The Midnight Boys

Chapter 4

The next morning, I decided that something must seriously be wrong with me, because for the second day in a row I woke up before seven. When I blinked at the clock and saw 5:04 A.M. staring back at me, I momentarily wondered if the stupid thing was broken. But outside my window, a purple haze clung to the horizon and birds chattered in the trees, announcing the oncoming dawn. I lay under my comforter for a few minutes waiting to see if I would fall back asleep.

I didn't.

There was a recognizable twitch in my muscles, something I hadn't felt in months, and I groaned at the realization of what that meant—I needed to exercise.

Ugh, body. What the hell is wrong with you?

I had plenty of time before my shift at Kandy Kane started, so I got out of bed and pulled on a sports bra and a pair of athletic shorts. My tennis shoes were still in my suitcase—I never thought I'd actually go running while I was here—and after digging them out and tying up the laces, I grabbed my phone and earbuds. Then I headed toward the front door.

Outside the air was cool and crisp, and I sucked down a deep lungful before jogging down the wooden steps and into the morning. Running was something I always did with Elliot. It was his way of staying in shape during the off season, and when we started dating, he began dragging me on his daily runs.

"I warned you," I remembered telling him the first time he made me go with. We'd only jogged a single loop around our neighborhood before I was completely winded. "I'm not cut out for this type of torture. I'm a swimmer."

Elliot, who hadn't even broken a sweat, smiled down at me. It was one of those lopsided grins that made my stomach go swoosh. "Then you should be in good shape."

I glared up at him from the patch of grass where I'd dropped in exhaustion. "I am in shape—for swimming."

My aunt and uncle owned a lake house, so I learned at an early age how to swim. Summers were spent floating under the sun and skiing in the sparkling water. Freshman year, I was the only girl in my grade who made the varsity team. But just because I could swim five miles no sweat didn't mean I could run the same amount—for me, the two activities didn't translate.

"You'll get the hang of it," he assured me. "You just have to learn how to control your breathing."

Across the street, a bunch of neighbor kids were playing in a sprinkler, and for a second I imagined myself sprawling out underneath the shower of water. "It's impossible," I said, tearing my gaze away from them. "I feel like a fish flopping around in the air."

Elliot held out his hand and then heaved me off the ground. "Fish are not attractive. Can I picture you as a mermaid instead?" he asked, a smirk splitting his face. "A sexy one that doesn't wear those stupid shell bras."

I crossed my arms and glared at my boyfriend. "You're a perv. You know that, right?"

Laughing, Elliot pulled me against his chest and planted a kiss on my brow. "Yup," he said, his lips moving softly across my forehead. "But you love me."

"That I do," I responded, and I couldn't help but smile.

Maybe it was the painful memory or the anticipation of the physical work to come, but I wasn't smiling now. Like so many other parts of my life that had been intwined with Elliot's, I hadn't bothered with running since the accident—it just didn't feel right without him. I'd probably only make it a quarter mile before keeling over and collapsing on the side of the road, but it was as if my body suddenly needed to exert itself, so I cranked up my music and kept going.

Elliot had been right. It was difficult at first, probably because it was so much different than swimming, but after a few months of running with him, I figured out how to control my breathing. Everyday I was able to push myself a little bit further, and suddenly I was doing half marathons with him for fun. But not anymore. As I made my way down the Brook's driveway, I realized how out of shape I was, how much endurance I'd already lost.