Two of a kind, p.19
Two of a Kind, page 19
Not far into the trees, they came across their first challenge, a rope net that hung almost vertically, blocking the path. She wiped her palms on her leggings and hauled herself up without much trouble. But at the top, she straddled the wooden beam, afraid to swing herself over in case she screwed up and fell eight feet to the ground. She’d twist an ankle, at the very least.
“Get a move on,” the man behind her urged. “Get over, or get off.”
Resisting the urge to flip him off, she took a breath and slid over the top, exhaling in relief when she caught herself and managed to shimmy to the ground. She resumed running, her legs wobblier than before.
A short distance later, they exited the trees into a farmer’s paddock, which was slushy and muddy with a number of pipes crossing it, each wide enough for a man to slide through on his belly. Brooke didn’t hesitate to throw herself into the nearest one and slither through it like a snake, using her hands, knees, and elbows to drag herself toward the light at the end. She was smaller than many of the participants and gained ground.
When she emerged, she staggered back to her feet and ran across the uneven terrain, then up the ramp of a truck that had its trailer lowered, leaping off the other end onto a padded mat. Next, she navigated over a mountain of tires, and arrived at a stream. Three wooden rafts bobbed on the water, a couple of feet separating them. The stream looked shallow, but her sense of balance wasn’t the best and her heart was in her throat as she jumped onto the first one. It wobbled, and she used her arms to steady herself, then jumped to the second, amazed when her legs didn’t give out beneath her. On to the third, and then she thudded onto solid ground.
Stumbling up the stream bank, she tried to catch her breath, wondering what awaited her. As she crested the bank, relief flooded her. People were strung out across the next two paddocks, with no obstacles in sight. Some were jogging, some walking. The über-fit competitors were out of her range of vision, but enough people were behind her that she felt a rush of pride. She forced herself forward, jogging at a steady pace that wouldn’t win her any awards but which she could maintain for twenty minutes.
At the end of the first paddock, she clambered over a fence and paused to huff on her inhaler to ease the tightness in her chest, then carried on. When she arrived at the end of the next paddock, the track turned onto a road, and in the distance, she could see a net laid over the ground, people on their bellies beneath it, crawling military-style. Past the net, a wooden wall rose up, with no footholds or grips visible. She gulped. How was she supposed to scale that freaking wall?
Her damp shoes pounded on the seal, and she wondered how far she’d come. Was she halfway yet? Must be. With how badly her legs were shaking, she couldn’t fathom it being any less. At least, not if she were hoping to finish. She reached the netting and dropped to her knees, wincing when a stone dug into her flesh. Thank God she’d worn yoga pants, or it would have cut her. Disregarding the sharp twinge of pain, she worked her thighs hard, propelling herself over the muddy grass, keeping her head low to avoid becoming entangled. Then she was at the end, and the wall loomed high a hundred yards from her.
“Go Brooke, go!” A chant caught her attention and she looked around, spying a car full of young women parked on the far side of the road. One had her head out the window, yelling, “You got this, Brooke! Go hard!”
Tears filled her eyes, and her throat clogged. She faced the wall with renewed determination. She could do this. To show others like her that they could achieve their goals, no matter how far-fetched they may seem. She ran at the wall, praying the momentum would carry her over the top before she fell. It was eighty yards away. Fifty. Ten. She leapt into the air, scrabbling on the smooth surface, one arm swinging over the top, the rest of her body hanging like a dead weight. Her shoulder and bicep screamed. She struggled to find purchase with her feet, but there was nothing to support her. Just as she was ready to drop, a hand fastened around her forearm and yanked her up. The air whooshed from her lungs as she was slung over the top. Glancing across, she made eye contact with the man who’d hurried her on earlier.
He shrugged. “Looked like you needed a hand.”
“Thanks.” Then he was gone, landing nimbly and running off. She followed, hardly able to believe the wall hadn’t defeated her.
