The Heart Principle (The Kiss Quotient 3)

Thinking about her makes my eyes burn, and I’m too tired to fight the tears. I let them mix with the raindrops falling on my face.

Even as much as I hurt, I don’t regret loving her the way I did—the way I do. With our relationship, I was all in until it was clear it wasn’t the same for her. With MLA, I was all in, too. The company could tank or go on to be successful without me, and I’d still be proud. I did my part to the very best of my ability. Nothing can take that from me.

It’s not winning the race that’s important.

It’s this moment right here, when I’m lying in the mud staring up at the dark sky with rain falling in my eyes.

It’s facing the pain, facing failure, facing myself, and finding a way to make it to the end.

I rest my knee and thigh, giving my overworked muscles time to recover, and when I notice the pool of water forming on a section of my parka, I lift the waterproof fabric and drink it all.

The rain lightens into a drizzle, then a fine mist, before stopping altogether, and I get up and make my way back to the trail. I don’t need to check the time to know there’s no longer any chance of setting a record. I can’t run anymore today anyway, not responsibly. If I pass out and get eaten by wildlife or airlifted to a hospital, that doesn’t count as finishing.

I find a long stick, and I use it to take the weight off my bad leg as I hobble up this never-ending staircase to the clouds. When the sun sets, the canyon glows red like it’s on fire, and I forget to breathe as I take in the view. I wish someone was here to see it with me. Next time, I’ll do this right. I’ll train better for the elevation changes, I’ll bring more water, I’ll ask someone to come with me.

The trailhead comes into view, and even though I didn’t set a new record, I feel an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. It wasn’t pretty. I threw up, I fell, I cried like a little kid, but I made it. I finished.

I did my part. I’ll keep doing my part.

I finally feel like me again.

* * *

—

I return to SF the day after I do the R2R2R. There’s no sense in staying. It’s not like I’m going to do that run over again for kicks. My body can’t handle it. I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck and then pounded by a gang of pissed-off gorillas.

I’m looking at maps of the Grand Canyon on my phone while icing my knee and popping ibuprofen like candy when the intercom buzzes. I have a visitor.

Instantly, even though it seems like I knew her in another lifetime, I wonder if it’s Anna. There’s no chance that we’re going to get back together again. I’m not signing up to be her secret lover or some shit while she keeps seeing that asshole. But my stupid heart doesn’t care about that. It jumps like an excited puppy because I might get to see her again.

I make my creaky joints take me to the intercom, and I don’t let myself hesitate before pressing the button. “Hello?”

“Let me up. We need to talk,” says a familiar male voice—Michael. Definitely not Anna. Yeah, I’m disappointed, but I knew this talk with Michael was coming. I’ve had time to come to a decision and make peace with it.

Without a word, I push the button to let him into the building, unlock the door to my apartment, and limp back to my couch so I can continue icing my knee.

My doorbell rings in a few minutes, and, like I knew he would, Michael tries the door. Upon finding it unlocked, he lets himself in and comes to sit on the sofa next to me.

“Hey,” I say, looking up from my maps. “What’s up?”

“Seriously? ‘What’s up?’?” Michael asks. “Where the hell have you been? Things are in full swing with the acquisition, and you email me out of the blue saying ‘Taking time off to go running, be back Wednesday’? I tried calling you a hundred times.”

“Sorry, there isn’t reception in the Grand Canyon.”

Michael’s eyes bug out like he wants to murder me.

“I take it you want to talk about the new condition on the LVMH deal,” I say.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I had to hear it from one of our lawyers. He was panicking,” Michael says.

“There’s nothing to panic about,” I say calmly. I can’t say I feel good about LVMH’s decision, but it doesn’t tear me up anymore.

Michael runs his fingers through his disheveled hair and breathes a sigh of relief. “I knew you’d have it figured out.”

I smile at how confident he is in me. He’s a good friend.

“So what did you do? How are we working around it?” he asks.