Page 112 of Racing Hearts

“And you didn’t need it?”

“Not anymore.”

She smiles and nods. “Like I told you. Routines are good. Being so inflexible that you can’t live without them—that’s the problem.”

My chest lifts, spinning outward like I’m in orbit. I look at Adrian, daring, finally, to believe this is real. That this is happening. The sight of him pulls me in like gravity.

“We’re both going to live at the training center,” I whisper.

He bites back a smile. “Well, I get to live in a coach’s residence and you will be in the dorms, but otherwise, yes.”

“And you are only coaching men so this is”—I look to Carla—“fine with USRowing? No problem with an athlete dating a coach?”

She nods. “Adrian could never switch to coaching women. But otherwise, yes. USRowing is aware of the situation and has deemed it acceptable.”

I grope for Adrian’s hand and thread our fingers together. “This is really happening.”

“It really is,” Adrian says, his eyes on mine. I feel like I swallowed a sparkler and the lightning streaks are glittering through my insides. “And I would like to kiss you.”

I shove myself into his arms.

Epilogue

8 Months Later (4 Months Until Olympic Trials)

On Tuesdays, Sofi and I get off the water before the men’s team. We walk, arm in arm, up the long hill that slopes from the docks to the complex, air filled with the smell of sagebrush and the bursts of our laughter. Unisuits still damp, we push our trays through the gleaming metal of the dining hall.

With full plates, we usually snag two seats by the massive bay windows that overlook the water shimmering in early afternoon light. Sometimes, I prop up my phone against my water cup and we catch up on Rohan’s videos. Peter got back on the water a few months ago and he’s been making tremendous gains already—his splits are nearly as good as they were before he broke his arm—and their new coach keeps making oblique comments about Junior Worlds.

But instead, today, Sofi and I talk as we sneak glances out of the windows. If we sit right in the corner of the room, I can usually catch a glimpse of Adrian’s launch streaming after the men’s shells.

I’d be lying if I said this new job has been all sunshine and rainbows. It was a huge promotion, after all. One that was met with a fair amount of skepticism by the men’s team, most notably from the guy in stroke seat of the eight. In the first weeks after we moved here—in the dark of Adrian’s living room, both of us huddled under a throw on the deep couch—he second-guessed nearly every one of his decisions on and off the water. I reassured him as best I could. With time, I knew he’d overcome the challenges.

And he did. In the months since, Adrian has won nearly all of his athletes over with easy charm, obscene attention to detail, and a refusal to back down from even the most demanding rowers. Now I can hear nothing but confidence in the thrust of his voice as it carries across the water or while he confers with his assistant coaches after practice.

When Sofi and I finish eating, we linger at the table, sipping on hot tea with lemon, letting it warm our limbs as the rising sun heats the bay windows. Sofi’s phone buzzes a few times, and she glances at it before setting it upside down.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

She inhales, then lets it go. “Missy had another difficult practice, and it sounds like she’s still having a rough time of it. But I think I’ll let Carla handle this one.”

I watch her as she takes another sip of tea.

“You don’t want to rush over there and single-handedly talk her down?” I ask.

“Nah, I have a PT appointment that I’d rather not cancel. I’ll get the next one.”

I’m still smiling at her when Adrian strides into the dining hall, lanyard swinging from his neck and a plate balanced on his clipboard. He leans over to press a kiss to my temple before taking a chair across from Sofi. There’s a rightness to this moment, a feeling of peace so deep and absolute it almost steals the next breath from my lungs.

“I’m due at the med center in ten minutes,” she announces and swivels toward Adrian. “But I wanted to stick around long enough to say that Kath killed it in practice today. If you wait for her to tell you about it, she’ll hem and haw for an hour first.”

Adrian grins. “Killed it?”

“Yeah,” Sofi says. “Like, she didn’t just beat it up a little. Practice is lying face down in the lake with no pulse.”

“Vivid, Sof,” I say, as Adrian laughs.

We did an important one today—three by three thousand. The same benchmark workout I did the first day I ever practiced with Adrian. The one where he insisted I get on the water without my usual tech and then read out my times with that wide, infectious grin.