Ryan

I loved to run. Aside from bartending and creating new drinks, running was the only thing that made me feel alive. I loved the feel of my feet pounding against the pavement, my chest heaving as I sucked in each jagged breath. Nothing beat waking up to run along the beach path in Santa Monica just as most people were headed into the office.

I ran at the same time every morning, and the handful of faces that passed me on the path had become all too familiar. There was the man who always wore a neon-pink shirt, no matter what. And it wasn’t the same shirt, so “pink guy” had a freaking collection of T-shirts in that color. A few weeks ago, he started waving at me each morning, so I guessed we were jogging friends now.

There was a group of guys who ran together, each of them trying to outrun the other. They were intensely competitive, always racing, and they knew me by name, shouting it one by one as they raced past. It never failed to make me laugh, hearing my name fly out of their mouths as they bolted past me.

The attractive brunette who ran with her twins should have been competing in an Olympic game the way she pushed that giant stroller without toppling it over. She smiled at me too as she maneuvered the beast past me.

And then there was Grant. He was an elderly man I slowed down for whenever I saw him, just so I could jog alongside him. He had the best stories, always talking to me about how romance used to be when he was a kid, and how times had changed. Then he usually called me some insulting name. He had told me on more than one occasion that I was born in the wrong era, and I agreed. We sometimes stopped and had coffee together after our run, him asking me about the bar, and me asking him about the love of his life. His whole face lit up whenever he talked about his wife, even though she was no longer here.

“Help! Someone help!” A woman’s voice tore through the otherwise calm morning, her panicked tone making goose bumps rise on my skin.

I stopped and whirled around, searching for where the shouting was coming from. Swiveling my head, I couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

“Help me!”

I zoned in and dashed toward the distressed cry, having no idea what exactly I was looking for. Spotting two people on the ground in the distance, I picked up the pace and pulled my cell phone from my pocket as I ran.

When I reached the woman, I recognized the man she held in her arms. My heart nearly stopped as I took in Grant’s face, his expression pained and his eyes closed.

“What happened?”

The woman looked up at me. “I’m not sure. Heart attack, maybe? He clutched his chest before he fell to the ground. I don’t think anyone else saw him because no one stopped.” Her voice was shaking, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. Sunlight caught her hair, making her look angelic, not that she needed the help. She was fucking beautiful.

Without another word, I dropped to the ground on the other side of Grant and dialed 911.

“We need an ambulance at the running path near lifeguard station number twenty-three.” I didn’t need to look around to know exactly where I was. I had this stretch of beach memorized. “Male, I think he’s about seventy. Good shape, jogs every morning.” At the dispatcher’s question, I leaned forward to bring my ear toward Grant’s mouth and nose. “Yes, he’s breathing, but it’s shallow and sounds labored . . . Okay. Please hurry.”

My eyes locked on the scared woman sitting in front of me, Grant’s head cradled in her lap. I didn’t recognize her, had never seen her running the path before. And trust me, I would have noticed her, with or without the halo that still framed her face.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

Her hazel eyes met mine, and she took me in for a beat before responding. “You know him?” she asked, not answering my question.

I nodded, fighting the urge to reach out and touch her. Golden-brown hair had fallen around her cheeks, and I wanted to tuck the strands behind her ear.

“Do you think he’ll be okay?” she asked, her attention focused on Grant.

I forced a smile and looked down at the man I had come to respect and considered a friend. “He’s tough. He’ll pull through. Won’t you, Grant?” I waited for him to nod, or move, or blink, but he did none of those things. He hadn’t moved at all since I got there. He was as still as the woman holding him.

“I’ve never seen you before.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them, my tone far more flirtatious than I’d intended.

“I usually run earlier,” she said before stopping short, like she was uncomfortable divulging that bit of information to a perfect stranger.

I extended my hand. “I’m Ryan.”

Her lips tightened as she stared at my hand, making no move to reach for it. “I know who you are.”

That shocked me. It probably shouldn’t have, but it still took me by surprise. “You do?”

“I’ve been to your bar,” she said, then added, “Once.” She leveled me with her steady gaze before focusing back on the old man.

I sat there, confused for a second at her attempt to blow me off.

Had I been rude to her at the bar? I couldn’t imagine that could be true, but her pretending I didn’t exist when I was sitting right across from her made me uncomfortable. Women didn’t usually hate me without provocation, and I had no idea what I could have possibly done to her and not remember it.

“Are you going to tell me your name?” I decided to push her a little more, see what she might give me. It was a foolish move, so call me a damn fool if you want. I found myself staring at her and the halo around her head that made her look like a real-life angel.

“I told you my name the last time you asked. I’m sorry you don’t remember it,” she said, her tone anything but sorry.

For once in my life, I found myself unable to read a woman’s eyes. She looked right at me, her expression shuttered, and I had no idea what she was thinking or feeling.

Based on her reaction, I was almost convinced she hated me. No, hate was too strong a word, but she definitely wasn’t impressed with me, neither now nor the first time we met. The time I didn’t remember.

