Page 103 of Racing Hearts

“There’s no keeping it separate.”

“What?”

I’m still staring at that screen as the dull blade of realization slowly sinks in. Adrian the person and Adrian the coach are irrecoverably tangled in my heart. Some of his best qualities as a coach—loyalty, passion, dedication—are also his best qualities as a man. At least some of the reason I fell for him was that I was impressed with his coaching.

Writing about any of that inevitably involves my heart.

“He’s a great coach,” I say. “And he’s a good person. I don’t know where the line between these things is anymore. Maybe I never did.”

“Yeah. I know all that, too,” Sofi says gently.

Somehow, it doesn’t sound like I told you so. It sounds like I love you.

My fingers shake as I scrub my tearstained cheek. “Will you hate me if I make tomorrow even harder on myself? On both of us?”

She leans her temple against mine. “It’s barely possible, but it will only make me prouder.”

My chin quivers with a nod and I pull my phone toward me, clicking open the draft email to Carla. I type more at the end, words flowing easily, not like the painful starting and restarting that overcame me as I tried to draft the rest of it over the last few weeks. The message whooshes away.

Even though she didn’t ask, I set the phone in front of Sofi.

The email is as I read it to Adrian, except that I added a new ending:

While I stand by this recommendation, the problem is that this assessment is biased. I am in love with Adrian Crawford. I realize coming clean about this means I’ll need to win tomorrow to regain my spot outright. Still, I owe everyone the truth.

Then I get up from the table, lemon bar discarded, ready to face my race.

Thirty-Two

Day of Pan Ams Final

On the starting line, I take a small stroke to touch up my bow, ensuring it’s aligned with the line of buoys dotting the water behind me. My heart hammers at my throat. I want nothing more than for the buzzer to release me from this breathless purgatory.

“Rowers ready?” The starter’s voice crackles through the air as he calls through each of the athletes on the line. “Canada.”

The Canadian’s eyes remain fixed, a silent assent for the race to start. Her gaze is glued on her feet like she’s made of focus. Like she already knows she’s unbeatable.

I close my eyes and flutter an oar, trying to stave off thoughts of Adrian. I should be focused on this moment. This race. Not the man I love.

His voice—soft as velvet—invades my mind anyway. Out of your head. Into your body.

Fighting thoughts of him is as fruitless as paddling to the edge of a waterfall and trying not to get sucked over. So, instead, I let myself think of him. The way his eyes shine when he smiles. The way he bellows out my name when I’m picking up speed. The text I sent him last night—the one that he still hasn’t answered.

Thank you, I said, but if I do this tomorrow, it will be because of you.

It’s true whether he wants to admit it or not. Somehow, this is reassuring to me, too. Maybe because it makes me feel like I’m not alone on this starting line. It’s not just me and the boat and the pain. Somehow, Adrian is here with me, even if it’s just an echo of his voice.

Out of your head.

My lungs expand. My heart slows from an erratic gallop to a cool canter.

“Brazil.”

Camila takes deep breaths, so loud I can hear them over the rustle of wind.

Phantom fingers graze my chin.

I let my chin lift—the way it wants, whether or not I can change it. Like I’m looking to the sky for my power.