Page 19 of Known By You
He chuckled and wiped the sweat from his brow, face, and neck. I did not watch because that would be weird. I ticked up the pace and began to jog.
“How far will you go?” he asked, taking a big breath right as I looked over at him.
A cough tripped out becausehow?Why? Who, even?
At least I hadn’t said something like,What do you even do with all those abs?
“Just two or three. Something to wear out my legs a bit, but I want to get to sleep soon. What’d you do?”
He slung the towel over his shoulder and stretched his arms overhead. I begged my eyes to stay glued to the window in front of me and not drift to the right.
No, eyes. Bad eyes! The Barbie man is not for you!
“I just ran for an hour. Couldn’t sleep and figured a good run would help, plus it’s always nice to run at sea level.”
“The altitude is definitely kicking my butt in my workouts. Hoping I get over that soon,” I said, sliding up into a faster jog.
“Takes a bit, but you’ll get there.”
I had to ask, even though it would probably make me feel like crap. “How far do you run in an hour?”
He sprayed the machine and wiped it down as he spoke. “About eight.”
“Eight.” So he was running a seven-and-a-half-minute mile.
“Yeah. We trained for times and distances in EMU. You know our assessment includes a forty-mile ruck march which isn’t running but it’s a ways. So anything under ten can be fast for me. Over ten I start to slow down. Some of the guys are just machines but I was never a natural runner.”
I laughed, breathless with the reality of what he and his peers could do and yes, a bit with the increasing pace. “Yeah, seems like you really struggle.”
He tsked. “I’m not trying to brag. I work hard but it’s also literally part of my job to be able to run fast and for long distances. I need to be strong to carry people, I need hand to hand combat skills to fight, I need to shoot well—just like you, mind you—and all the other stuff. If it wasn’t my job, I doubt I’d be able to do any of it.”
“Usedto be your job. They don’t keep you to that same standard at Saint, do they?” I asked, finally pushing into a full run.
“Nah. But I am a bit of an energizer bunny and do best when I’m physically exhausted.”
That fit. It also made me feel some kind of way I couldn’t describe and therefore, I kept running. In the reflection of the window, I could see him moving around on a mat behind me—stretching or abs or something. He was probably about to rip out a thousand sit-ups while I plodded along over here, but I wouldn’t feel bad.
I also kind of loved that he caveated his fitness level as being part of his job. He was right. And while I preferred to stay physically fit for my own health and, frankly, mental health, it wasn’t a job requirement in the same way. That was one of many differences between working for an agency and working special operations in the military. The expectations and missions were different, but they could coalesce and work effectively together using the strengths each entity offered.
Kenny offered brute strength, stamina, and physical capability. And I?
I offered…
Failure to properly oversee a fellow agent. Failure to complete a mission. Loss of a developed asset…
The words from the report I’d filed hammered me, and I increased my speed. I was close to an all-out sprint now, butI needed the punishing pace—the challenge and the resistance, the burn in my muscles to shred through the self-pity and regret.
I couldn’t take all the blame for my subordinate’s failures, but I felt them as though they were my own. It had been my job to make sure he was doing what he should, and when he didn’t, I’d missed it.
With one final increase, I drove my body into an all-out sprint for the last minute. My lungs ached for more air, and exhaustion waited to pounce. I pulled off all the speed and let the elevation drop, the treadmill’s motor running loudly as it lowered. After a moment, I leaned over and rested my head on the backs of my hands where they hung on to the stability bar at the front of the machine.
The ache in my chest persisted, but it wasn’t my lungs. It was my bruised heart—the one that’d loved my job for so long but felt scorched by my recent failings, my boss’s response, and my inability to summon a desire to change what I’d done even though I knew the results because I’d done what I’d believed was right.
Where did that leave me?
Well, here. It left me on involuntary leave wandering around the western United States like I was on vacation, apparently.
“Okay there?”
