Page 11

Chapter 11

GAbrIEL

T he Sugarland Tri started promptly at sunrise, so athletes organized their gear under floodlights. Some athletes looked jittery, laying out their things. This wasn’t my first rodeo, nor was it a big race, so I felt calm as I ran through my mental checklist of items. Just as I finished, I heard a familiar, “Coach!”

No doubt, there were plenty of coaches in attendance at this sprint, but I recognized April’s voice. Sure enough, I looked up into hazel eyes. Her hair was braided into two short pigtails. She looked happy to see me, but not more than I was to see her. I had no idea she’d be at the race, and I certainly couldn’t conjure a reason for her to be here so early. We still had about thirty minutes until the start.

“What are you doing here?” I wasn’t able to keep the delight out of the question.

“Trevor is taking pictures. So, I asked him if I could tag along.” She offered something to me. “Besides, I couldn’t let you lose a race due to the wrong flavor.” I took the chews from her. My smile brightened even further as I saw the flavor: salted watermelon .

“I thought you were out!”

“We got a shipment in yesterday.”

“You didn’t have to bring it all this way.”

She shrugged. “It’s no big deal.”

It shouldn’t have been a big deal. She’d just brought me chews, but the small gesture felt grand.

Trevor appeared at April’s side. “Hey, good luck today, man.”

“Thanks.”

I eyed the camera, thinking of the next race I’d be volunteering at. “You wouldn’t happen to be working the Waco race next month, would you?”

“Yeah, actually, we both are.”

“I’ll be doing bike repairs at the technical tent,” April supplied.

“I’m volunteering at the massage tent,” I said. “Do you guys want to ride together and split a room?”

Trevor and April looked at each other, doing that twin-like thing where they read each other’s minds, but they didn’t leave me in suspense for long.

“Yeah,” Trevor said.

“That sounds great,” April answered.

A megaphone crackled in transition. I couldn’t make out everything, but it was something about the swim start.

“We’ll hash out the details later,” Trevor said. “Go get ready for your race.”

“Thanks again,” I said, holding up the packet of chews.

“Just do me a favor,” April replied, backing away from the fence. “ Kick this race’s ass.”

Having April at my race had a profound effect on me in that I wanted to ignore my own coach and the plan he’d explicitly crafted for the race. There were certain target zones I was supposed to adhere to, and going faster than said zones was as much of a punishable offense as going under them because I risked not only burning out but injuring myself, which put my training in jeopardy for future races.

We had to be selective when choosing peak races; we only got one or two races a season where we had permission to put everything on the line.

I tried to remind myself that this was just a glorified training day—that I needed to keep my designated pace to keep my body in peak condition for optimal training. But then I’d see April in the crowd, jumping and cheering, and some caveman part of my brain was activated. Part of it was that I wanted to show off, but more than that, I felt ignited.

So, eventually, I ignored the voice in my head that told me to slow down and the buzzing of my watch that said I was going too fast, and I just went for it, fully embracing the sweat in my eyes and the ache in my muscles.

As I stood on the top step of the podium, first place plaque in my hand for my age group and a new personal record for that distance, I found the lens of Trevor’s camera winking in the sunlight and next to that April. She smiled so brilliantly that her eyes crinkled, and I realized I didn’t need salted watermelon chews for good luck. I needed her.

I didn’t fully grasp the consequences of my rebellious speed until I stood in my swim trunks in Coach Rick’s garage while he filled up an ice bath .

“I’m just trying to figure out what part of the race plan was confusing to you,” he said, dumping another bucket of ice into the tub.

I had to fight an eye-roll. Sometimes, I felt like a teenager back in Rick’s lanes, getting scolded for poor form.

“Nothing was confusing, Rick. You’ve said it yourself. Sometimes we have to reevaluate the plan on race day. Deviations are expected.”

“Not that much of a deviation, Gabe.” The faucet squeaked as he shut it off roughly. “You bordered on reckless.”

I decided to opt for humor to try and lighten the mood. “You know, most coaches would be happy with their athlete getting first place.”

Humor was the wrong move. He looked like he was a second from popping a blood vessel. “Is that your goal? To beat the hometown little guy? Or do you want to hang with the top athletes in the world? Let me know now. I’ll change your training plan.”

I let the scolding seep deep as I looked down at the concrete floor. He was right. What’s worse, I knew the effort and care that went into each training plan because I made them for my own athletes. “You’re right,” I said, then forced myself to meet his gaze, which was no easy feat considering my childhood had taught me to avoid the eye contact of an angry man, but Rick had been the one to teach me men can be upset without being hurtful—that you can have hard conversations without involving fists. I think that’s why his disappointment stung even more. He was the father mine didn’t know how to be. “It won’t happen again. I’m sorry.”

Something softened in Rick at that, but he fixed it, grunting out, “I know it won’t. Now, get your ass in the water before it warms up too much.”

I padded to the metal tub, eyes trained on the ice islands. This would not be pleasant, but I forced my expression to remain neutral. My choices had led me here, I wasn’t going to bitch about it.

As I lowered myself in, my movements were jarred—my body fighting my mind over each inch of submersion. I had to bite back a noise as I slid down to my stomach, thinking healing had never felt so punishing. Briefly, I wondered if that’s how my clients felt on my massage table.

Submerged to my shoulders, my knuckles were white with the effort to hold myself there instead of popping up like I wanted to. I sat, painfully rigid. Then I thought of what had gotten me into that mess.

April and her smile.

Ay, aquella sonrisa.

I drew a full breath at the memory, my muscles relaxing, even if just by a bit.