Page 81 of Racing Hearts

Before I can answer, another unexpected wave rams my hull. My boat jerks and my breath catches. My next stroke is awkward, plunging into the surface at an odd angle. I quickly feather it to keep from catching a crab.

“Kath,” Adrian says. “You’re okay.”

Clearly, my nerves are visible. I scan the horizon, searching for a bit of calm water, an escape from this situation. My stomach plummets as I register more ships and a towering sailboat streaming toward us, more wake flowing off its back end.

“This isn’t going well.” I try to take another stroke forward, but my knees are quaking so hard that the hull seesaws. “I’m getting nervous and—”

“You need to stop fighting the conditions and trying to solve the problems with your brain,” Adrian says. “Out of your head. Into your body.”

Another motorboat thunders toward me.

“I don’t know what that means,” I say desperately.

My hands are vises on the grips, my knuckles ashen. My abs are clenching so hard it’s like I’m trying to blow out a thousand birthday candles.

Trying to reassure myself, I mentally retread our safety precautions. I’m a strong swimmer. We both have our phones, radios, and life jackets stashed behind our seats. I’m practiced at getting into my boat from open water. And if all else fails, Adrian has a volunteer at the boathouse ready to hop in a launch and drive out to rescue us.

Yet none of this logic dispels the quaking of my knees or the fluttering of my heart.

“Katherine Parker.” Adrian’s voice bites over my vibrating mind. “You’ve got this. You get to choose to be okay.”

He’s wrong. Everything is spiraling out of control. Getting worse by the moment. My hands are so sweaty I’m losing my grip, not just on my oars, but on my mind. Reality disintegrates around me, colors and shapes pulling at odd angles. I’m so lightheaded that it feels like I’m disconnecting from my body. What happens if I pass out? I could tip and hit my head. I could drown. I could—

“Take a deep breath,” Adrian commands.

I can’t. “What?”

“You need to suck in a big gulp of air. Don’t worry about anything else. Take a breath. Do it now.”

As I keep moving my blade in panicked, feathery strokes, my lungs drag in air, a choking, spluttering feeling that rattles through my torso.

“Good. Inhale again.”

I take another stroke and suck in more air. It snags in my tight throat.

“Again.”

I breathe again. It’s deeper this time, nearly filling my lungs, instead of the half inhales I’ve been taking for the last few minutes.

“Breathe in again, but now focus on what you smell.”

My lungs expand as I suck in air through my nostrils.

Salt water.

Motor oil.

“Again,” Adrian says. “But this time what you feel.”

Cool grip pads under my palms. The soles of my feet against the footplate. Wind on my face. The smooth motion of my legs as I take another stroke, gliding up and down the rails.

“Sounds.”

The call of a seagull. A revving roar spilling from a motorboat engine. The blast from a far-off barge.

“Breathe again, Kath. One more deep inhale.”

I suck in another breath. It shoots a ripple of calm across my mind.