ashton.”
I snort. “Angry?”
She grins. “Passionate.”
Desperate to get the topic off me, I ask, “So are you and Grant together?”
Deftly leaping over a puddle, Reagan says, “I’m not sure yet. We’re pretty casual. Not ready to throw a label on it. Yet.” She ducks her head, a shy smile touching her lips. “I’m crazy about him, though, Livie. If I see him with another girl, I’ll probably go apeshit and kill them both.”
I frown, trying to picture Grant with someone else. I can’t, what with the way he trails Reagan like a lovesick puppy. And then I wonder if Connor is seeing other girls because we haven’t put a label on anything. What if he is? Does “slow and easy” mean “open to date”? If I saw him with another girl, would I also go apeshit? The girls introducing themselves at Tiger Inn made me realize that Connor could probably have his pick of women, but it didn’t really bother me. An image of Ashton kissing Dana flashes through my head and my stomach instantly falls. I know it’s not right but I recognize that now for what is was, aside from shock. Jealousy. It bothered me. As did hearing that girl at the bar talk about him. And then touching his arm after.
Reagan’s sigh pulls me out of my head and back into our conversation. “Whatever it is, we have to keep it under wraps until Grant is done with school.”
My responding frown tells her I don’t understand why.
“My dad! Aren’t you listening? Oh, Livie.” She gives an exasperated look. “Sometimes I wonder where your head is . . . My dad isn’t crazy about him.”
“Why?”
“He thinks Grant doesn’t take life seriously. Grant’s afraid he’ll kick him off the team if he finds out.”
“But . . . he’s going to Princeton. How much more serious can he get?” I say with a disbelieving snort.
“Serious enough not to do it in the library with the Coach’s daughter,” she mutters, picking up her speed.
Fair enough.
The rain has started up again. It’s a light, cool drizzle and it doesn’t take long to soak through my navy shirt. But I don’t mind it at all. The route Reagan has chosen is a tranquil street through a Pleasantvillesque neighborhood of pretty houses and manicured lawns and large trees, just starting to change colors. It feels good to be away from campus. I feel as though a weight has fallen off my shoulders. Maybe I’m spending too much time there, letting it become a bubble. I let the quiet environment envelop me as I enjoy my escape, focusing on my breathing, surprised that I’m keeping up with Reagan as well as I am.
And I think about Ashton. I wonder about his life, about his parents, about his mother. I wonder how he lost her. Was the cause of death sudden, like a car accident? Or was it an illness, like cancer? Thinking back to our conversation that first week, to his reaction when I told him that I was planning on going into pediatrics and specifically oncology, I have to think that it was cancer.
We haven’t reached the end of the street when Reagan hollers, “Let’s turn around. I’m getting cold and we have almost a mile back home.” She crosses the street to retrace our steps on the other side. “Do you think you can manage a bit faster? This rain sucks.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t trust that weather station anymore,” I call out wryly, sucking back a mouthful of water. My mouth is so parched that my tongue hurts, but I don’t want to overdo the liquids for fear of cramps.
“What weather station?” She glances over her shoulder to give me an impish wink as I speed up, trying to catch her. That only makes her run faster. Too fast for me, I decide, keeping a few paces behind, gazing out on the quiet road ahead. It’s long, with bumps and dips that we’ll need to navigate through, and I need to direct my focus or I’m liable to trip over my own feet.
On the opposite side of the street—the route we were just on—I spot a lone figure jogging. Another insane person out in this weather. My eyes flicker back and forth between the road and the silhouette as I continue. Soon, it’s close enough that I can identify a male. Even closer, I see dark, shaggy hair.
It’s Ashton.
With evenly paced steps, sleek movements, and a stony face, Ashton runs like a well-trained athlete. One in a drenched white T-shirt that clings to every ridge of his chest. And I can’t peel my eyes off of him. My heart is already pounding from the run but now I feel an adrenaline rush coursing through my body, giving me a boost of energy. I feel like I could run ten miles today, like I could leap over cars, like I could—
My hands just barely stop my face from smashing against the sidewalk.
I guess I made enough noise in my fall to alert Reagan, because she screams my name and rushes back. “Are you all right?”
I wince as I pull myself up, a sharp pain shooting through my ankle, a sting in my palm. “Yeah, I’m—” My words end in a hiss as another pain jolts me. “I must have tripped over that ridge in the sidewalk.”
She walks over to inspect the concrete and frowns. “You mean this small, imperceptible hairline crack?”
With a curse under my breath, I mutter, “I warned you.”
“You did. Now what are we going to do?” Biting her bottom lip in, she slides her phone out of her hoodie pocket. “I’ll see if Grant is around. Maybe he can pick us up.”