Beautiful Player (Beautiful Bastard 3)

I sat up, met her eyes. “He ended things with you?”

“Yeah. Well,” she said, considering. “This week was the official end but we hadn’t really seen each other since . . .” She looked up at the ceiling of the tent, considering. “Since February? And he’d been canceling on me ever since.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“At least I know why now.” I must have looked completely dumbstruck because she smiled, leaned in a little bit. “Because he’s in love with you. And if you’re as amazing as he seems to think you are, you won’t blow this.”I don’t remember crossing the park to where the other runners were gathered. My thoughts were hazy and jumbled.

February?

We had only been running then . . .

. . . March—that’s when Will and I actually started sleeping together. . . .

Tuesday night . . . so he could end things, face-to-face.

Like a decent human being, like a good man. I closed my eyes when the full force of the realization hit me: he told her all of this even after I broke up with him.

“You ready for this?”

I jumped, surprised to see Will standing next to me. He put a hand on my arm, offering a tentative smile. “You okay?”

I looked around, as if I could escape somewhere and just . . . think. I wasn’t ready for him to stand this close or talk like we were friends again, to be nice. I had such an enormous apology to make, and I still had an angry earful to give him for lying. . . . I didn’t even know where to start. I met his eyes, looked for any sign there telling me that we could fix this. “I think so.”

“Hey,” he said, taking the smallest step closer. “Hanna . . .”

“Yeah?”

“You’re . . . you’re going to do great.” His eyes searched mine, heavy with anxiety, and it made my stomach twist with guilt. “I know things are weird with us. Just put everything else out of your head. You need to be here, head in the race. You trained so impressively for it and you can do it.”

I exhaled, felt the first flare of pre-race, non-Will anxiety.

Kneading my shoulders, he murmured, “Nervous?”

“A little.”

I saw the moment he switched into trainer mode and I took some small level of comfort in it, grabbed on to this splinter of platonic familiarity.

“Remember to pace yourself. Don’t start off too fast. The second half is the worst and you’ll want to keep enough in the tank to finish, okay?”

I nodded.

“Remember, this is your first race and it’s about crossing the finish line, not where you place.”

Licking my lips, I answered, “Okay.”

“You’ve done ten miles before; you can do thirteen. I’ll be right there so . . . we’ll do this together.”

I blinked up at him, surprised. “You can place, Will. This is nothing for you—you should be in the front.”

He shook his head. “That’s not what this one is about. My race is in two weeks. This one is yours. I told you that.”

I nodded again, numb, and couldn’t look away from his face: at the mouth that had kissed me so many times, and wanted to kiss only me; at the eyes that watched me intently every time I said a word, every time I’d touched him; and at the hands that were now braced on my shoulders and were the same hands that had touched every inch of my skin. He’d told Kitty he wanted to be with me, only me. It’s not like he hadn’t said those exact words to me, too. But I’d never believed them.

Maybe the player really was gone.

With one last, searching look, Will dropped his hands from my shoulders, and pressed his palm to my back, leading me to the starting line.The race started at the southwest corner of the park near Columbus Circle. Will motioned for me to follow and I went through the routine: calf stretch, quad stretch, hamstring. He nodded wordlessly, watched my form and kept in constant, reassuring contact.

“Hold it a little longer,” he said, hovering over me. “Breathe through it.”

They announced it was time to begin and we got into place. The crack of the starter pistol burst through the air and birds scattered in the trees overhead. The sudden rush of hundreds of bodies pushing off from the line melded into a collective burst of sound.

The marathon route began at the circle and followed the outer loop of Central Park, arching around Seventy-second Street and back to the start.

The first mile was always the hardest. By the second, the world grew fuzzy at the edges and only the muffled sound of feet on the trail and blood pumping in my ears filtered through the haze. We hardly spoke, but I could hear every one of Will’s footsteps beside me, feel the occasional brush of his arm against mine.