“Two miles to go,” one of the women in the car called, pulling alongside her. “You’re nearly there. We’re all with you. There are more than eight hundred people on the livestream, cheering you on.”
Eight hundred people? Watching her?
Well damn, now she was going to cry.
“Keep going,” the girl shouted, and Brooke realized she’d slowed.
“Thank you,” she gasped. “What’s your name?”
“Tammy,” she replied. “And I have Cam and Aubrey with me.”
“TimTam95,” Brooke said, recalling the girl’s username.
She beamed. “I can’t believe you remember me.”
“I can’t believe you’re here,” she panted.
Tammy rolled her eyes. “Of course we are. Now run your inspirational butt off. We’ll see you at the finish line.”
The car pulled away, multiple pairs of hands waving at her through the windows. Brooke carried on, turning onto a narrow trail beside the golf course, the last stretch of the run. She counted her steps because otherwise she couldn’t ignore the wheezing in her chest and the weariness of her feet, which were almost dragging on the ground.
One-hundred-seventy-five, one-hundred-seventy-six.
A series of logs appeared in front of her, the first as high as her groin. She rolled over it, then over the eight that followed, finally flopping to her hands and knees, out of breath. She hung her head. Her palms and knees were scratched, her shins bruised, her ribs aching, and her throat was so raw she suspected a doctor would hospitalize her if they saw it. She rested her forehead on the ground. She couldn’t go any further.
People passed by, some of them hesitant, as though wondering whether they should check on her.
“Hey, are you okay?”
Brooke looked up. It was one of the women she’d met earlier, wearing pink with angel wings. She shook her head. “I can’t do it.”
“Yes, you can,” the woman told her. “You’ve come this far. It’s only another half mile, and I can’t see any more obstacles.” She offered a hand. “Come on, get up. I’ll run with you.”
“I’ll hold you back.” Just like she did with everyone.
The woman snorted. “That’s crazy talk. I rolled my ankle getting off that wall. I’m not running so much as limping.”
Brooke contemplated curling into a ball and calling Kat to pick her up after all the people she’d disappointed had departed. But then she remembered the livestream audience. The eight hundred people who had a great view of the ground, waiting for her to get up and show them what she was made of.
She got to her feet. “Okay, let’s do this shit.”
Side by side, the two women jogged around the golf course and into the open. The finish line appeared in the distance, with a group of people holding her banner not far behind. Off to the side was Jack. Her heart lifted. Seeing him, and the people there to support her, gave her the boost she needed to keep going and plaster a smile on her face. They were nearly there. So close she could taste success. Then she and her new friend passed over the line and fell to their knees, embracing each other.
“Thank you,” Brooke puffed. “I couldn’t have done that without you.”
The woman laughed and shifted to a cross-legged position. “That was all you. I was ready to throw in the towel when I saw you.”
Brooke stared at her. “You were?”
“Yeah, but knowing I needed to make sure you got to the end motivated me to keep going.”
“That’s so sweet.”
A hand landed on Brooke’s back and she looked up. One of the girls from the car stood above her, with Tammy at her side. Only now Brooke could see what she hadn’t before: Tammy was in a wheelchair.
“You did it!” Tammy shrieked.
“I did?” The truth hadn’t sunk in yet. She glanced at the white line painted on the grass and confirmed that she had, indeed, completed the course.
Finally, background noise began to filter into her consciousness. She heard clapping and hollering. The sound of celebration. They were celebrating her. These people were here for her, and that took her breath away. For the first time, she could see them all in person. Some were younger than Brooke, some older. Amongst them, a man in a sports jacket had his arm around a red-headed girl. Sarah and her dad?
“You guys…” Tears welled in Brooke’s eyes and she raised her voice so they could all hear her. “You’re the best. Like, actually, the best. Thank you so much for coming. You kept me going out there.”
