"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.
"Because I couldn't bare for you to see me like that. I was ashamed. My hair was gone, and I was weaker than an eighty-year-old woman. I wanted to spare you the horror of what I looked like. I was scared that the passion you once felt for me would be replaced with pity. I couldn't face that. I wanted you to remember me the way I was in Woodfalls," I said as a tear escaped my overflowing eyes. "I didn't want you to see me die if the cancer beat me. It would have killed me if your last memory of me was a shell of the former person I was."
"Why didn't you call me when you started to get better?" he asked quietly as his anger melted away.
"Vanity. I wanted to have something besides a scarf covering my head," I said, self-consciously rubbing a hand over my short hair that had grown in darker than its previous shade. "I needed to feel normal," I admitted. "It doesn't matter anymore anyway. It's too late."
"Because you don't love me anymore?" he asked in a resigned voice.
"Of course not, idiot," I said as a fresh wave anger flared up inside me again. "Because my father told me that you met someone else," I said, jerking my shoulders from his grasp.
"Charles told you…" he asked incredulously before throwing back his head with laughter.
"What the hell is so funny about my father telling me?" I snapped, fighting the urge to slap the grin off his face.
"You're father is a born matchmaker."
"Are you trying to tell me he's the one who set you up?" I asked, feeling the sting of betrayal. "He told me you met her at work."
"Your father didn't set just me up, he set you up too," he said softly, taking my hand in his.
"You're not seeing someone?" I asked as understanding dawned on me.
He shook his head. "Sweets, the only one I want to see is standing in front of me."
"My father set us up. Is that how you knew I'd be here today?" I asked, trying to put all the puzzle pieces together.
"No, but he knows I run here every day."
"That's why he pushed me to come here. No wonder he was so nosy this morning," I mused. "You're not bike riding with some chick from work?" I repeated, sagging in relief.