Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100750 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100750 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
She stood and rushed forward. Gilbert stepped out of the doorway and pointed down the hall. Reid remembered her kindergarten teacher reminding her to not run in halls. She ignored the voice in the back of her head and sprinted toward the double wooden doors. She pressed the button and anxiously waited for someone to answer.
“I’m here to see Grayson Caballero. I’m Reid Sullivan.”
“One moment.”
A minute or so later, the doors clicked open and a nurse greeted her. “Follow me.” She took Reid into a room, instructed her to wash her hands, and then helped her put a gown on over her clothes. She then took Reid down another hall and to Grayson’s room.
All the rooms faced the nurses’ station, and each room had its blinds pulled. Reid was thankful she couldn’t see anyone because she wasn’t sure she’d be able to handle it.
She took a deep breath and rounded the corner. Her hand covered her mouth in a failed attempt to stifle the gasp she let out. Grayson . . . her Grayson lay on the bed, lifeless. The machine at his side, taking and filtering his blood back into his body, did all the work for him.
“Reid.” Sydney said her name softly. “I have to know—was Grayson taking his meds?”
“What meds?”
“Grayson was born with congenital heart disease.”
Reid absorbed the words and shook her head slightly. “I had no idea,” she said in a whisper.
THREE
RAFE
Rafe Karlsson woke seconds before his alarm sounded. He shut it off, rolled over to where Nadia slept, and kissed her on her cheek.
“Let me sleep,” she mumbled into the darkness.
“You can sleep while I shower.” He slipped out of bed and walked into the en suite bathroom, which the former owner had put in as an addition along with a nice walk-in closet.
He turned on the water for his shower, went to the bathroom, and then stepped into the navy blue and white mosaic tiled stand-up he and his father had built a few years after Rafe and Nadia bought the craftsman-style home. They’d kept most of the old charm and character of the home and changed only the kitchen, modernizing it with brand-new appliances, granite countertops, and white subway tiles. Rafe and Nadia had fallen in love with the exposed ceiling beams, the extensive built-ins, the large windows, and the spacious porch with its thick, tapered columns.
Rafe stood under the hot spray and worked the muscles in his shoulder while he imagined the road course he’d run many times prior to this morning. This year, he was going to win. None of this coming in second or third shit. This was his year.
The Commonwealth Cup started a hundred years ago, when two townies got into an argument over the location of Heartbreak Hill. According to the map and every Bostonian, the famed hill was in the town of Newton. Some of the questionable folks who didn’t know their heads from their . . . said it was “on the outskirts” of the city. No such thing when it comes to Boston. You’re either within city limits or you’re not.
Newton was not.
Instead of a good ole fistfight, they decided to race each other uphill for a half mile. When they both crossed the made-up finish line, they kept going, running along Commonwealth Avenue, past Boston University, and across the bridge, then continuing along the Charles River until they reached Harvard Square, where they both collapsed from exhaustion. Neither man declared victory, and both vowed to race again, after they’d had a year of training. Thus, the Commonwealth Cup was born. Over the decades, the course had been altered to create a ten-mile road race from Newton to Harvard.
At some point, the race had stopped being about two townies. It was about two communities coming together and raising funds to aid in the development of parks and recreational activities for the youth. It was about police officers earning bragging rights over their counterparts. It was about a father pushing his wheelchair-bound son across the finish line.
Rafe didn’t have an objective, other than winning. He loved running, but mostly he loved seeing his family along the route, cheering for him. Even if he didn’t cross the finish line first, he’d have his daughters, Gemma and Lynnea, there at the end, telling him how proud they were of him.
Still, he wanted to win. He wanted the Cup to sit proudly on his desk and to have his new clients ask him about it. Doing so would give him an opportunity to encourage them to not only invest their money with his firm but also give back to their community.
He got out of the shower, dried off, and dressed in a pair of running shorts with compression shorts built in, a long-sleeve moisture-wicking shirt and socks, and his favorite brand of running shoes, which were fairly new and perfectly broken in.