"So he lives here now?" I asked, ignoring the fluttering in my heart.
"Yes. Are you going to see him?" he asked nonchalantly.
"No," I answered, leaving no room for argument as I forced myself to finish my breakfast.
We didn't speak about Nathan for a long time after that. Christmas came and went and January bled into February. My body went into semi-remission and the doctors put me on a regimen of medication. They were once again optimistic. I decided against counting the days down to the five-year mark this time. Instead, I measured the days in increments as my body began to recover and my hair began to grow now that I was no longer having chemo treatments. I also joined a gym and slowly began to build my body back up. Ironically, my exercise of choice turned out to be running, which of course reminded me of Nathan every time I stepped on the treadmill. When I wasn't working out, I was interning at the local hospital in the psychiatric department while I waited to get into the master's program I had applied to. My days were full as I worked to keep busy, but no matter how busy I kept myself, thoughts of Nathan were always lurking just below the surface. As my body became stronger, I didn't shove them away, knowing that soon I would see him again. I knew that he doubted my feelings for him by things my father had let slip, but in the end, I would show him just what he meant to me. I would tell him I fought the battle for him.
I should have expected fate to jerk the carpet out from under me since I seemed to be some kind of cosmic joke to it, but when it struck, I was completely unprepared. Ironically, it was me who opened the floodgates.
"How's the fishing been going?" I asked my father casually over breakfast one morning at the end of February.
"Good. Nathan can't go out as much as we'd like now that he's so busy," he said, not looking at me.
"Busy?" I asked, parched for any information about him.
"Yeah, he's been dating this girl he met over at the News Journal," he answered, looking unconcerned as he added eggs to my plate.
"Dating?" I asked, not sure I had heard him right.
"Yeah, I guess he finally got the hint that you had moved on."
"Right," I said weakly, not looking up from my plate. I should have known if I continued to push him away he would eventually get sick of waiting. I wasn't even sure I could blame him. Our whole relationship was based on the one week we had shared. It suddenly seemed completely ridiculous that anyone would wait almost six months for someone they really didn't know that well. Chances were he'd discovered what he thought was love was really nothing more than lust during a stressful time. I finished my breakfast in an agony-filled haze before excusing myself from the table.
I didn't cry as I slowly walked to my room, or when I began to get dressed or even when I pulled out his old navy blue t-shirt that I preferred to work out in.
"You okay?" my dad asked as I headed for the front door a few minutes later in my running gear.
"I'm fine," I lied. "I'm going to work out."
"Gym or the beach?" he asked.
"The beach. Why?" I asked, finally focusing on him.
"I just worry when you're running on the beach. Do you have the Mace I bought you?"
I held up my keys so he could see the travel-sized mace that was hooked to them, not mentioning the fact that I always left my keys in the car.
"Be careful," he said, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek.
"I will."
My dad had suggested a different beach that he said was less crowded. I was relieved to find the parking lot was relatively empty and silently thanked my father for showing me this particular spot a few weeks back. It was ideal for running since you didn't have to worry about maneuvering around sunbathers or watching out for small children who were prone to dart in front of you. The majority of the properties that lined this beach were privately owned which kept the beach population at an all-time low. Stowing my keys beneath the driver's seat, I used the keypad on the door to lock the car behind me.
I replayed my father's words as I made my way down the steep staircase leading to the beach below. Away from prying eyes, I stood at the shore for a moment, watching the waves crashing against the shore. The knowledge that Nathan had moved on was crippling, and I fought against the urge to sink down on the sand and weep. Instead, I did the next best thing as far as I was concerned: I took off running down the beach. I pushed myself harder than I had ever before, sprinting along, trying to escape the haunting memories. Only when my vision was threatened by black spots did I finally allow myself to slow. Placing my hands on my knees, I gasped for air, fighting to keep down my breakfast. Once I was sure I wasn't going to die due to lack of air in my lungs, I stood up straight. I was astonished at the distance I had covered after glancing back the way I had just come. Impressive or not, it didn't stop the stitch that had developed in my side. I walked slowly back toward where I had started, watching the incoming waves on the sand. It was nice to have the beach completely to myself, especially since I was a sweaty mess. My short hair was plastered to my head and my clothes were drenched in sweat.
No sooner had that thought entered my head that a lone runner appeared in the horizon. At least it was a fellow runner, who would most likely be so intent on finishing his or her own workout that the person wouldn't notice what I looked like. The gap between us narrowed and after a few minutes, I was able to make out his features. Stopping in the sand, I watched as his eyes widened with surprise when he recognized me and came to a halt.
"Hello, Nathan," I said, pleased that my voice didn't betray me by trembling.
"Ashton," he said, looking like he'd been hit by a brick. "What are you doing here?" he asked like he owned the beach beneath my feet.
"Getting my nails done," I said sarcastically, suddenly pissed that he was allowed to move on, while I was stuck in limbo. "What does it look like?" I added, indicating the sweat dripping off my body.
He looked taken aback at my sarcasm before his own face hardened. "I see. Well, I'm sorry you were forced to lay eyes on me," he said in the same voice I'd heard him use on Travis months ago. "I know you like to pretend there was never anything between us," he added, turning away.
I watched as he started to jog away as anger swirled up through me at his gall. He was the one who acted like what we had was nothing. "I think it's awfully rich for you to throw that line at me when you're the one who's moved on," I shouted at his back. His steps faltered and then stopped, but he kept his back to me. "I know asking you to wait was a ridiculous request considering we barely knew each other, but I'd hoped your feelings were the same as mine," I continued to yell as he slowly turned to me.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" he yelled. "I've done nothing but wait for you. I switched jobs, sold my condo, moved across the state, all so I could be closer to you; all on the off chance that you would finally tell me the wait was over. I had to beg like some dog for scraps of information off your father. I was forced to sit idly by in some diner instead of being by your side while you almost died. I did nothing but wait for you, and then, the one time I actually get to see you, you act like I'm not even there. You treated me like some chump you had a one-night stand with who you would rather never lay eyes on again. You stomped on my heart like a heartless bitch and drove away," he yelled, closing the distance between us in angry strides before stopping right at my face. "How could you act like what we shared was nothing?" he asked before pulling me in for a rough kiss. Time stopped moving as the familiarity of his lips settled against mine. The kiss was filled with anger and hurt, but it did not stop my heart from racing with excitement. "Why?" he whispered, finally pulling back, but not loosening his grip on my shoulders.