The Wall of Winnipeg and Me

I blinked and let the anxious tears pool in my eyes for the first time. “But what if I can’t finish it?”

The voice on the other end let out a sigh. “You can finish the marathon. Graves aren’t quitters.”

Graves. Graves weren’t quitters. I didn’t want to cry. I wasn’t going to let myself lose it now of all times. At least not completely. “But I’m not really a Graves, and I haven’t even been able to finish twenty-six miles, much less twenty-six point two. Not once. I’m dying by twenty.”

“Vanessa,” he rumbled my name in a way that felt like a caress to my spine. “You’re a Graves where it matters. I don’t know anybody else who could do what you’ve done. Come out on top of what you have. You can do this. You can do anything, do you understand me? Even if you limp your way through the last sixteen miles, you’re going to finish it because that’s just who you are.”

This weird hiccup thing crept up my throat, and the next thing I knew, I dropped my hand away from my face to control myself. It didn’t take long, but it was the most difficult control I’d ever tried to get ahold of. With a few deep breaths, I put the phone back to my ear, emotion overwhelming my nostrils. “In case I die on my run, I want to tell you something.” I wanted to tell him I loved him. Fuck it. What the hell had I been waiting for?

He was a good man. The best type of man—for me at least. The more I thought about what was between us, the more I picked up on the breadcrumbs he’d been leaving for me for some time now. He cared about me. He more than cared about me. I knew it from the bottom of my soul.

“Tell me afterward. You’re not going to die,” he replied, smoothly with conviction.

“No, I need to tell you now just in case,” I insisted.

Aiden let out a sigh. “You’re not going to die. Tell me afterward.”

“But what if—?”

“Vanessa, you can do this. I’m not doubting you for a second, and you shouldn’t be doubting yourself either,” he demanded. “I know you’re hurting right now, but I’m willing to bet none of your sisters would be able to do what you’re about to do.”

He’d gone for the killing blow. The one thing in the world to resuscitate me. Aiden got me and he got me good. “I’ve got this,” I said in a muffled voice. I had to have this. There wasn’t a choice, was there?

“You’ve got this,” he repeated with more conviction. “You can do this.”

Now or never right? “I’ve got this.”

He made a light noise, a tender one. “That’s my girl.”

His girl? “I am?” I just outright asked him, hoping more than a little he wasn’t just… that was stupid, Aiden wouldn’t just say that.

“The only one,” he said it like there was no other choice in the world.

How could I not tackle universes with that kind of possessiveness from the most driven man I’d ever meet? “I might not be able to walk after I cross the finish line, but I’m going to do it. Can I call you after I’m done when I’m lying on a hospital bed?”

“You’d better.”

I have been through some shit in my life. I knew what pain was, I’d dealt with it on and off for years, sometimes more on than other years. I understood the basics of working hard and succeeding. And I liked to do my best at everything I attempted. I always had, and I wasn’t going to worry or wonder why that was.

But the marathon…

I’d prepared as much as I could to run it, considering everything. I knew my limits and my body.

But after that fifteenth mile marker…

Everything began to shut down.

I wanted to die.

Each step began to feel like hell incarnate. My shins were crying invisible tears. All my important tendons and ligaments thought they were being punished for something they’d done in another lifetime.

And I wondered why the hell I’d ever thought doing this would be my crowning achievement after my long road. Couldn’t I have just raised money for a charity or something? Was I too young to be a foster parent?

If I lived through this, I could do anything, I convinced myself. I’d do an Iron Man competition, damn it.

Okay, maybe I’d prepare for a triathlon if I finished this prison sentence.

If I finished it.

If.

If I didn’t die. Because it sure as hell felt like I was on the cusp.

I was thirsty, hungry, and every step sent a streak of pain straight up my spine and into my head since I’d begun to lose my stride and run sloppier. I might have had a migraine too, but my pain receptors were too focused on everything else to notice.

But I thought about Aiden, my brother, and Diana. I thought about Zac.

And I closed my eyes and pushed. Each mile got harder; hell, each foot became more difficult to move. I was slowing down because I was crossing into the Underworld.

But I could die after I crossed the finish line, because I hadn’t trained and busted my ass for months not to. If anything, I became more and more determined to drag myself across the finish line if it came down to it. By the time I made it to the last mile, I was more limping and lurching than even walking. My calves had locked up on me. My shin splints were going to be a serious pain in the ass for weeks to come, and my quads were shredded.

Honestly, I felt like I had the flu, Ebola, and strep throat combined.

Thinking back on it, I wasn’t sure how the hell I managed to cross the finish line. Sheer will and determination, I guess. I’d never been so proud of myself or pissed off at myself than right then.