Page 77 of For the Record

I was still irritated, though. Still pissed that he either knew what this was and chose to ignore it, or he didn’t actually like me that way. Either way, I was really sick of feeling like I was being dragged along without any form of explanation.

Three sharp knocks came from my door, booming down the hall into my bedroom. I trudged along, stepping over mountains of probably clean clothes and assortments of makeup bags to get to the main entrance. I opened the door to see Adam standing there with a furrowed brow and shaky hands holding his helmet.

“Uh…” I trailed off.

He walked beside me into my kitchen. If I wasn’t so relieved to have him back in the states, I would have probably kicked him out. But I was relieved, so I kept my mouth shut.

“I just left Calla’s. She said your date was yesterday.” He didn’t look mad or necessarily disappointed, but…lost. Like he was asking a question more than making a statement.

I wasn’t going to tell him that I hadn’t gone. Mostly because I was feeling petty, and a small part of me would have loved to see Adam all jealous with his stupid man muscles and heaving chest. I liked caveman Adam. Even when I wanted to strangle him.

So I crossed my arms. “Yes, it was…” supposed to be.

He ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the ends. “Did he kiss you?”

“And if he did? Does it matter?”

“Does it matter? Rachel, I rode here going a hundred and twenty miles an hour, running four red lights to see you.”

When I wasn’t so fired up, I was going to have to remind him to never in his life do that again, especially not for me.

I shrugged. “You do that, but you can’t simply tell me how you feel about me?”

“I know, okay? It’s just, you said you wanted to date again. I didn’t think it would be this soon—”

“You, Adam!” I practically shrieked, not caring if I sounded just like my mother. “I wanted to date you. When I said that, I was hoping you would pick up on the fact that I’ve been caught up on you for months, you big, dumb—” I growled in the back of my throat, not having the words in my state of anger.

I breathed through my nose and did my best to continue. “If you’re jealous, say that. If you want more with me, say that. If I mean absolutely anything to you, say that. You can’t expect me to hop along this relationship forever, having no clue what I mean to you or what this is.” My voice was rising higher and higher. I knew I was bound to get a complaint from my crappy neighbors any minute now, but I couldn’t seem to make myself care. “I can understand your silence most of the time, but I’m not a freaking mind reader, Adam. Help me out here. I mean, are we anything at all? Friends? Part-time lovers? More? What?”

I could see the moment he was pushed too far. I hated that I was the one who’d done it to him, but I couldn’t be expected to stay in the dark forever. Or maybe I wasn’t in the dark entirely, but it was dim. All I could make out were shapes and colors that didn’t give me any sort of answer to the big picture. Not when it came to him. His eyebrows dipped down, pupils gazing up and down, as if he was memorizing this moment.

“More,” he declared in that low baritone of his. He walked toward my door, a hand on the frame and looking back over his shoulder to the floor below me, not even at my eyes.

“I can’t—I don’t know what, and I don’t know how but…more.”

This time, it wasn’t enough for me.

Currently playing: I Will Survive by Gloria Gaynor

***

“You ready, sweetheart?” Adam asked with a rough hand on my lower back.

“No.” I smiled warily. But I was here anyway, wasn’t I?

Granted, I was doing the “sprint” triathlon and not the regular one I had foolishly hoped to sign up for. After the last couple of days of running and swimming with Adam at his parents’ house, he so kindly told me I wasn’t quite ready for the full thing—mostly because of the swimming. He said it in the same way a parent tells their kid the park is closed or that the store didn’t have their favorite ice cream. As if I was going to be entirely heartbroken over not having to run an additional five miles or so and who knows how far for swimming.

I was a strong swimmer. We had a pool at my house when I was growing up, and I was pretty good at making laps, but it was speed that was against me. Adam said I used too much energy in the swimming to focus on the running or biking portion. At least now it was only a half-mile swim, three-mile run, and then twelve and a half or so miles on a bike. It wasn’t going to be easy. It was borderline impossible for a reformed couch potato such as myself. But Adam, Layla, and the entire Wells Family were here to support. How could I not give it my best?

Everyone was starting to line up. Mostly men in their midforties stood at the white line. It was a little intimidating, everyone in their tight black wet suit–running combos and their tiny pouches of energetic goo. Most of the people here seemed to do this professionally. Their equipment was all name brand, and they all had runner’s bodies with lean muscle and zero percent fat content. Meanwhile, my swim cap had come from Target, and it wasn’t until last week that I truly understood how to hold my breath and push air underwater. Growing up with a pool meant mostly me sitting out on a float, lounging around to work on my tan and taking maybe a lap or two to cool off. I certainly never trained for the freaking Olympics.

But none of that mattered. I wasn’t here to win or to claim a medal like a lot of them. I was here for my dad, and I’d told Adam to be sure to grab a picture at the end so I could rush to show him as soon as my legs weren’t flabby Jell-O.

“You’re going to do incredible.” Adam kissed my forehead and squeezed my arm.

That was a stretch, but I had gotten a lot better at running over the months, and if I could make it across that finish line, what else in life could I do? The world was my oyster and all that.

With a shaky hand, I squeezed his wrist, turning my head to kiss his cheek. “I should go line up.”