Page 80 of The Last Five Yards

Reese touches the frame lightly with her fingertips.

She thinks of the early years, the endless questions, the tangled or missing goggles, the way Rowan believed she was Olympic-ready before she could even swim a 400 IM in competition. The way she used to buzz with excitement, talking without taking a breath.

She still buzzes.

But now it’s different.

There is a focus beneath it.

Discipline.

Heart, still huge, but honed.

Reese learned a long time ago not to underestimate that kid. She dives into things with the same stubborn intensity Reese always had, but she moves through the world with a steadiness that reminds Reese more of Maren.

They have the same crease between their eyebrows when they are thinking.

The same habit of pacing when nervous.

The same way of watching the pool as if they are reading it.

Reese smiles into her coffee. It’s wild, really, seeing the person Rowan is becoming. A freshman who swims like she’s been waiting her whole life to make her mark. A girl who loves early mornings and hard sets. A kid who puts her team first. Someone who has grown into confidence without losing any of her curiosity.

There is a pride there, sure.

But also, something softer.

Something that lives in Reese’s chest and makes her feel like she did something right.

Even on the days when she wasn’t sure she knew what the hell she was doing.

She takes another sip of coffee.

Rowan has a meet today.

Her first high school swim meet.

Reese can already picture it, the nerves Rowan will pretend she doesn’t have. The way she will check her cap three times, the way she’ll glance at Maren for reassurance even while insisting she doesn’t need it.

Reese feels warmth blooming in her again.

This is big for Rowan.

And big for them.

Reese hears the soft shuffle of feet on the hallway carpet before she sees her. Maren always walks the same way first thing in the morning, slow and careful, like she’s still deciding whether she’s fully awake yet. A second later, she rounds the corner, wrapped in one of Reese’s old hoodies and a pair of sleep shorts, hair gathered in a messy knot on top of her head.

She blinks at Reese, eyes still hazy with sleep. “You’re up early.”

Reese lifts Maren’s mug toward her. “Beat you to it.”

Maren smiles, the kind she only ever gives Reese in the very early hours, soft around the edges and almost lazy. She steps into the kitchen and takes the mug from Reese’s hand, brushing her fingers along with Reese’s knuckles as she does.

“You’re spoiling me,” she murmurs, taking a sip.

Reese leans a hip against the counter. “Well, it is meet day. Coach Callahan-Clarke needs her caffeine.”

Maren snorts lightly into the cup. “Head coach Callahan-Clarke, thank you very much.”