“You’re doing great,” he told me, three miles in.

At mile seven, he reminded me, “Halfway done, Hanna, and you’re just hitting your stride.”

I felt every inch of the last mile. My body ached; my muscles went from stiff, to loose, to on fire and cramping. I could feel my pulse pounding in my chest. The heavy beat mirrored every one of my steps, and my lungs screamed for me to stop.

But inside my head it was calm. It was as though I was underwater, with muffled voices blending together until they were a single, constant hum. But one voice was clear, “Last mile, this is it. You’re doing it. You’re amazing, Plum.”

I’d almost tripped when he called me that. His voice had gone soft and needy, but when I looked over at him, his jaw was set tight, eyes straight ahead. “I’m sorry,” he rasped, immediately contrite. “I shouldn’t have—I’m sorry.”

I shook my head, licked my lips, and looked forward again, too tired to reach out and even touch him. I was struck by the realization that this moment was probably harder than all the tests I’d ever taken in school, every long night in the lab. Science had always come easy for me—I’d studied hard, of course, I’d done the work—but I’d never had to dig this deep and push on when I’d have liked nothing more than to collapse onto the grass and stay there. The Hanna that met Will that day on the icy trail would have never made it thirteen miles. She would have given it a half-assed try, gotten tired and finally, after having rationalized that this wasn’t her strength, gone back to the lab and her books and her empty apartment with prepackaged, single-serving meals.

But not this Hanna, not now. And he helped get me here.

“Almost there,” Will said, still encouraging. “I know it hurts, I know it’s hard, but look,” he pointed to grouping of trees just off in the distance, “you’re almost there.”

I shook the hair from my face and kept going, breathing in and out, wanting him to keep talking but also wanting him to shut the hell up. Blood pumped through my veins, every part of me felt like I’d been plugged into a live wire, shocked with a thousand volts that had slowly seeped out of me and into the pavement with every step.

I’d never been more tired in my life, I’d never been in more pain, but I’d also never felt more alive. It was crazy, but even through limbs that felt like they were on fire, and every breath that seemed harder than the last—I couldn’t wait to do it again. The pain had been worth the fear that I’d fail or be hurt. I’d wanted something, taken the chance, and jumped with both feet.

And with that last thought in mind, I took Will’s hand when we crossed through the finish line together.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Several yards off to the side of the finish line, Hanna walked in small circles, then bent down and cupped her hands over her knees.

“Holy shit,” she gasped, facing the ground. “I feel amazing. That was amazing.”

Volunteers brought us Luna bars and bottles of Gatorade and we gulped them down. I was so f**king proud of her, and I couldn’t hold back from pulling her into a sweaty, breathless hug, kissing the top of her head.

“You were amazing.” I closed my eyes, pressing my face to her hair. “Hanna, I am so proud of you.”

She froze in my arms and then slid her hands to my side, simply bracing there, her face in my neck. I could feel her inhaling and exhaling, could feel her hands shaking against me. For some reason, I didn’t think it was only the adrenaline from the race.

Finally, she whispered, “I think we should go get our things.”

I’d oscillated so wildly between confident and wrecked all week, and now that I was with her, I didn’t particularly want to let her out of my sight. We turned to head back toward the tents; with the race snaking through Central Park, the finish line ended up only a few blocks from where we’d started. I listened to her breathing, watched her feet as she walked. I could tell she was exhausted.

“I’m guessing you’ve heard about Sara,” she said, looking down and fidgeting with her race number. She pulled out the pins, took it off, and looked at it.

“Yeah,” I said, smiling. “Pretty amazing.”

“I saw her last night,” she said. “She’s so excited.”

“I saw Max on Tuesday.” I swallowed, feeling so f**king nervous all of a sudden. Beside me, Hanna faltered a little. “I went out with the guys that night. He has the expected look of terror and glee.”

She laughed, and it was genuine, and soft and—fuck—I’d missed it.