“Thank you,” Tammy amended. “For repping us all. You have no idea how much it means to those of us who’ve followed you from the beginning, to see you making life your bitch.”
Brooke reddened. It wasn’t the terminology she’d use, but it was flattering, nonetheless. She scanned the crowd, searching for a crooked grin on a handsome face. Where had Jack gone?
When Brooke’s adoring fans surrounded her, Jack backed away. They were cheering for her, clapping her on the back, complimenting her. Their love for her was a tangible thing. But then, he shouldn’t be surprised, should he? Not when he’d seen how they’d leapt to her defense after she’d blogged about him. Hadn’t it been one of them who was responsible for their fraudulent relationship?
A bitter taste filled his mouth. She’d been stringing him along, and all of these people were in on the joke. A few of her supporters glanced his way, and he wondered if they knew who he was. Were they laughing at him behind his back? Had she shared the details of their relationship, doling out salacious stories and making a mockery of his feelings for her?
Hell, he loved her, and he wasn’t even sure he knew who she was. Because the woman he’d believed her to be would never have done something so awful. But he’d never been a good judge of character when it came to his romantic life, had he? Maybe he had her all wrong.
He’d give her one thing though—she was a damned good liar.
Brooke looked up, searching the crowd, and he stepped further back, out of sight. He’d been here for her. He’d done the right thing. But he couldn’t handle talking to her now, or pretending everything was okay. Not when she’d ripped his heart from his chest and fucking shredded it.
He turned and walked away.
24
“Where have you been?” Brooke demanded, glaring at Jack across the sparsely occupied pub. The patrons either stared at her, or became fascinated by their drinks. She was causing a scene, but she didn’t care. After weeks of training together and dating, he hadn’t bothered hanging around to congratulate her. And what had been so urgent that he’d had to leave? The need to drink beer and glower? She’d been frantic, worried for him, and he’d been here all along.
“Please tell me there was a legitimate reason why you ditched me.” She’d meant the words to sound snarky, but they were leaning toward the pathetic end of the spectrum. She pulled herself together. She wasn’t the one in the wrong here, and it wasn’t unreasonable to have expected him to be there for her. They were a team now. Partners. Only she didn’t have a clue what was going through his head.
Jack didn’t reply, just sipped his drink in sullen silence.
“Brooke,” Logan said, from behind the bar. “Think you could take this outside?”
“I’d be happy to, but he doesn’t look like he’s planning to move anytime soon.”
“Mate.” Logan turned to him. “I think you’ve had enough.” He gestured to the wall. “Sign says I can’t serve you if you’re inebriated.”
“I’m not fucking drunk,” Jack snapped, “and I don’t want to air my dirty laundry in front of half the town. Mind if we use your apartment?”
Logan rubbed his temples and sighed. “Fine.” He tossed him the key. “But no kinky make-up sex on the sofa.”
Jack shoved his stool back and stalked to the private living area without waiting to see if Brooke would follow. Out of sheer stubbornness, she didn’t want to go after him, but she needed to know what she’d done to make him so angry he’d desert her on their big day. If something important had come up, he could have called. Texted. Sent her an email, so she’d know not to worry. Instead, she’d come up with all kinds of awful scenarios to justify his absence.
One of his parents had died.
He’d been in an accident.
A terrible illness had struck him down.
The last possibility had tormented her most. How typical would it have been if she were in the best shape of her life and the man she was falling in love with became ill.
But no. Instead, he seemed to have decided to go to the pub, for no good reason that she could see. She climbed the stairs, her legs protesting. The door at the top was ajar and she let herself in, looking around. She’d never been in Logan’s apartment before, but she didn’t get much chance to appreciate the décor because Jack shut the door behind her and folded his arms over his chest, his brows lowered in a scowl.
“What’s your problem?” she demanded, mimicking his stance. “I was worried sick about you. I thought something was wrong. But you’re here, having a drink. Please tell me there’s more to the story. Something I’m not seeing. Because at the moment, it looks like you’re a bastard.”
