Page 96 of Unpredictable
“Well, my friend—” He clapped a hand on my shoulder, and I felt as if I might cave under the pressure. “You can either talk to me about it, or we can go running.”
“Pass,” I said, falling back on the couch.
My back was aching, but I figured it was from all the time I’d been spending on the couch lately. That and the fact that I was finally feeling my age. I’d never felt as old and tired as I had the past week since she’d left.
“Come on.” He held out a hand. “Get up. Get moving. You’ll feel better. You know you always do,” he added when I still didn’t move.
I groaned. “My back aches.”
“God, you’re turning into a whiny old man.”
I narrowed my eyes, leaping up from the couch, despite the pain. “I can still beat your ass any day.”
“Yeah?” He crossed his arms over his chest, goading me. “I’d like to see you try.”
I flipped him off as I jogged up the stairs, rushing to get ready so I wouldn’t have to spend any more time than necessary surrounded by Juliana’s things. Her sticky notes were like a neon sign on the bathroom mirror, mocking me with their—my—advice.
“Control is an illusion,” I muttered. “Isn’t that the truth.”
My latest note to her remained there. “I love your smile.”
A quick glance in the mirror, and I barely recognized the man I saw. Losing Juliana had aged me. Gone was the happy, carefree, loving man of a few days ago. In his stead was a pale, lifeless, old man. Though my hair had been salt-and-pepper for years, I swore it was more salt than pepper now.
I dropped my head and turned away. I still hadn’t heard from her since she’d left for Thailand. It was killing me—the silence, the waiting. But she knew where I stood. Even so, I’d been tempted to call or text her so many times. Just to know if she’d made it okay. To let her know I was thinking about her. To tell her I’d made a mistake.
I shook my head and returned downstairs.
“Let’s go.” Reg slapped me on the back. It was nothing out of the ordinary, but every touch felt like I was being pounded by a jackhammer.
We drove to a local park. It was a beautiful day—not too hot. And not too crowded. The run started out all right, though I was sluggish. I blamed it on lack of sleep, but the farther we ran, the worse I felt. Without warning, I was struck with a stomach cramp that had me doubling over in pain.
“Fuck,” I hissed through my teeth.
Reg’s bright sneakers came into view. “You okay, man?”
I shook my head, my vision darkening at the edges. I tried to focus on his orange laces, on the way the strands were woven together. But I was fading.
“Talk to me.” Reg’s voice was calm. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“Argh.” I couldn’t seem to catch my breath, and I was sweating a lot more than I had been even moments before.
Several runners slowed as they passed, but most merely continued on. All the while, my gut churned. Churned and cramped, and… I jogged over to the nearest bushes and emptied the contents of my stomach.
“Whoa. Okay,” Reg said, stepping back. “I’m calling an ambulance.”
I let out a strangled cry, clutching my side. I was no stranger to pain or injury. In my years of playing football—first college, then professionally—I’d suffered numerous injuries. But nothing had ever felt quite like this. It was excruciating—my stomach and back radiating pain.
“No,” I gasped. “No ambulance. I’m not going to the hospital.”
“Okay, tough guy. Think you can walk?”
I took a few steps before I sagged, but he was there to support me. “Do you think it’s food poisoning?” Reg asked as we lumbered down the path.
I threw up again.
“Fuck if I know. But I have this—” I clutched my side again. “My side fucking hurts.”
He frowned. “Appendix? Can you jump?”