“What are you up to after this?” I asked, ducking so she’d look up at me.

And when she did, it was there, the something I knew I hadn’t imagined from the weekend before. I could still feel her sliding over me in the dark guest room, could still hear her quiet whisper-beg, Don’t break me.

It had been the second time she’d said it, and here I’d been the one left broken.

She shrugged and looked away, navigating through the dense crowd as we drew nearer to the starting line tents. Panic started to well in my chest; I wasn’t ready for goodbye yet.

“I was probably going to head home and shower. Get some lunch.” She frowned. “Or stop for lunch on the way home. I’m not sure I have anything edible at my place, actually.”

“Old shopping habits die hard,” I noted dryly.

She gave a guilty wince. “Yeah. I’ve been sort of burying myself in the lab all week. Just . . . good distraction.”

The words came out rushed, pressed together with how out of breath I felt: “I’d really love to hang out, and I have stuff for sandwiches, or salads. You could come over, or . . .” I trailed off when she stopped walking and turned to face me, looking bewildered and then . . . adoring.

Blinking away, I felt my chest squeeze. I tried to tamp down the impossible hope clawing up my throat. “What?” I asked, sounding more annoyed than I meant. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Smiling, she said, “You’re probably the only man I know who keeps his fridge so well stocked.”

I felt my brows pull together in confusion. This had caused her to stop walking and stare at me? Cupping the back of my neck, I mumbled, “I try to keep healthy stuff at home so I don’t go out and eat junk.”

She stepped closer—close enough to feel a loose strand of her hair when the wind blew it across my neck. Close enough to smell the light scent of her sweat, to remember how f**king amazing it felt to make her sweat. I dropped my gaze to her lips, wanting to kiss her so much it made my skin ache.

“I think you’re amazing, Will,” she said, licking her lips under the pressure of my attention. “And stop smoldering at me. There’s only so much I can take from you today.”

Before I could process any of this, she turned and moved toward the women’s tent to retrieve her things. Numbly, I went the opposite way, to get my house keys, my extra socks, and the paperwork I’d bundled in my running jacket. When I emerged, she was waiting for me, holding a small duffel bag.

“So,” I started, struggling to keep my distance. “You’re coming over?”

“I really should shower . . .” she said, looking past me and down the street that led, eventually, to her building.

“You can shower at my place . . .” I didn’t care how I sounded. I wasn’t letting her go. I’d missed her. Nights had been almost unbearable, but strangely, mornings had been the worst. I missed her breathless conversation and how it would eventually fall away into the synchronized rhythm of our feet on pavement.

“And borrow some clean clothes?” she asked, wearing a teasing grin.

I nodded without hesitation. “Yes.”

Her smile faded when she saw I was serious.

“Come over, Hanna. Just for lunch, I promise.”

Lifting her hand to her forehead to block out the sun, she studied my face for a beat longer. “You sure?”

Instead of answering, I tilted my head, turning to walk. She fell into step beside me, and every time our fingers accidentally brushed, I wanted to pull her hand into mine and then pull her to me, pressing her against the nearest tree.

She’d been her old, playful self for those short, euphoric moments, but quiet Hanna reappeared as we walked the dozen or so blocks back to my building. I held the door for her as we stepped inside, slipped past her to push the up button for the elevator, and then stood close enough to feel the press of her arm along mine as we waited. At least three times I could hear her suck in a breath, start to speak, but then she would look at her shoes, at her fingernails, at the doors to the elevator. Anywhere but at my face.

Upstairs, my wide-open kitchen seemed to shrink under the tension between us, caused by the residue from the horrible conversation on Tuesday night, the hundreds of unspoken things from today, the simmering force that was always there. I handed her a blue Powerade because it was her favorite, and poured myself a glass of water, turning to watch her lips, her throat, her hand around the bottle as she took a deep drink.

You’re so f**king beautiful, I didn’t say.

I love you so much, I didn’t say.