Chapter 177
Summer's POV
The crowd was going wild, and I found myself gripping the railing so hard my knuckles had gone white. Mia was yelling something beside me, and Ashley was jumping up and down, but I couldn't hear any of it over the roaring in my ears, over the voice in my head that kept chanting please, please, please like a prayer.
Two laps left, and Evan was definitely slowing—shoulders hunching, head dropping forward, the telltale signs of someone who'd pushed too hard too soon. Logan had caught up to him, running nearly even, and Kieran was right behind them now, third place, close enough that I could see the tension in his jaw, the way his right hand curled slightly tighter than his left.
And then, with one and a half laps remaining, Kieran moved.
It wasn't a sudden explosion—more like a gear shift, a recalibration of effort that transformed his steady rhythm into something faster, more powerful. He passed Logan on the back straight with what looked like ease, his breathing still controlled while Logan's chest was heaving, and by the time they hit the curve, Kieran was right on Evan's shoulder.
The crowd's roar changed pitch, became something wild and disbelieving, and I heard someone near me shout, "Holy shit, look at Cross go!"
I saw Evan glance back, saw his eyes widen with something like panic, and then he tried to find that extra gear that had won him races for three years. But there was nothing left. He'd emptied his tank chasing an insurmountable lead, and now his body was betraying him, his legs heavy, his lungs screaming for air.
Kieran pulled ahead on the final curve, his stride still strong and controlled, opening up a gap that grew with every step—one meter, then two, then three. By the time they hit the final straight, Evan was falling apart, his form collapsing, and Kieran crossed the finish line a full body length ahead, maybe a second and a half of separation, his arms raised not in triumph but in something like relief.
The sound that erupted from the crowd was deafening. I heard myself screaming his name, felt tears streaming down my face though I didn't remember starting to cry, and the weight that had been crushing my chest for the past fifteen minutes suddenly lifted, leaving me dizzy and gasping.
I didn't think. I just moved, pushing through the crowd and jumping down from the bleachers, running toward the track where Kieran was bent over, hands on his knees, chest heaving. Someone—maybe Mr. Davis, the P.E. teacher—tried to stop me, shouted something about staying off the track, but I didn't care. I had a water bottle in my hand, and all I could think about was getting to him, touching him, making sure he was real and solid and still here.
"Kieran!" I called out, and he looked up, his face flushed and sweaty and so beautiful it made my heart ache, made me want to laugh and cry at the same time because he was still here, he hadn't lost, he didn't have to leave.
He straightened as I approached, accepting the water bottle with a small nod, his breathing still labored but already evening out. "Thanks," he managed, and then he drank, long and deep, water running down his chin and dripping onto his chest.
"You did it," I said, my voice shaking. "You actually did it."
His eyes met mine, dark and intense and full of something I couldn't name. "I told you I would," he said quietly, and in that moment, I believed he could do anything—win any race, solve any problem, survive any obstacle life threw at him. As long as he stayed. As long as he didn't have to walk away.
Behind us, I heard a crash—the sound of something metal hitting concrete—and turned to see Evan standing near the equipment shed, his face twisted with rage as he kicked over a stack of hurdles. Blake and a few other guys were trying to calm him down, but Evan wasn't listening, wasn't even looking at them. His eyes were fixed on me and Kieran with such hatred that I instinctively moved closer to Kieran's side.
Brooke was there too, her perfect cheerleader mask finally cracking as she reached for Evan's arm, saying something I couldn't hear, but he shook her off violently, not even acknowledging her presence as he stormed away from the track, away from the celebration, away from his humiliation.
"Summer." Kieran's voice pulled my attention back, and I found him looking down at me with something soft and almost vulnerable in his expression. "I told you to trust me."
"You were amazing," I breathed, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. "I knew you could do it. I knew it."
Logan appeared beside us, grinning widely despite his own exhaustion, having finished somewhere in the middle of the pack. "Dude, that was fucking insane! Where did that kick come from? You've been holding out on me in practice!"
Mia was right behind him, dragging Ashley along, both of them laughing and talking over each other about how incredible the race had been, how everyone was losing their minds over Kieran's finish, how Evan's face when he got passed was already becoming legendary.
But I barely heard any of it. All I could focus on was Kieran standing in front of me, his chest still rising and falling with deep breaths, his dark hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, his eyes holding mine with that same intensity that always made me feel like I was the only person in the world.
The announcer's voice crackled through the speakers again, calling all medalists to the podium for the award ceremony, and Logan clapped Kieran on the shoulder. "Come on, man. Time to collect your LEGO set and your glory."
The podium had been set up near the finish line—three boxes of different heights with "1st," "2nd," and "3rd" painted on them in St. Jude's colors. Kieran climbed onto the tallest one, and I watched as Evan was forced to step up onto the second-place platform beside him, his jaw clenched so tightly I thought his teeth might crack, his entire body radiating fury and humiliation.
Blake had managed third place, and he at least had the grace to look embarrassed as he accepted his bronze medal, shooting apologetic glances at Evan that went completely ignored.
Mr. Davis handed Kieran his gold medal and the prize—a large LEGO box with a picture of an adorable beach cottage in pastel pink and blue, the kind of thing that probably cost two thousand dollars and had been sold out everywhere for months. The crowd cheered and took pictures, and I saw several girls near the front actually swooning, their eyes glued to Kieran's still-shirtless torso as he held up his prize.
But Kieran wasn't looking at them. He stepped down from the podium before the ceremony was even fully over, before the announcer could finish reading his name and accomplishments, and walked straight toward where I stood at the edge of the track, the LEGO box held carefully in both hands.
"Happy birthday, Summer," he said quietly, holding it out to me.
My breath caught. "Kieran, you don't have to—"
"I want to." His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. "You said you wanted something real today. This is real."