The lines around his mouth deepened and his gaze became flinty. “All of your adoring fans were there.” He said “adoring” as if it were a synonym for slimy and disgusting. “Why would you need me?”
She flinched. Did he actually believe he was superfluous? She turned over the possibility in her mind. Had she done anything to give him that impression? Taken him for granted, perhaps?
No, she didn’t think so. She never took anything for granted.
Damn, this was unfair. Today should be a celebration. An evening of happiness. She’d passed the test, achieved something she’d never dreamed she could, and the future was falling into place. But she couldn’t enjoy her success if he wasn’t with her.
She gentled her tone. “I would never have gotten so far if it weren’t for you. Of course I wanted to be with you after, and it hurt that you weren’t there.”
Jack scoffed. “You know what hurts? Finding out that the woman you care about has been manipulating you as some kind of revenge plot, and that hundreds of people are in on it.”
He’d lost her. “What do you mean?”
“I read your blog,” he said meaningfully. “Parts of it were very enlightening.”
She winced, recalling the way she’d moped online about him not contacting her after their kiss, and then ranted when she’d realized he didn’t remember who she was. Her face heated, but she resisted the urge to shrink into herself. Yeah, she’d vented, but she’d also never said anything untrue, and he had to know that. Besides, she’d been singing his praises lately. A number of her readers had asked about their relationship, wanting to meet him at the race. She’d had to tell them he was unwell.
“Did you read all of it?” she asked.
“I read enough. I saw you agree with some girl who said you should string me along, humiliate me and break my heart. What were you planning to do? Dump me as soon as I got you to Everest? Were you going to crush me and blog all about it?” He laughed bitterly. “That’d teach me for forgetting you, huh.”
She stared, mouth agape. How could he think so little of her? They knew each other. Or, at least, she’d thought they did. And while she recalled the comment he was referring to, she’d never agreed, just thanked the girl for being supportive. If he’d read the very next post, surely he’d know that.
“I would never do the things you’re saying,” she told him. “Didn’t you see—”
“Don’t try to explain yourself away,” he interrupted. “Whatever you’re about to say, it won’t change the fact you put the private details of our relationship on the goddamned internet and made me public enemy number one with your doting fans.”
Her self-righteous anger fled and she deflated, her arms falling to her sides. He was right. She had done that, without even thinking. Who cared if it had been a mistake, or if she’d tried to smooth it over as soon as possible? She couldn’t go back in time and erase her actions. She’d behaved childishly, and he was calling her on it.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t cut it.” Sighing, he scraped a hand through his hair. The grooves etched between his brows had lessened, but he looked weary. “It all comes down to one simple truth. You’re exactly like my ex.”
She flinched, as the words struck with the precision of a slap.
“Did I ever tell you why we broke up?” he asked. When she shook her head, her lips wobbling dangerously, he continued. “She was—is—an Instagram model. Quite a successful one. We met at a photo shoot at the outdoor equipment shop where I worked. They’d made an endorsement deal with her. It was instant attraction between us. We were different people—she was all about high society and art gallery exhibitions whereas I preferred the outdoors and my own company—but I thought we loved each other anyway.” He laughed bitterly. “More fool me. I found out I was one of her projects. She was trying to turn me into the perfect boyfriend to hang off her arm at fucking brunches and shit, and chronicling it all for her Instagram audience.” God, he’d been furious when he found out none of it had been real, and that he’d been reduced to entertainment for a bunch of wannabe socialites. “The worst part is, it was working. I’d actually cancelled an annual hiking trip with an old buddy of mine to go to some stupid gala with her. It was there I overheard her talking about it.”
Brooke looked stricken, her face pale, splotches of red across her cheeks. “Did you ask her about it?”
“I did. I asked her to explain, and I asked if she thought I wasn’t good enough for her. She said…” His fists clenched. “That I could stand to change a few things.”
