Page 106 of Racing Hearts

My ears start ringing with the whine of my mom’s antique tea kettle. In my haze, the side of my boat lunges toward the dock. I barely pull up my oar before I land against the wood.

He took the job?

Even as people flow around me, competitors shouting, coaches enveloping athletes in hugs, I sit, stunned, staring at the words still on my screen. How is this even possible? Less than a week ago, he was adamantly against it.

I force my eyes back down and read the rest.

You’re right about the deal, though. Come to my tent so we can talk after your race.

Adrian is moving to Florida.

I’m going back to Berkeley.

I pull up his contact page and consider calling him. But then I stop myself. There’s a reason he didn’t tell me himself and a reason he didn’t respond to my last text. He might have initiated contact, but that doesn’t mean everything is okay between us.

I still need an explanation. I have to understand what the hell just happened.

If Adrian took the job, he would have told his kids about it first, right? I haven’t seen them since that last practice in Berkeley—when Rohan gifted me a video montage of my top ten moments from the summer, and Peter surprised me by showing up at the dock and diving in for a one-armed hug. I haven’t seen any of their videos since, haven’t been able to bring myself to watch, but I’m sure Rohan would have an opinion about all this, one he’d be willing to share with the entire world.

I flip to TikTok.

The first few videos from the last week or so are normal—practices, songs, dances. Then I get to one filled with Rohan’s face. He’s walking up the stairs at the boathouse, forehead still dotted with sweat from practice. He announces that their coach has called an emergency team meeting.

This is it.

The next video centers on Adrian, standing in the middle of the erg room. The camera pans and I can see guys sprawled across the floor, rolling back and forth on seats. Peter is there, too, cross-legged with one arm in a cast. Even on the tiny sliver of screen, Adrian’s smile is like a steel rod through my sternum.

He tells the kids that he was offered an opportunity to coach elite athletes. It’s far away so taking it means he wouldn’t see them much anymore. He wants to know what they think before he accepts.

Kids eye each other uncertainly, as if looking for clues to their own feelings in their peers’ faces.

“What would we do without you?” someone asks. I recognize him as a shy redhead that sits in the bow seat of Adrian’s fastest quad.

“East Bay Rowing would hire someone new,” Adrian replies. “But you might be without a coach while they look for a replacement.”

A muffled harmony of grumbles rises up through the room.

“No one could ever take your place!” someone out of view shouts.

A chorus of agreement meets this declaration.

Adrian winces.

“How soon?” another asks.

“Unfortunately, I’d need to start immediately,” Adrian admits. “I negotiated with USRowing to let me fly to Nationals so I can be there for everyone racing, but you’ll be on your own right after.”

A chorus of grumbles and thumbs-down follow. I hate what I see in Adrian’s expression—the pain their disappointment is causing.

“I’m sorry, guys,” Adrian says. “I know it’s not ideal. I’ve got some thoughts on contingency plans, like about how you can support one another until the club gets a new coach in here.”

This is met with only another harmony of consternation.

“We need you.”

“No one else would be as good as you.”

“What about next year?”