She twirls an orange pen between slender fingers. “My outline, huh? I’m sure it was about a million times easier than raw dogging it like a heathen.”
I bite back a laugh. “Someone should wash your mouth out with a bar of soap.”
Mallory grins. “Email it and I’ll take a look after your race. I don’t want you thinking about it while you’re trying to win tomorrow. Speaking of, how are you feeling?”
For once, it doesn’t feel like a lie to answer this question. The fear of dying mid-race has turned into fear of not doing my best, which makes me never want to half-ass again. Giving up before the race even starts is no longer an option.
“I feel good. Ready to give it my all.”
She hums, bringing the mug of mostly whipped cream to her lips.
Actually, I do have one more question.
“Are you…” I clear my throat, not liking the hesitation in my tone. “You’re still coming tomorrow, right?”
Mallory’s face softens, and I’m taken back to the St. Patty’s party. It’s the same look she gave me while we stood under the streetlight. The moment I thought that maybe I’m not the only one who wants more.
Warmth spreads through me when she covers my hand with hers.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Gray. I’ll be the loudest one there.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Alright.” Olympian Gregory Keckner’svoice booms through the speakers. “Let’s take a look at our lane assignments for the last heat of the timed finals for the Men’s 1650-yard Freestyle. In lane one, we’ve got Malachi Livingston from Texas. Boone Brokaw from Florida in two. Creed McLaughlin from Arkansas in three...”
Goosebumps run up my arms as the announcer goes through each elite swimmer from all over the country. They’re all so impressive it’s scary.
“Kenneth Gray from Clear Lake University is in lane five,” Gregory says.
“Woohoo! Kick some ass, Gray!” I yell, drowned by the roar of cheers from the stands. There’s an amplified sound that catches my attention too.
Is that a megaphone?
A tiny smile flutters past his lips before stretching into a serious line. Up on the platform, Kenneth bends slightly at the hips. The automated voice commands them to take their marks, and when a beep rings out, they’re in the air. Kenneth’s response to the sound is Pavlovian. With hiselbows locked and arms strong, he disappears beneath the surface with a splash, sending ripples through the clear blue water.
I move to the edge of my seat and hold my breath until he reappears with hard kicks and fast strokes. Stress makes me squeeze the hands intertwined with mine.
“Ouch!” Shay and Cade yelp, but neither pull away. If anything, they squeeze even harder. We’re all on pins and needles as the guy in lane two reaches the end of the pool first and flips smoothly, pushing off the wall and heading to the other side.
Shay slumps against me. “I’m already freaking out. I hate this.”
I kiss her forehead, not taking my eyes off lane five. “Me too, but it’s okay.”
“How many times do they go back and forth?”
“Sixty-six. Thirty-three laps total,” I say.
A whole mile of this. Swim. Turn. Push hard. Repeat.
Cade’s cheek hardens against my shoulder. “Look who did their research. Nice pants, by the way.”
My skin warms, and I blame it on nerves and not the fact that I painted custom pants for today. The ‘KG’on my front and back pockets taunt me, but they’re cute.
When Kenneth said he felt good again, I didn’t know what to expect. I’ve watched him race before, and today seems different. It’s as if he’s stronger mentally and physically.
“Looks like Brokaw in two and Gray in five have broken away from the field,” Gregory announces. “They’re neck and neck, ladies and gentlemen, and it looks like they’re speeding up too.”
Holy shit. He’s right. It’s as if they’ve shifted into another gear, flipping at the exact same time.
