Page 44 of Run Omega Run
The comment hit the competitive nerve I'd been hoping he wouldn't find, sparking something fierce and determined in my chest. I'd been testing him gently, trying to gauge his actual abilities before committing to the type of pace that separated serious runners from weekend joggers. His casual dismissal suggested he was ready for significantly more than I'd been offering.
"Warming up," I replied, accelerating again as we crested the hill and began descending toward the industrial district. "Didn't want to leave you behind."
Bennett's laugh carried in the cool night air, rich with genuine amusement that made something flutter in my stomach despite my focus on pace and breathing. "Thoughtful of you," he said, matching my increased speed with what appeared to be minimal effort. "But I should probably warn you, I don't give up easily."
"Neither do I," I said, changing our route mid-stride to veer left toward the construction zone where temporary roads had been carved through debris fields. The terrain here was more challenging, with loose gravel, uneven surfaces, obstacles that required quick footwork and constant attention to avoid injury.
Bennett followed without hesitation, his peppermint scent carrying on the night air as he navigated the uncertain ground with the kind of fluid grace that spoke of someone comfortable pushing his body to its limits.
"Interesting route choice," he commented as we picked our way through a section where construction equipment had left deep tire ruts in what used to be asphalt. "Testing my commitment?"
I smirked and continued, settling into a rhythm that was more demanding than either of us had started with, our breathing synchronized despite the competitive edge that crackled between us.
My heart rate climbed into the zone where conversation became more difficult, where my body began the familiar process of deciding what was essential and what could be temporarily ignored. The burn in my legs spread upward, claiming my lungs and core as we maintained a pace that would have been challenging on smooth pavement, let aloneterrain that seemed designed to test every muscle group simultaneously.
But Bennett was still there beside me, his presence somehow reassuring even as we pushed each other toward limits that most people never explored.
"You run like someone with something to prove," he observed, his voice slightly rougher but still steady enough for conversation.
"Everyone has something to prove," I replied, leaping over a section where the temporary road had washed out completely. "Question is whether you're brave enough to find out what it is."
"Fair point," Bennett acknowledged, following my route with the kind of split-second timing that suggested excellent reflexes. "What are you trying to prove tonight?"
The question hit deeper than I'd expected, cutting through the competitive banter to reach something more vulnerable. I was trying to prove I could still do this, could still push my body to respond when everything else felt like it was falling apart. I was trying to prove that training for the marathon hadn't been a waste of time and entry fees, that I could still be competitive despite weeks of interrupted preparation.
But more than that, I was trying to prove to myself that I could accept help without losing the strength that had carried me through everything else. That letting Bennett and the others into our lives didn't mean giving up the independence that had been my shield against the world.
"That I can keep up with someone who packs proper running gear just in case," I said instead, choosing deflection over honesty.
"Already proved that," Bennett replied, his tone suggesting a genuine respect for my pace. "Now you're proving something else entirely."
Before I could ask what he’d meant, the terrain ahead shifted again, opening up into a section where the old road had been completely demolished and replaced with temporary gravel that stretched for what looked like at least a quarter mile.
I pushed harder, my legs churning beneath me, ignoring the gravel that shifted underfoot. My lungs burned. Each breath came in shorter gasps, the air scraping my throat raw as sweat trickled down my temples and stung my eyes.
Bennett's footfalls matched mine beat for beat. "Still good?" The words came out between gulps of air.
"Getting—" Bennett's voice had a rasp to it now, but his mouth curled upward at the corners, "—interesting."
The path stretched before us, endless and unforgiving. My thoughts blurred at the edges, narrowing to the rhythm of our strides and the next breath, then the next, then the next.
Chapter 18
Dante
