“Got it!” he yelled.
A few seconds later, Nate pulled him to shore at the bottom of the rapids. Miles waded out of the water and sat on a big rock, his breath ragged. A dry Paulson handed him a towel and patted him hard twice on the shoulder.
“Dude, you good?” Nate removed Miles’s helmet and held his cheeks as he examined Miles’s face.
Miles nodded between breaths.
“What day is it?” Nate studied the spot Miles felt throbbing on his cheek.
“July twenty-seventh,” Miles said.
“Where are you?”
“The Kennebec River, below Katahdin.”
“What’s the state bird of Maine?”
“The black-capped chickadee.”
“Who is your best friend?”
Miles smiled at the trick question. “I’m good, Nate. Promise. I assume the other boats went on their way?”
“Yeah, they were pretty far ahead,” Hayes said. “They’ll be sorry they missed the show.”
“Since we’re already pulled over, I’ll patch you up and we’ll have lunch,” Nate said.
Miles leaned over and shook the water out of his left ear.
“I’m so sorry,” Paulson said.
“Nah, it was my fault. I wasn’t paying attention and dropped my paddle when it collided with a rock. I should’ve let it float behind me, but I reached for it just as we hit the first swell. When the boat popped up, I popped out.” Miles took off his shirt and wrung it out. “First rule of canoeing is keep your mind on the water. I let my thoughts wander.”
“A rare misstep by the best paddler I know.” Nate dug through his dry bag and pulled out a first-aid kit. “Must’ve been some big thoughts.”
So big, Miles needed advice. Nate and Hayes both were in long-term relationships. He wasn’t sure Paulson had anything useful to add, but they had reached a point in their friendship where Miles could trust him.
“I’ve been having panic attacks. I had them in college, but I didn’t know what they were, and at some point, they dissipated.” He wiped his face with his wet shirt and blotted his cheek. Blood, but not a lot. He must’ve scraped against something on his way down the rapid.
“Panic attacks suck.” Hayes handed Miles his water bottle. “You ever get that help I suggested?”
“Ayuh. I saw my therapist every day this week and we have a plan.” Miles loosened his boots, kicked them off, and set them in the sun to dry. He hated having wet feet. He’d grab his Crocs once the group relaunched and floated down the calm stretch of the river to their campsite.
“Daily appointments?” Hayes grimaced. “What brought that on?”
“Before the party Saturday night, Avery said she loved me, and I … I didn’t say it back.” Miles touched his tender cheek, feeling for a bump. “We got separated at the fundraiser and when we got home, things came to a head. I blamed her, she blamed me.”
He took a sip of water. Nate dug through the first-aid kit.
“She looked for you the whole time I was with her.” Paulson rubbed his forehead. “I tried to help. We spotted you three or four times, but every time we got ready to head your way, you’d moved. She figured you’d find her on the dance floor.”
“I know,” Miles said, wincing as Nate cleaned his cheek with antiseptic foam. “I was self-absorbed and anxious about my speech. Not the best time to drop that she loved me. Maybe she said it because she was anxious too. I knew almost everyone at the party. She knew three people. In the heat of the argument, I bolted into my bedroom. The next morning, she tried to break up with me.”
Nate handed him clean gauze and Miles held it over the wound, applying pressure to his cheek while Nate inspected the various bandages.
“Sounds like she tried to protect herself,” Nate said, selecting a pack of butterfly bandages. “Can’t say I blame her after everything that happened the first time you two dated. You’re a runner, Miles, but you can’t outrun love.”
When they met up after this trip, Miles hoped Avery didn’t see breaking up as their only option.
