Bailey POV First. He came first. I grabbed the railing to keep from falling, my stopwatch dangling from my wrist, tears pouring down my face faster than I could wipe them. Mark Kingsley. Nineteen years old. National champion. The crowd was on their feet. The noise was deafening. A wall of sound crashing from every direction, shaking the air, shaking the ground, shaking something deep inside my chest that I thought had gone quiet years ago. Mark stood past the finish line, chest heaving, hands on his knees. He stayed there for a moment, catching his breath, letting the moment settle over him. Then he straightened up. And looked for me. His eyes scanned the coaches' area. Moving fast. Searching. Until they found mine. And the grin that broke across his face was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. He didn't walk toward me. He ran. Jumped over the barrier separating the track from the coaches' section like it wasn't there and landed in front of me, sweaty, breathless, vi
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