Page 38 of Sidelined By Love

Kenna grabs Zoe’s hand and says, “Come on! Let’s go.” Then she whispers, “The sooner we get to the top, the sooner we get pancakes.”

“That just makes good sense.” Zoe hangs on to Kenna’s hand, following toward the trailhead. I’ve got to give the woman credit. She walks with purpose and without reservation, no cautious steps over the uneven terrain.

Kenna leans in, chattering about her audition the day before, the two looking like girlfriends starting an adventure.

But this isn’t the Shire, and they aren’t headed to Mordor. Zoe is just going tothinkthey are going up Mount Doom.

When the girls reach the base of the mountain, Zoe pauses to look up the near-vertical trail. Warn wooden railroad ties cut a swath through the pine trees as far as the eye can see. Men and women pepper the stairs at various speeds. Of course, there are those running the thing—ridiculous even for this professional athlete. But most are slogging along at a glacial pace—the only way for the uninitiated to survive.

I can tell when Zoe’s back stiffens, and she glances over her shoulder, her eyes narrow and gaze sharp.

Either she’s having second thoughts or cursing my name.

My guess—probably both. And the thought makes me chuckle.

Despite the cool morning air and October breezes, the Incline will claim its victims. It always does. Within a few hundred yards, some poor shmucks will turn around and go home. Some will find a rock to sit on off to the side to catch their breath. Evenmore will bail at about the two-thirds mark, where the steps connect with the trail back to the parking lot.

But that’s not an option for us today. I made it clear to Kenna as we were leaving the house this morning that pancakes at Uncle Sam’s are for those who make it to the top. We don’t have to win the race. We just have to finish it.

As I pick up my pace to join them, I hear my name. “Red! Hey, Red!”

Glancing toward the teenager calling out to me, I offer a tight smile.It’s a fan—or a hater. He could be both depending on the week. At least we won our last two games.

The kid’s voice continues to grow, as he runs toward me. “Itisyou!“ Within seconds a small crowd has gathered around me, waving pens and Teeners hats and chattering a mile a minute.

“Sign this,” one kid says, shoving a hat into my face.

“Is this what you do on your bye weeks?”

“Are you here by yourself? Want to hike with us?”

Peering over their heads, I catch Zoe’s eye and tip my chin up the mountain.“Catch up?”she mouths. I nod, and even over the hubbub around me, I hear her taunt, “If you can.”

If I can?

Ha.

If I didn’t think it would draw attention to her—attention I’m certain she doesn’t want—I’d call her out on the spot. Challenge her to a race to the top.

Loser has to let the winner kiss them.

Chicken on a biscuit!

I’m not supposed to be thinking about that. Or her. Or us. Or . . . well, anything in that general vicinity.

I watch her sashay up the first couple steps before tearing my eyes back to my fans. I shake more hands than I can remember, thanking them for their support and signing a few shirts—including one of Ja’maar’s jerseys.

I’ve got to remember to tell him about that when we’re back at the facility on Monday.

After a few minutes, I say, “Hey, thanks, guys. I better get to my hike. Be safe out there today.”

A collective groan turns into a mumble of appreciation, and I duck away while they’re all in relatively good spirits. Sprinting up the first few steps, I pump my arms to get into a good rhythm, passing a few middle-aged ladies, who look up with shock in their eyes. “Morning,” I greet them with a smile.

I don’t usually engage with other hikers, but knowing Zoe is only a few yards ahead of me has me smiling at the others on the trail. As I near two guys ahead of me, I see one elbow the other. He shoots his friend a rude smile and raised eyebrows.

Bile rises in my throat. Iknowwho’s in front of them.

With a growl, I push myself a little faster, skirting them so I can slip behind Zoe and Kenna three steps ahead.

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