Page 80 of Racing Hearts

“I’m serious. Remember how I said I suggested you take the spot? Well, it was because of TikTok. Your energy, your enthusiasm, your jokes. I mean, I don’t find them all funny, but the other guys laugh a lot.”

Rohan’s lips twitch. “They aren’t all funny. Sometimes they don’t land.”

I return his smile. “Yeah. Well, I think that’s exactly what the quad needs. Fun. It’s like my friend Sofi. She doesn’t sit stoke seat, she’s in two. But she’s the glue that holds the rest of her crew together. She’s always cheering, even when everyone else is in despair. She knows that sometimes the best way to get through something tough is to make her friends laugh.” I should know. She does it with me all the time. “I think that’s what the quad needs right now, too.”

Rohan rubs at his thumb, looks at Adrian. “You agree with this?”

“Absolutely,” Adrian says. “Kath is right. What the boat needs is fun. And that’s exactly what your videos can do.”

Rohan wavers for another moment, looking between us, searching for the catch. Reorienting himself, perhaps, to this new reality. I wait, holding my breath.

Then his face breaks into a grin. He tugs his phone from his back pocket. “Can I tell the other guys? I have an idea for how.”

My breath releases in a whoosh. Adrian nearly laughs.

“Yes,” he says. “Tell them we can circle tomorrow on some game plans.”

Rohan flies toward the stairs, phone already aloft. This situation had nothing to do with me—it was Adrian’s weight to bear—but my muscles are still weak with relief. It’s like this small corner of the world had tilted for a moment, temporarily thrown off course, and now, with Rohan’s phone squarely back in his hand, everything is upright once more.

I turn to find the full force of Adrian’s approving smile zeroed in on my face. It feels like I’m standing on top of a fucking mountain—air thin and body exuberant with my accomplishment. I’m a junkie for this feeling. It’s a million times better than apple pancakes.

He tugs at my elbow. “Very nice.”

I release myself into the curve of his chest and we twine our fingers together, holding hands as we gaze at the spot Rohan just vacated. “You set up the shot. I just took it.”

“You still found exactly the right thing to say,” Adrian says.

“I only told him the truth.”

“Yeah? You were entirely truthful?”

I swivel to look up at him. “Of course. That’s why it worked.”

Adrian’s lips are pinched like he’s withholding a victorious smile. “So, you’re ready to admit that having fun is good for training?”

“Maybe. Why?”

“Because I think it means you’re ready for something else.”

“What? Even more fun?”

“No,” Adrian says. “I think you’re ready for a challenge.”

Twenty-Five

34 Days Until Pan Ams

Halfway into an eight-kilometer trip, I’m tossing in a wave, desperately reciting a new mantra about nuts and cheese. For Adrian’s challenge, we’re using one of my endurance sessions to head out into open water. Our destination is Angel Island, which sits nearly halfway into the massive and wave-tossed San Francisco Bay. Adrian has promised snacks when we arrive. That’s just about all that’s keeping me going.

It all started out well enough. We left the peaceful calm of the inlet with sun already warming our shoulders and glimmering off the water in rippling jewels. I soon hit the swinging strokes I usually find in my endurance sessions and was able to lose myself in rhythm, arms and legs moving together in unconscious harmony.

The problems started when we passed our first shipping container. I dutifully angled my bow perpendicular to the boat’s wake so it would roll along my hull instead of ramming into it, tossing me side to side. Unfortunately, just as I crested the second wave, a motorboat zipped past, throwing off more wake at a completely different angle. I was caught in the crosshairs, waves slamming into me from both directions so that there was nowhere to turn.

I eventually got a grip without further incident, but ever since, I’ve been on edge, paddling with more anxiety than ease.

Nuts and cheese, I repeat to myself. Just four more kilometers until nuts and cheese.

“Parker?” Adrian asks. He’s a dozen or so feet from me, bobbing atop the waves with the ease of a surfer waiting behind the breaks. “How’re you doing?”