Page 105 of The Beautiful Collision
She’s turned my family’s private catastrophe into a public cause, literally giving Chloe a chance at life when there was no hope for that just weeks ago, and she’s done it all while maintaining the careful distance between us that my betrayal created.
But then our eyes meet across the crowd.
It’s like being hit by lightning and wrapped in a blanket at the same time. For a second, neither of us moves. The noise of the crowd fades to white static. There’s just her dark eyes, holding mine with an intensity that makes my knees weak, as if waiting for me to come closer, say something, do something, or run away.
And, after weeks of avoiding each other, I’m not sure what to do.
So I offer a small nod, which is pathetic and totally inadequate, but all I can manage without completely falling apart. I try to pack everything into that tiny gesture:thank you. I’m sorry. I don’t deserve this. I miss you so much I can’t breathe. I love you.
She returns the nod, and Christ, the look on her face nearly kills me. There’s pain there, obviously. I put that pain there with my lies and my cowardice. But there’s something else too. Resolve… pride at having organized this… and—and I know I’m probably imagining this—something that looks almost like longing…
Then someone calls her name, and the moment breaks. She turns away, back to her clipboard and her mission, and I’m left standing there feeling like I’ve been hit by a truck. But, like an addict, that small hit of her just left me wanting more, because she’s a drug I just can’t quit.
No matter how much I hurt her.
No matter how much I know I can’t have her again.
“Runners to the starting line!” The announcement booms over the speakers, jolting me back to reality.
I shuffle forward with the crowd, ending up somewhere in the middle of the pack. Mike’s here somewhere—I saw him earlier with Sophie—but I can’t find them in the sea of blue and white. The rest of the hockey guys are here, too. Hell, even my parents wanted to come, but I asked them to stay with Chloe.
The starting gun fires, and we’re off.
My legs move on autopilot, muscle memory from years of conditioning taking over. The crowd spreads out quickly, runners pulling ahead while the walkers fall back. I find my rhythm, just cruising speed, because the Maine Show doesn’t need to win this one.
This isn’t about me.
This is about being one small part of something Maya built.
This is about Chloe.
The route takes us around the campus perimeter, past buildings where I’ve had classes, failed tests, and shared moments with Maya. But as I pass them, I realize every landmark is a reminder of how badly I screwed up the best thing that ever happened to me.
My breathing settles into a steady pattern, and I let my mind wander. I think about Maya organizing all of this on top of her studies and clinical rotations and herfuckingheartbreak. I think about her building that website, choosing that photo of Chloe, coordinating with sponsors, recruiting volunteers…
All to make strangers care about a girl they’ve never met.
While I was wallowing in self-pity on Mike’s couch.
After I broke her heart.
The shame is a physical weight, making each step harder than it should be. But I keep running because stopping feels likeanother betrayal, another failure to show up when it matters. And I’m so lost in my head that I almost don’t notice when someone falls into step beside me.
I don’t need to look to know who it is. My body recognizes her presence before my brain catches up. The sound of her breathing, controlled but with that slight catch she gets when she’s pushing herself. The way the air itself seems to change when she’s near me, becoming charged with possibility and danger and want.
Maya.
She’s left her command post to run beside me.
I risk a glance sideways, trying to be subtle about it, but subtlety be damned—I need to see her. Her face is set with determination, jaw clenched, eyes fixed straight ahead. She’s not here for a casual jog. She’s here with purpose, though what that purpose is, I can’t fathom.
Her ponytail swings with each stride, and there’s a sheen of sweat making her skin glow in the morning sun. She’s breathing hard but steadily, maintaining my pace, and then she gives me a single, tiny nod without looking at me. Not a greeting, exactly. More like an acknowledgment.
And then it’s clear what the purpose is.
She’s telling me she’s here. With me.
A guy who needed help, getting it.
