Dream Runner (32 page)

Chapter 32

Sizing up the competition, Marlea jogged from foot to foot, trying to shake the tension out of her shoulders and legs. Elise Connor pranced by, dreadlocks swinging and tight gold shorts cutting into the perfect curve of her sculpted, black-skinned buttocks. She moved with the grace of a gazelle. Marlea thought she heard someone behind her say something about Reebok or some other big company offering to sponsor her.

Must be nice
, Marlea thought, recalling what she knew of her. Connor was a sophomore at the University of South Carolina in Columbia. She known for taking chances. The word on the running circuit was that taking chances was how she had lost her toes; trying to hitch a ride at the back of a city bus on a skateboard at twelve, she had fallen and her foot had been crushed.

She had taken to running in high school, possibly as a way of making up for what other kids teased her about, or maybe it was just to impress a boy.
But she didn’t give up,
Marlea thought.
She kept going, and now she’s a tough, hard-running competitor. She started out running the 200 and the 4-by-4, but she switched to the 400 for the same reason I did.

Hand on the stadium wall, and drawing a leg up to grasp her ankle, Marlea stretched her quads and watched Connor high-step her way back down the sidelines. The nineteen-year-old’s body moved like a machine, and she looked like a world-beater. Two of the other 400 competitors, Betty Graves from NC State and Lauren Thomas from California, put their heads together. Graves looked nervous. She jammed her thumb into the armhole of her North Carolina blue singlet and pulled at it. Thomas kept shaking her head. Pointing from Elise to Marlea, the pair talked furiously, something like fear growing in their eyes.

Connor is psyching them out
, Marlea realized.
I heard she was good at that, but that crap is not going to work on me—not today. I raced her a month ago in Denver and I beat her, and I’ve trained more since. I’m going to beat her again.

Beginning a slow jog, trying to warm cold muscles, Marlea took an easy turn along the side lane. Concentrating on her stride, she looked up when she heard her name.

“Hey, Ms. Kellogg! Over here!”

Jogging toward the sound, she was thrilled to see rows and rows of children and adults dressed in the red and gold colors of the Runyon School. Big, square-shaped, multicolored signs bore her name and words of encouragement. Raising both arms in happy salute, she ran toward her loyal fans.

“Watch out!”

She heard the shouted warning in the very second that her foot found a forgotten hurdle brace. Caught in a hellish moment of fated disaster, her ankle rolled and her body pitched forward. Pain surged through her foot and ankle, and she looked up at the children in the stands, her mind locked on a single thought:
Not again!

“No!” She saw the word form on small faces.

“No!” She heard someone scream in the crowd.

“Not again,” she swore, as she fell, landing hard on her hands and knees. Elise Connor’s face bobbed in the sea of faces for an instant. No condolence or consolation showed on her smooth young features, but Marlea saw the fire in her eyes. Sure that her cause was won, the corners of her mouth lifted.

Digging her fingers and toes into the synthetic track surface, Marlea’s heart lurched at the ragged fire that ripped through her shocked body.
Not like this.
She tried not to give in to the wash of despair.
I don’t mind being outrun, outclassed, but not like this. I can’t lose like this…
Trying to catch her breath, she felt more than saw Libby and the USTAF officials rushing to surround her.

“Looks like she’s out of it,” Kessler gloated in the stands.

“You don’t know her,” AJ said, standing. “Just make sure you have my money,” he advised, heading for the exit.

“Yeah,” Dench seconded, rising to follow his friend. “Make sure.”

“Yeah, what they said,” Connie and Jeanette added, hurrying after the men.

The nurses stopped for ice, but Libby was already there and kneeling at Marlea’s side when AJ pushed through the throng around her. Rolling onto her side, Marlea gasped, pulled her leg in toward her chest, and hugged it desperately. AJ looked at her face and swallowed hard. Her eyes squeezed shut, the lashes stitched with unshed tears. He knew that look, had worn it himself. She was hurt.

Pushing closer, he dropped to one knee at her side. “Silk?” His palm pressed her clammy forehead. “How bad is it?”

Her lashes fluttered and she sniffed, but her eyes were bright when she looked at him. “How is it that I find you next to me every time I fall?”

“Just lucky, I guess.” His hand moved to her cheek and he couldn’t help smiling.

