Page 41

Chapter 41

GAbrIEL

I t was torture, keeping my distance from April on race day. I wanted to go through her supply list with her, see how her nerves were doing, let her know that I’d slipped another four-leaf clover in her bike pouch, but I wouldn’t risk ruining her big day. I’d talk to her after the race.

At least I knew April had shown up. I’d watched her from a few aisles over in transition. She wore her short hair in two braids, and she was already in her wetsuit. She looked athletic, competitive, steady. She’d overcome every obstacle this season—had worked her ass off. I had no doubt she would defeat this race.

This was her year.

I forced myself to turn away before she could notice me and nearly ran right into Clay. I almost didn’t recognize him with the greenish bruise blooming under his eyes. I was saved from a conversation or altercation when he side-stepped me to get to his own transition area.

May the best man win, I thought sourly, knowing that between us, it would just have to be the lesser of two evils.

By the ten-hour mark, I was worn to the bone, had an aggressive side stitch, and was about eighty percent sure I’d find a detached toenail when I took my shoe off.

I was so miserable that I almost missed Coach Rick off to the side on the waterway. He’d stopped racing full Ironmans a few years ago, so he had the luxury of focusing solely on his athletes. We’d decided at each stop, he would give me a quick rundown on my athletes’ progress.

He didn’t like that plan at first, but I told him he either took the minute to update me or I’d take five minutes going through the Ironman tracker myself. He’d grumbled something about me being stubborn but hadn’t argued any further.

The last time I’d seen him was at mile fifteen of the run when he’d told me April had made it off the bike. I’d been saturated in relief.

She’s got this.

She’s going to be okay.

Then, I reached mile twenty of the run. Coach handed me a cold water bottle and jogged with me along the waterway. Although, at this point, it was less of a jog and more like a shuffle forward. I was so tired, but it was only six miles until I finished. In the grand scheme of things, it was nothing, and at the same time, it felt like flying to the moon on sparrow wings.

“You’re on track to PR, kid. All you have to do is keep the pace.”

I nodded, too drained to acknowledge more than I had to. “How are they doing?”

Rick started giving me the rundown of my team, and I was proud. All that hard work was paying off.

My attention prickled when he finished the update and skipped over a specific athlete.

“What about Baird?” I managed.

“You are six miles from the red carpet. Finish, and you can check on her yourself.”

I planted my feet, and Coach had to skid to stop when I did. “To hell with that. Where is she?”

“Mile three.”

“ What? ” She’d been at mile two when I’d last checked five miles ago.

That’s when I spotted my mom up ahead. She usually stayed close to Rick and his wife during races. She must have read the stress on my expression because the poster board in her hands drooped.

My mind had replayed her words hundreds of times in the past couple of days, like a melody on repeat. “The choice will always be up to you. You can choose fear. Or you can choose love.”

I turned around.

“Torres,” Rick growled, grabbing my tri-suit. “She’s not going to finish, but you might. You are so close to A-Team,” he said, exasperated, letting me go and taking a step back. “I don’t want to see you throw it away for one person. One of Clay’s athletes—Ned—quit at the bike, so you two would be neck-and-neck for the position if you finish this thing.”

“Right now, I’m not worried about making A-Team. I’m worried about her.” He looked wounded, so I broke it down for him. “Rick, you want me to do well because I’m your athlete. I want her to do well because she’s mine.”

“You’re not just an athlete to me, Torres.”

I blinked, touched by the emotion in Coach Rick’s voice. I’d always thought of him as a father figure, but we’d never said those words out loud, and he had his own kids—a family that wasn’t broken. So, I just figured my sentiment was one-way.

“Coach—”

“Watching you grow from this gangly, scared kid to who you are today—” He stopped, and I felt a pang in my chest as I realized Coach Rick was fighting tears. I’d known the man for my entire adult life, and I’d never seen him cry—except when the Astros won their first World Series, of course. “You were dealt some shitty cards in life, and it’s been my pleasure to watch you overcome. I want you to keep going, Gabe. I want all the best for you.”

I wet my lips. How to explain April?

“Do you remember after I broke up with Ashley, you accused me of having a fear of commitment?”

His bushy brows pushed together, and I really didn’t know if my explanation was going to help or piss him off to no end. “Yes?” he said, and I could read the question underneath: What’s that got to do with anything?

“You called it. I never planned on being in a serious relationship. But then I got to know April—” I blew out a breath, trying to organize my thoughts as athletes went around us, racing towards the finish line. “It’s like I didn’t have a choice. I fell fast, and I fell hard.” I shrugged even though the conversation felt like it was turning me inside out and exposing myself to the world. “She’s more than just an athlete to me. Just like I’m more than just an athlete to you. So, I’m sorry. The last thing I want is to disappoint you, but I have to go.”

For an agonizingly long moment, Coach just squinted at me. He really didn’t give a shit about making other people squirm. Finally, he relented, swearing under his breath. He hiked a thumb over his shoulder at an old mountain bike leaning against a tree. “There’s my bike. Take my backpack, too. See if you can revive her.”