“When?” I coughed out.

“Does it matter?”

It shouldn’t but... “It does to me.”

The angry, bitter man simply gazed at me like I was dumb. “He wouldn’t let me.”

You know nothing, Vanessa Mazur.

I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand at all.

“The last time I suggested we find him someone else, he said the first person that would go between the two of us would be me. Me.”

Some things just sort of clicked together. Why Trevor had always been such an asshole to me—prima ballerinas didn’t like dancing in anyone else’s limelight. Why he had fought so much to try to keep me from quitting—to save his own hide. Why he’d been so on edge since we got married and didn’t tell him—because it seemed like we were ganging up on him, which was a partial truth.

But the news made me reel.

It felt like the rug had been pulled out from under my feet.

He’d liked me. Aiden had fucking liked me. He hadn’t been joking so many months ago.

The way Trevor cleared his throat was rough, catching, like he was trying to compose himself after losing his shit. “Anyway, tell Aiden I’ll be calling him soon. You two might be packing your bags and moving to colder pastures,” he noted. “See you.”

I didn’t say another word to him. What the hell else was there to say?

With shaking hands, I picked up my phone and typed out a message to the big guy.

Me: I didn’t know Trevor wanted to fire me.

An hour later, I got my response.

Aiden: Did he go by the house?

He wasn’t even trying to bullshit me.

Me: Yeah.

Aiden: Yes, he wanted to get rid of you. I didn’t let him.

Was he on crack?

Me: You didn’t say anything when I left. I just thought… you didn’t care.

Aiden: I wasn’t going to force you to stay if you wanted to go.

Me: But you could have said something. I would have stayed longer if you’d just asked.

I’d barely typed that out when I realized how stupid of an argument that was. If he’d asked. Aiden was like me, he wouldn’t have asked. Ever.

Aiden: I got you for longer, didn’t I?

Chapter Thirty

Why was I still doing this?

Why?

Why hadn’t I just said, “Van, who gives a shit whether you can run a marathon or not? You did more than you ever imagined you could. Who do you have to impress?”

As much as I hadn’t wanted it to, life had taken its toll on my head and confidence. Since everything happened, I’d barely been able to add another mile and a half to my distance, and that was pushing it. I walked and bitched while I did it, and afterward, I was so tired and my knee ached so badly, I crashed out on the bed after my shower and refused to get up.

Every sign said doing the marathon was a terrible idea.

Nothing changed the fact that I missed Zac’s company, and the way he motivated me to keep going even when we were both cussing about how stupid doing this was.

I had to do it. I’d trained for months. Not finishing wasn’t an option.

I could do it.

I wasn’t freaking the fuck out. Nerves weren’t making my hands shake. I wasn’t subconsciously rubbing over my ring finger every few minutes, searching for that token of Aiden he’d given me that I’d left at home because I was too scared to lose it. Aiden’s necklace was tucked under my shirt for good luck. Surrounded by so many people who were smiling and just seemed so fucking stoked to participate, it honestly disheartened me a little.

Twenty miles. I could run twenty miles. That was something to be proud of, wasn’t it?

I had barely thought that when I mentally smacked myself. Of course twenty miles was something, but I’d put my body through hell for these last few months for what? For this.

If I didn’t do this, I needed to get my ass kicked. Even if I came in fucking last, I had to finish it. Screw it.

I shook out my hands. I could do this.

“Are you Vanessa Mazur?” a voice to my right asked.

Finding a woman wearing a T-shirt that said she was volunteering at the marathon, I forced a smile on my face and nodded. “Yes.”

She thrust out a cell phone in my direction. “You have a call.”

A call? Gingerly taking the basic flip phone, I watched as she backed away before raising it up to my ear. “Hello?”

“Muffin,” the deep voice answered.

I pulled the phone away from my face and took in the screen, recognizing the number. “How the hell did you get this number?”

“I didn’t. Trevor did. I tried calling your cell, but it went straight to voicemail,” Aiden explained.

“Yeah, I left it in my pile of stuff,” I pretty much stammered, still trying to process that he’d somehow, some way, gotten in contact with me. He hadn’t called me since he’d left. We’d only communicated via text message, and the sound of his voice went straight to my heart.

In what had become a typical Aiden way, he asked, “Are you all right?”

“No.” I looked around to make sure the woman who handed me the phone wasn’t listening. There were too many people around, all living their own lives, worrying about themselves. “I’m trying to talk myself into doing this even if I come in last,” I admitted.

“You’re about to run a marathon. Do you think it matters if you come in last as long as you finish it?” he asked.