Squatting, Libby and a USTAF doctor moved in on Marlea, and air hissed past her lips when Libby touched her ankle. Experienced fingers probing, she looked at the doctor and shrugged. Not liking the shrug, AJ moved his own hand to Marlea’s ankle. Tense fingers pressed, questioning the injury.

“Doesn’t seem like a break,” he said to a solemn-faced Libby.

“No, but a bad sprain can be as bad as a break, or worse.”

AJ’s fingers moved again and Marlea moaned.

“Look, sir,” the doctor tried to shoulder past AJ. “We don’t want to call security on you. Why don’t you go back to the stands and let the professionals handle this.” It wasn’t a question, but an order. AJ’s jaw tightened, and the doctor shrank away from what he saw in the big man’s face. Not ready to relinquish his authority, he studied AJ’s stern features, then recognition dawned. “I know you. You’re Yarborough, aren’t you? AJ Yarborough, the football player, right?”

“Yeah. I’m also a degreed and licensed physical therapist, and her trainer.”

A close look at the big man’s eyes was enough. Hearing his words, the doctor moved back. AJ slipped his fingers beneath Marlea’s sock and pressed, looking for heat and swelling. She bit her lip and held her breath. He didn’t like it at all. “Silk, you’ve got a sprain here. It’s not the worst one you’ve ever had, but I don’t think you want to run on it.”

“Dude, what about your bet?” Dench flinched when AJ’s eyes singed him.

“What bet?” Marlea wanted to know.

“He bet that writer, Adrian Kessler, that you would take this race.” Dench flinched again when AJ gave him another withering glare.

“You made a bet?” Still lying on the ground, Marlea hugged her leg and suddenly grinned. “On me?”

“Big mouth,” AJ muttered. “Dench and Rissa are made for each other.”

“You had that much faith in me, huh?” Marlea pushed herself up on her elbows. “How much did you bet?”

Dench opened his mouth, but closed it quickly when he caught the warning in AJ’s eyes.

“Look, Silk, you’re the one who promised me that I could always have faith in you, so when he put it out there, what else could I do? I put my money on you.”

Elise Connor capered past, watching from the comer of her eye. Propped on an elbow, Marlea sat a little higher and made a decision. “Libby, have you got tape or Ace bandages?”

“Right here.” Jeanette scooted around Connie and Dench, pulling the elastic bandages from her windbreaker. Breaking the cellophane wrappings, she pulled the clips free and offered the bandages to AJ.

“I’m ready.” When he hesitated, Marlea shook her foot and grimaced. “Are you going to wrap my ankle, or do I have to do it myself?”

“I’ve got you, Silk.” He took the wrappings from Jeanette and waited for Libby to remove Marlea’s sock and shoe. “The swelling hasn’t begun yet…”

“Good, let’s make sure that it doesn’t,” Marlea smiled. “Make the wrappings tight, I won’t be in them long.”

“I have this for you, too.” Connie popped past AJ with a bit of string in her hand. “A little kid gave it to me on the way down here. It was one of your children, right? She said it was for luck. I think you need some luck right about now. Hold out your arm.”

Marlea extended her arm obediently and waited for Connie to twist the red-and-gold braided yarn bracelet into place. The small talisman seemed to work instantly. “Thanks, Connie.” Fingering the yarn bracelet, Marlea squared her shoulders. “Know what, AJ? Your faith and your bet are safe—I’m about to blow the dust off this track.”

Helped up from the ground, Marlea managed to stand on her own. AJ looked ready to rush in and carry her off the field, but she motioned everyone to stand back. The first two steps she took were cautious but stable, and the people around her released a collective sigh of relief.

Encouraged, Marlea shifted her weight from foot to foot, then put a bit of bounce into it. Stunning pain arched through her foot and lanced into her ankle, making her stomach cramp abruptly. Her knee came perilously close to buckling. AJ’s arm was there. She caught it and leaned, for a moment, catching her breath.

“…400 meters. Runners for the 400-meter event…”

Marlea and AJ both turned toward the track. “That’s my event. It’s time.”

“You don’t have to do this,” he whispered, holding her tighter.

“Oh, yes, I do,” she whispered back, pushing free. She took two steps away from him, then stepped back. “But I would like it a lot if you were there when I cross the finish line.”

AJ’s lips touched hers. “I’ll be there.”

“Good,” she kissed him back.

