Page 84 of The Last Five Yards

Rowan steps into the kitchen and immediately sees the look on Maren’s face. It is the same one she gets before leaving the house for any meet. Focused. Slightly stressed. Coach-mode eyes scanning everything like the kitchen is a pool deck.

“Bag packed?” Maren asks without looking up from her own checklist.

“Yes,” Rowan says.

Maren lifts an eyebrow at her. “Packed or shoved.”

“Packed,” Rowan repeats, trying not to sound defensive. “Mostly.”

Reese snorts softly by the door. Rowan pretends she does not hear it.

They all shuffle into the entryway. Rowan pulls on her shoes, grabs her water bottle, and zips her jacket. Maren grabs her keys from the hook. Reese holds the door open with her hip while trying to secure the lid on her travel mug.

The morning air hits Rowan the second they step outside. Cold enough to bite her nose, sharp enough to wake her all the way up. The sky is still pale and colorless. The kind of morning that always feels like something is about to happen.

They pile into the car. Maren starts it, and the heater clicks on with a tired little whine. Rowan settles into the back seat, pulling her hood up, trying to look relaxed even though her leg is already bouncing.

Reese turns toward Maren. “Your music or mine.”

Maren does not answer. She is already hitting the preset button.

The opening beat of the Violent Femmes fills the car.

Rowan drops her head back against the seat. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Maren smiles in the rearview mirror like she planned this moment all week. “Great warm-up music.”

“It came out in, like, the twentieth century,” Rowan says, dragging out the words. “The early part.”

Reese laughs into her coffee, which only makes Rowan groan louder.

“It is classic,” Maren says, tapping the steering wheel in rhythm.

“It is ancient,” Rowan mutters. “I think archaeologists listen to it.”

Reese pats the dashboard. “Come on. It has energy.”

“It has dust,” Rowan replies, leaning her forehead against the window.

Outside, frost clings to the fields. The sun is still low, turning everything pale gold at the edges. Rowan watches it pass in a blur, her nerves humming under her skin. She tightens her grip on her water bottle.

Maren glances back again. “You alright?”

“I am fine,” Rowan says quickly. Too quickly. “Just tired.”

Reese turns slightly in her seat. “You get quiet when you are nervous.”

Rowan’s cheeks heat. “I am not nervous.”

Reese gives her a knowing look. “It is okay if you are.”

Rowan looks back out the window so they cannot see her face. “I said I am fine.”

They let her have the silence after that. At least, mostly. Violent Femmes is still doing whatever it does through the speakers, but neither of them pushes her.

The car warms slowly. Rowan’s leg keeps bouncing. She grips the strap of her meet bag. She watches the frost-covered town slide past them, street by street, familiar but different somehow.

Maren lowers the music just a bit. “You are going to do great.”