Page 105 of Racing Hearts

I pick up speed. Water runs faster past my hull. I drive my legs harder, accelerate my strokes. Wind rips over my face, throwing hair across my forehead. The boat jumps forward, stern bouncing slightly against the subtle waves rocking the surface of the water. We move together, in tandem, in symphony, in poem.

It hurts. Nothing could be more painful than this. But I’m not leaning into the flames anymore. I’ve become the fire.

My bow passes the Chilean.

A hundred meters to go. Maybe ten more strokes.

I start emptying the tank. I’m going to give this everything my body has left and so much more. I pour my entire being into this race, every fiber of my soul. It’s my determination, my lists. It’s calm in the chaos. Every ounce of passion and heart I have to give.

My lungs sear against my ribs. My triceps are mutilated agony. Every inch of my lower body burns, from my spent quads to the arches of my feet. But still I pull.

If this isn’t passion, then I don’t know what is.

Five more strokes.

I pass the Brazilian.

I pull because I believe in myself. I pull for my best friend. I pull because I love rowing. I pull for the man I love.

Three more crushing strokes. I’m nearly even with the Canadian.

My back muscles heave with every inch of strength that’s left.

Two more. This race is ending. This race will never end.

One. I wrench out the final stroke.

And let out a feral scream.

Horns blast in rapid succession as our bows cross the finish.

My forehead falls to my knees. I suck in air, gag on the vomit rising in my throat.

It’s the best race I’ve ever had. It’s the best time I’ve ever gotten. It’s better than I could have ever imagined two months ago.

It’s second place.

I still lost my spot.

. . .

Even after my cooldown, acid lingers in my veins. When I crossed the finish, I was in too much pain to wrap my head around what just happened. In the minutes since, the pain has ebbed and a tangle of emotions has taken its place.

I don’t want to process it all alone.

Sofi won’t be on the dock—she’s already starting her warm-up ahead of her own final. Anyway, as much as I’d like her support, there’s someone else I want more right now.

When I raced, Adrian’s voice was so vivid in my mind it was like he was sitting in the boat with me. Like every moment we spent together this summer was just as bright and focused and light today as it was before our painful separation. I want nothing more than to talk to him. To share my joy over my success and to commiserate about the impending implosion of my entire life. To tell him the truth of what I feel for him.

Before my boat has even touched the dock, while my arms and legs are still heavy with acid, I brace my oars so I can flip through the messages on my water-dappled phone, searching for our most recent exchange. He never responded to my last message, but there’s so much more I want to say anyway. I want to tell him what he means to me. I want to tell him how he’s changed me.

I click off Do Not Disturb. Before I can get to the exchange with Adrian, though, my phone pings with an unread email. Carla has responded to my recommendation.

When I click it open, I find only four sentences:

I appreciate the honesty, but the board decided to offer Adrian a job, anyway. He accepted.

What?