He pushed a hand into his jacket pocket. “Silk, before you go, I just want to…”

“I’ll be right back; wait for me.” She gave his arm a light pat. “Don’t go too far away, and don’t blink, ’cause this won’t take a minute.”

AJ watched her limp toward the staging area. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he felt for the small, square box and wished he could run for her.

Dench draped an arm around his friend’s shoulders. “Whatcha gonna do?”’

“Only thing I can do. I’m gonna watch her run and be there when she finishes.”

* * *

Walking, exhaling slowly, Marlea counted eight beats, then sucked in another big breath and let it course through her long lean frame.
I’m here for a reason,
she reminded herself.
I’ve been on my way to this place all my life. I finish this race, and I can look forward
to
the Paralympic Masters competition in San Sebastian and a place on the team.
Her stomach fluttered at the thought of returning to Spain, and she clamped down on it.
San Sebastian is not Barcelona.
She ignored the harsh flash of pain in her ankle.
Phillips Arena is going to see my best today—whatever it takes.

Heading for her lane, Marlea’s fingers twisted the yarn bracelet as she concentrated on what it would feel like to release the power and run.

“I saw you fall.” The voice was soft and Southern, its insinuation gentle. “It must have really hurt. Are you sure you can run on that ankle? I mean, nobody would blame you if you sat this one out.”

“I’m fine, thanks.” Marlea smiled at Elise Connor.
The kid might as well pull in her claws and save that fake sympathy for someone else. I’ve dealt with bigger cats than her and survived.
Sliding her hands over her sleek head, Marlea walked to her assigned area. Ponytail intact, she tried to focus, to recall Libby’s mind/body routine.

Pulling her thoughts away from AJ and Elise Connor to focus on the race took some effort, but Marlea managed to find the number four slot without incident. “Number four,” she whispered to herself. “That’s really got to be my lucky number.” It seemed that her best races were run in the number four lane.

Hands on her hips, she walked to the start and took a deep breath. Looking at the women lining up with her, she thanked God for second chances. Kicking her toes along the synthetic track, Marlea wiped her hands against her shorts and then pressed them against her thighs. She smiled at the women in her field.
Good luck to
all
of you,
Marlea thought,
but I’m taking this one. This is my race.

“Runners, take your mark…”

Shaking off anything that had nothing to do with the run, Marlea coiled her body into starting position. At her side, one of the women began a low-voiced, droning prayer. Pressing her heel against the block, Marlea dropped her head and offered her own silent prayer.

“Get
set…”

Breathe…She pulled deep and listened, tuning into the energy of her internal rhythms.

“
…Go!”

Her face tightened and her arms pumped when she heard the crack of the starter’s pistol. The first strike of Marlea’s foot against the track ignited the speed in her soul. With no thought for anything but the run, she picked up her pace and grinned into Elise Connor’s fierce eyes. Even at the start, she was fighting to stay even and praying to pass.

Somewhere in a world beyond the track, Marlea heard the crowd. The muted roar launched her, sucking the breath from her lungs and the ground from beneath her feet. She knew that if she tried, she would be able to smell fear and yearning oozing from the pores of the other running women, and it meant nothing—even when the ripping crackle of grief in her ankle went hot, then cold and numb, as she outran the pain.

At her side, Elise Connor bared her teeth and strained with effort.

Not today, sweetie!
Marlea dug deeper and pulled on resolve and twenty years of passion and craving.
It’s only 400 meters to gold.
Driving hard, her chest burned and threatened to burst at 300 meters, but she could see the goal.
Breathe!
When Elise fell steps behind, with less than ten meters to go, Marlea could almost feet the push of time and the other woman’s desire against her hot skin.

In the stands, binoculars found the number four runner and held. In spite of the injury, her head was high, her shoulders level, and her hips tight. Marlea’s strides stayed long and even, the rhythm setting her ponytail swinging. Her high kick and unbound speed carried her across the finish line ahead of the other runners. Arms high, her head fell back as she finished. Her throat was tight with triumph when the silvery white banner broke across her chest.

“Damn,” Adrian Kessler swore from behind his leveled binoculars. “Hell of a run. He said she was fast, but I know that was a record.” Lowering the field glasses, he was glad that Elise Connor was in the field. Finishing seconds behind Marlea, she was going to save him a few hundred dollars. “I’m going to have to say something nice about her in my article.”