Page 118 of Crew Girl

When it worked?

It was like riding a flying carpet.

There was no point in worrying about what happened when it didn’t.

Steering, keeping an eye on the other boats, calling new stroke rates, hitting each phase of their plan while keeping the rowers’ spirits up was all she needed to think about now.

The two-minute warning sounded.

“Okay, guys, you’ve got this. We’re ready.”

Cam, in front of her, was pure focus and determination, even though he’d had about a minute to wrap his head around taking the lead seat.

“You ready to shine?” she asked him.

They grinned at each other. It was a rhetorical question. Of course he was ready.

She twisted around to watch for the flag drop. The rest of the crew would have their eyes trained on the shoulders in front of them. First sign of twitch? It was time to dig in.

The race official called Attention.

The flag fell.

“ROW!”

JOSH

From the first pull, Josh knew he’d done the right thing. For once.

The pills the doctor had given him weren’t a fix. They weren’t even a Band-Aid. He’d seen the doctor’s reluctance to hand them over, even though Josh had given him a fat envelope full of cash. Taking the pills had been as big a risk as rowing was. Another thing he’d been warned against by his legit cardiologist. He’d spelled it out for him bluntly: You push that heart of yours too hard? It could easily be your last day on earth.

Josh’s heart was pounding, and they’d barely started rowing.

The right guy was in stroke for once, and even though it didn’t mean Josh could slack off, enjoy the ride, releasing that extra layer of pressure meant less strain. He’d deal with the multi-generational pressure chamber watching onshore later. When he finished. Alive.

“Victoria City’s out, guys,” Teagan called. “Caught a crab. Long and strong! Long and strong!”

They were fourth of four boats. Last place. He shook it off. He just needed to keep his eyes on Cam’s shoulders, match his stroke rate, and nothing else.

“We’re at thirty-four.” Teagan was tapping her cox box. Checking the stroke rate. Called a thirty-six to close that gap with Roxbury.

In other words: Row harder. Stronger.

He knew it was kind of stupid, but when the doctor told him he needed to listen to his heart, Josh sometimes put whatever it was telling him into words.

Slow down, idiot.

Take it easy, dude.

He was pushing hard. Feeling the strain. But his heart wasn’t telling him the usual stuff. It was saying: Isn’t this great? Being out on the water? Sun up above. Water sparkling like diamonds. Have fun, kid, it was telling him. Enjoy it.

And just like that, he and the eight people with him were flying. A fluid stream of motion.

Eight oars sliced through the water, pushing them past Roxbury.

He could do this. He would do this. For his dad. And maybe a little bit for himself. He was sorry he and Ryder might never make their peace, but screw it. Who needed rulebooks when you could write your own?

CAM