Page 61 of The Last Five Yards

Rowan nods hard, sealing the agreement.

Maren dips the edge of the orange card into the gutter, so Rowan can see it waiting for her.

Rowan grabs her goggles from Maren’s hand and slides them back over her eyes. She pushes off with a small splash, humming something under her breath that Maren cannot make out but recognizes as relief.

She moves easily this time. That familiar joy returns to her kick, the one that always shows up when thinking has been taken out of the equation.

Maren stands again.

When she does, she notices Reese on the bleachers.

Reese is watching. Her posture has changed, shoulders softened, hands no longer tight around the straps of her bag. She looks almost startled by the ease of the whole exchange, like she expected it to be harder or louder or something she could not place.

For a second, Reese’s eyes meet Maren’s. It is brief, just a flicker, but Maren feels the warmth of it settle low in her chest.

She looks away before it can become anything more.

Down the lane, Rowan keeps swimming, steady and sure, waiting for the flash of orange in the water that means she can stop. She is simply trusting the rhythm of the pool.

Warm-up winds down in its usual scattered way. The kids finish at different times; some stop early, others not stopping at all, like they are just on autopilot. Rowan is one of the last to reach the wall, but she pops up with a bright grin and a light in her eyes.

“I saw the orange right when I was at the flags,” she announces. “Like perfect timing.”

“You did great,” Maren says. “Nice reset.”

Rowan gives a proud little nod and climbs out of the water. She grabs her water bottle from its spot against the wall and takes a long drink.

“Alright,” Maren calls to the swimmers as she glances back at her clipboard. “Grab fins and paddles. We are moving into our technique work. It is a drill set today.”

The kids groaned as expected. A few dramatic sighs echo off the tiles. Someone mutters that these drills are the broccoli of swimming, which earns a quiet laugh from a handful of parents on the bleachers.

Maren starts walking down the deck, checking the lane assignments and making sure everyone has their equipment. The sun has shifted just enough that a warm patch of light stretches across the tile. She steps into it without thinking.

When she looks up again, she catches sight of Reese coming down from the bleachers, one hand trailing along the railing as she takes the last few steps. Reese’s posture is different now, slower and more settled, like something in the warm-up shifted her whole center of gravity.

Rowan trots back over, towel trailing behind her.

“Do you think we will get to work on turns today?” She asks.

“Probably,” Maren says. “Your lane always likes those drills.”

“Did you see her?” Rowan asks Reese as she moves toward the drinking fountain to refill her bottle. “Coach showed me the orange card thingy.”

“I saw,” Reese says, a small smile forming. “You did it just right too.”

Rowan practically glows at that and heads back to her group.

Once she is out of earshot, Reese turns back to Maren.

“So,” Reese says softly. “Coach of the Year, I guess.”

Maren huffs out a small laugh. “It was just a reset.”

“Still,” Reese says. “You made it look easy.”

“It is,” Maren replies.

Reese’s smile pulls just a little wider. “Still looked it. Maybe you should get the gold star today.”