Page 104 of Running
“Oh Johnny, youarethat person.”
“Yeah, but in the meantime, there’s no way I can give up on Grace and me now,” I explain. “And part of me feels like that’s a selfish choice when it could have consequences for the team. Exactly what a leader shouldn’t do.”
“No, no, you deserve to be happy. You fell for someone, and it’s a complicated set of circumstances. You’re human. And that’s okay.” Her voice is confident and soft at the same time. “You’re doing the best that you can to do the right thing, and that makes you awonderfulperson. Not selfish.”
I feel my chest decompress with her reassurance. “I really needed to hear that, Mom. Thank you.”
“Good. I’ll say it again if you need it. But if I can ask another question, Johnny, what does Grace say about telling Landon?”
“I need to talk to her about it. Grace and I have a bunch of days where we plan to hang together during my week off. She’ll have classes, but I’ll do my workouts then.”
“I’m so happy to be your sounding board, Johnny, but you and Grace need to decide this together. So that’s a good plan.”
I hum in response and, likely recognizing we’ve fully mined this topic for now, she begins asking me about the game earlier. After I share some of the highlights from behind the scenes, we start signing off.
“Oh wait, Johnny, do you know about the storm headed your way?” I rarely pay attention to any details like that during the season, as she knows. “Tropical Storm Erin? It’s supposed to be a hurricane by the time it hits Florida tomorrow night.”
“Actually, yeah, some of the guys moved up their flights for their family vacations this week to get out early tomorrow.”
“Okay, just keep an eye on it and be safe.” She doesn’t sound too worried. There’s not really cause to be. I’m inland enoughthat storm surge isn’t a big deal, and my house was built with top-of-the-line materials to handle Florida weather, including a powerful generator.
“Sure, Mom.”
When we hang up, I go outside and check on the generator to be safe. As I swing back around to the part of the yard that oversees the mock field, I pause and stare across the crisply cut grass. The circle on the fifty-yard line, hash marks, endzones—all reminding me of what it took to get here and what’s on the line for the Waves this season.
Fuck.Grace may have better insight about how Landon’s going to react, so I know talking to her is the next step.
That conversation won’t happen now, though, because Grace is spending tonight helping Landon reveal his surprise trip to Rori for her twenty-first birthday. They leave for the Caribbean tomorrow morning.
After tomorrow morning though, Grace is mine for the week. I break out in a smile at that thought. We’ll sort out what we want to do about Landon, and then I’ll get quality time with my girl for days.
Mother Nature has a way of shaking up your plans, however.
After a morning workout the next day, and lively exchanges in our Waves group chat where guys confirm their vacation flights took off (including Landon), I flip on the sports news in my TV room to chill for a bit.
Grace plans to hunker down with me tonight during the storm, and she’s driving here around five after her last class.
After watching about fifteen minutes of the sports news, I start zoning out. My body and brain welcoming the break, and I don’t resist fading off into a nap, with thenews as background noise.
Blissful, peaceful sleep, with the soothing knowledge I’ll be with Grace in just a few hours.
.
.
.
THIS IS THE NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE: A HURRICANE WARNING IS IN EFFECT FOR THE GREAT ORANGE COUNTY/ORLANDO AREA. ALL RESIDENTS SHOULD…
Oh shit, what? I snap open my eyes and look at my phone, where the blaring alert is coming from. Then I glance outside through my windows. There’s been a complete shift in the weather. Dark grey doom clouds are all I can see, and the wind is howling, blowing my palm trees and shrubs every which way.
I must have been out for a few hours. I look at my phone, and yep, it’s after four. Fuck.
And on my phone are messages from Mom, Grace, and others.
MOM: They just announced Hurricane Erin shifted, and it’s going to go right over you now. Stay inside. It’s reached Category 3.
She sends several other panicked messages after that, largely wondering why I’m not responding, so I send her a text with reassurance. “All good. I was napping. Will be careful.”
