Page 107 of Running
He raises his eyebrows—I did indeed surprise him. “Wow, okay. So I guess we’ll wait then? That’s what you want?”
“I love our bubble, Johnson. I want to protect it for now.”
“Our bubble is everything.” His eyes wash over my face, a look of calm coming over him. “I told my mom about us today. I’m sorry I didn’t ask you first, but I wanted to get her perspective.”
I’m more curious about what she said than concerned over the fact that he told her. “How did it go?”
“She was happy for me, for us, even though she was worried about the Landon dynamic like anyone would be.”
That doesn’t sound awful, but I can tell Johnson hassomething else on his mind. He drags a hand over my forearm, back and forth.
“I’ve spared you the worst of my story with my dad, but sometimes what he said to me as a kid, it still fucks me up.” He stops and I stay quiet to let him find his words. “I don’t even want to repeat what he would say, to be honest. But it was really bad, and a lot of times I wouldn’t even know what was coming when he got home from work, or on weekends.”
“Oh, Johnson. I’m so sorry.”
“I don’t like talking about it, so people really don’t know, but I feel like you should. And all the dynamics of our relationship, figuring out the right thing to do—it’s made me realize that I’m holding onto a need to prove that I’m not what he said, all the things he called me. Trying to be flawless, be everything for everyone.”
That’sfamiliar. “It’s a hard way to live.”
“Yeah, I don’t—I don’t want to give up something as special as what’s between us, just to please everyone else.”
“I feel the same way.” I kiss his cheek, and then bring my arms around him as he sinks into my embrace.
The intimate moment is interrupted, however, by a loud howl of wind, which rattles the window again. Reminding us that we’re in the middle of a hurricane.
“Let’s build that fort—I mean, den, shall we?” Johnson suggests as he starts picking up the larger cushions from my sofa. “Get ourselves sheltered better.”
Fifteen minutes later, my bedroom closet has turned into a pillow palace, with sheets and blankets to make the area we’ll rest in even softer.
“I may need to keep this after the storm.” I stack a couple of books in the corner for good measure. “It’s so cozy.”
Another loud wind gust hits the building, and the windows shake again.
“We should settle in now,” I offer. “Better safe than sorry.”
“Definitely,” heagrees.
After shutting the closet door, he sits down first, his back against some of the bigger pillows and his lower body resting on layers of blankets.
“Not bad. We can definitely stay here for a few hours.” He strips down to his t-shirt and athletic shorts and takes off his socks now too.
I sit down beside him, snuggle into his body, and lay my head on his shoulder. “No complaints here.”
He lightly tickles my waist. “Unless I eat your snacks.”
I hum at his joke and then enjoy the comfort of having all of this closeness to him.
A minute later, as he twists slightly to plant a kiss on my head, I notice his t-shirt has a number two on it, his jersey number.
“How did you pick ‘two’ as your player number? Is there a story there?”
“Not a big one. One of the high school coaches who mentored me my freshman and sophomore years wore it in his own playing days. So I picked it in his honor.”
“That’s really sweet, actually. Do you want to hear something cool?” A grin rises on my face.
“Of course.”
“Two is my lucky number. Every time I was assigned the number two at a race, something amazing happened.”
