from whatever the lady’s past held. “Only you can take care of you.”
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Fire King
Chelsea’s heartrate barely registered above her normal resting beats, her breathing was the same. And the longer she ran, the calmer her body became. She thought it was funny that it baffled the shit out of her high school and college coaches.
She wasn’t sure how her vital signs remained so calm when she pushed her body to the edge. In school and secondary education, she ran long-distance on the track team. That was a miracle worker helping her through her teenage years. When the snobbiest clique picked on her or when a boy she liked ignored her, she went for a run and the solution became evident.
Her grandmother told her to find something she liked to do and focus all her energy on it to become the best. That advice certainly worked for her half-sister, Avery. She was freaky incredible at playing video games. The girl had even made money playing. If only she were paid to run.
Maybe one day. She was in training for her first full marathon. Sixty miles a week was her goal at this point. The natural high from the rush of endorphins always elevated her mood when feeling lonely, especially now after the most embarrassing breakup of her entire life.
Chelsea always understood her boyfriend of two years was hesitant when it came to spending a lot of money. His family wasn’t as well off as hers and he worked for every cent he had. Though she never worried about it, she figured he hadn’t asked her to marry him because he couldn’t afford a ring.
So when she thought it was time to move their relationship to the next level, she planned on popping the question to him. Boy, was that the biggest mistake of her life.
He’d been a little stressed recently, worried about the stability of his job. Chelsea decided she was going to make him happy again by buying them both engagement rings so he wouldn’t have to worry about finding a way to pay for them.
She’d made a date at their favorite bistro and set up ahead of time for the waiters to bring out balloons and start up the mariachi band when he said yes. She was so excited, she couldn’t keep the smile off her face the whole day.
When he arrived at the restaurant, he seemed nervous and kept glancing at his watch. She didn’t know what was up, but she didn’t want to ruin the night, so she kept the conversation light, talking about the things they could do over the weekend.
When they had nearly finished their meals, Chelsea finally asked if everything was okay. He said he had a question and Chelsea said she had one, too, starting to get excited after the strange dinner. He told her to go first. She excused herself to the restroom then searched for the waiter and the band to stand by.
She thought about getting down on one knee, but that wasn’t her style. Instead, she stood by the table with the entire dining room looking on and took his hand in hers and laid it over her heart.
“Dylan, you are the love of my life. We were friends for the longest time who grew to care more for each other. I want the entire world to know how much I love you.” The waiter stepped up and presented a tray with origami-folded napkins that had their rings displayed. “Will you marry me, Dylan?”
He stared at her with terror in his eyes. It was cute and a little funny how off guard she caught him. The mariachi trio started in before he answered.
But when he didn’t break into a smile, and his ex-girlfriend walked up behind him and laid a hand on his shoulder, her insides twisted.
Dylan opened his mouth. “Uh,” then the chickenshit looked up at his ex. The woman rolled her eyes.
“What he wants to tell you,” the bitch hollered over the band, “is that we’re getting back together.”
Chelsea’s world zoomed down to Dylan’s red face. How long had they been planning this? How long had they been sleeping together before now?
Now she understood why he always wanted to come to her place and seldom went to his. What had he been hiding all this time?
Chelsea dropped his hand and stared at him. “Two years? It took you two years to figure out you wanted to go back to the bitch who