The piercing shriek of a siren filled the air, and I looked up to see an ambulance headed in our direction. I jumped to my feet, waving my arms to draw their attention as they navigated off the road and toward the path where Grant still lay unresponsive. A small crowd had formed around us as the paramedics hopped out and ran forward, carrying a stabilizing board.

Two EMTs crouched down next to Grant. “Did you see what happened?” one of them asked.

The angel shook her head. “I only saw him clutch his chest before he fell.”

“Has he said anything? Talked at all?”

“No,” she said as they moved him carefully from her care. Her breathing quickened, her worry for Grant etched all over her face. She couldn’t have hidden her concern if she tried, that much I could tell. I could practically see her heart on her sleeve, bleeding for a man she didn’t even know.

I wrenched my gaze away from her and watched as the paramedics took Grant’s vitals, spouting off directions and information to each other in a shorthand I didn’t understand but desperately wanted to. They hooked him up to contraptions I couldn’t name and strapped him onto the board. I’d never felt as helpless as I did in those moments when I wasn’t sure if he was going to live or die. His face was so pale.

The paramedics wheeled him away and I followed behind.

“Can I go with him?” I shouted.

“Are you family?”

“A friend,” I said, my racing heart pounding like a two-hundred-pound gorilla at the possibility of his refusal.

The paramedics loaded Grant into the back of the waiting ambulance, moving fluidly in concert as I stood there helplessly waiting for a response.

“Come on.” He waved me inside, granting me access to the back of the vehicle, and I hopped in. “Sit there.” He pointed, and I did as I was told.

“What hospital are you taking him to?” the angel called out, and I realized I’d almost forgotten all about her.

Almost.

“Saint Johns,” the EMT said before the doors slammed shut, locking us in, and the ambulance took off without a chance for another word to be spoken.

This time, however, my angel’s eyes didn’t stray from mine as the vehicle pulled away. Her focus stayed locked on me, her eyes saying things I still couldn’t understand.

It pissed me off, but I’d concentrate on finding her later, and would figure out what I’d done to make her dislike me so much. For now, I needed to make sure Grant was going to survive and live to see another day.

• • •

Unable to sit still, I paced back and forth in the hospital’s waiting room while they did whatever they were doing to Grant, hoping like hell he’d pull through.

Bits of our conversations over the past few months played in my mind as I remembered the things he’d told me about life and love, always doling out advice like he was an expert on the subject. I considered him one, to be honest.

For me, he was a confidant of sorts, always giving me shit but encouraging me in the same breath. Grant claimed to understand my fairy-tale heart, telling me that I was born in the wrong time, surrounded by the wrong kind of women.

My lips twitched into a smile as I remembered the first time I met him.

After an extra-long run one morning, I found myself sitting alone at a small beachside café. Mumbling to himself, Grant sat at the table next to mine and pulled out a newspaper. He continued talking to himself under his breath, and when I glanced over my shoulder at him, he caught me.

“Was I talking out loud again?” he’d asked, looking sheepish.

Grinning at him, I said, “I didn’t mind.”

“Like I’d give a shit if you did anyway.”

His blunt words caught me off guard, and I almost choked on my water. I laughed and immediately pulled my chair over to his table, settling in.

He raised one bushy gray eyebrow, giving me a stern look. “Did I invite you over here, son?”

“Nope. But I don’t give a shit either,” I fired back.

He’d laughed then, a big, hearty sound that made me smile as he smacked the table with the palm of his hand.

“All right, smartass. You can stay.”

Our friendship began that morning.

I learned that both Grant and his wife, Carol, had been the youngest of all their siblings and were the only ones still living. At least, until his wife passed away a little over a year ago. Since they didn’t have any kids, he was all alone.

Grant said life sucked without her, but every morning he kept waking up, so he guessed it wasn’t his time to go. He’d started jogging out of sheer boredom, or that’s what he always claimed. But the man was toned and wiry, built like a fucking racehorse, and that kind of thing didn’t happen overnight. Especially not at his age.

A doctor holding a clipboard appeared in front of me, startling me out of my memories. “Are you with Grant Masterson?”

I nodded. “Is he okay?”

“He made it through surgery without any issues. We need to keep him here for the next few days for observation, and to make sure no infection sets in. But barring any complications, he should be able to go home Friday.”

“That’s great. Can I see him?”

“He’s still in recovery, but I can have someone give you a call when he wakes up.”

“Really? That would be amazing. Thank you.” I jotted down my name and number on a pad of paper. “He doesn’t have any family, so I really would appreciate that call.”

The doctor nodded and took my note before walking away.

My mind flashed briefly to the angel from earlier, and I wondered if she’d be making an appearance at the hospital to check on Grant. My gut instinct told me that she definitely would, and I was tempted to camp out in the lobby until she showed up.

I quickly decided against it. If I was going to run into her “accidentally on purpose,” then I wanted to be prepared for it. I wanted to catch her off guard by being completely on mine.

In the meantime, I called an Uber to come pick me up and take me to get my car. I’d already run enough for one day.