Page 6

Chapter 6

GAbrIEL

A race day buzz saturated the air at the Pearville triathlon. The sun was still just a promise on the horizon as racers scurried around the transition area, lining up their running shoes and nutrition, their bicycles racked and ready. If you’ve never seen a transition area for a triathlon, think of it as a parking lot. Every racer has their designated place to fit all they need to get through three sports. I checked on a few of my athletes’ spaces, making sure they had everything they needed and knew the game plan. Then, I headed back over to Beck and Emily.

“That is going to take forever,” Emily said, twisting her red hair into a bun while she sized up the mile-long lines to the porta-potties. Strong swimmers, my friends Emily and Beck, volunteered as unofficial lifeguards for the race. I was there to guide my athletes, so we’d rented two kayaks and decided to go together.

“You could always go in the woods,” Beck said, looking at the grouping of trees outside transition.

She glared at him. “That is such a guy thing to say. I’d be inviting a snake to come bite me in the ass while I’m squatting there. ”

Beck put a hand on his chest. “I’m offended. Have I not protected you from all snake attacks so far?”

Emily playfully pushed him, but Beck caught her wrists and brought her in for a kiss on the nose before nodding towards the line. “Go ahead. We’ll get the kayaks in the water.”

She gave his cheek a pat. “Meet you at the dock.”

They’d only been together for a little over a year, but it felt like forever since it was just Beck. Now, it was always the pair together in a sentence: Beck and Emily. I liked Emily, and more importantly, I liked the way Beck brightened around her, which is why, as we trekked back to my truck, I asked, “Why is her ring finger still bare? I thought the plan was to come back from that vacation engaged.”

“That was the plan,” Beck said, looking over his shoulder as if checking that Emily wasn’t right behind us. “But I didn’t find the perfect moment.”

“You couldn’t find a perfect moment in Maui?” I shook my head and mumbled, “Rich brat.” When Beck didn’t snap back—as in his usual way— I said, “You couldn’t find the perfect moment, or you got nervous?”

I expected this one to rile a response, but Beck kept his eyes trained on the ground as our feet crossed from wet grass to the asphalt of the parking lot.

“I never thought I’d see the day,” I said. “Beckett Atteridge nervous. What do you have to be afraid of? She’s perfect for you.”

“Exactly.” Beck stopped to look at me. “She’s perfect. Can you blame me if I don’t want to risk messing things up with her?”

“Respectfully, you’re a dumbass. How would you mess things up?”

“I don’t know.” He blew out a breath and looked out in the distance, and I could all but see the worst-case scenarios playing in his mind. “ What if I disappoint her with how I ask? Or she feels pressured to say yes.”

“You told me you’ve already talked about getting married.”

“We have,” Beck scraped a hand down his face. “But talking about it is one thing. Taking the leap is another.”

“Beck, she’s in love with you. I’m surprised she’s into the pretty boy thing,” I said, tousling his curls. Beck smacked my arm away, as I knew he would. “But she is. So, stop messing around and put a ring on it.”

“I will.”

“Good, because I’ve already got my best-man speech prepared.” I swept out a hand as if to say imagine it. “When I first met Beck, he was a competitor at a swim meet. Though, competitor might be too strong a word.”

Beck’s eyes narrowed. “I’m asking someone else to be my best man.”

I laughed. “Whatever you say.”

“See, doesn’t that look fun?” I asked as another swimmer breezed past my kayak. It was nice being on this side of the race.

While you were swimming a race like that, it was all brown water below, with brief, sideways glances of the world. You worked yourself breathless but felt limited in the breaths you could take. Then there was the muddy taste of lake water and the flailing of other swimmers as you navigated around them.

But on top of the kayak, it was so peaceful, a bird's eye view of quiet splashing as schools of swimmers passed.

“This looks fine,” Beck said. “It’s the cycling and running that I’ll pass on.” I knew that response was coming. I’d been trying to get him to do a triathlon for years, and it was always the same answer. “Besides, the open water thing is more Emily’s speed.”

Emily dipped her hand into the lake and splashed it backward at Beck, who shielded his face with a laugh. Their kayak bobbed with the movement. Emily raised her hands as if to settle the rocking, but something in the water caught her eye.

She pointed to a pink-capped woman whose rhythm looked off. “That swimmer just got kicked by the one in front of her.”

I straightened, watching to make sure the swimmer was alright. She tried to get her goggles back over her eyes but sank with the movement.

Beck lifted off his seat, ready to go in, but I put out a hand. Sure enough, the swimmer resurfaced.

“Over here!” I waved my arms, so she’d see we had a safe place for her to recalibrate.

She struggled to make it across the current of swimmers between us but eventually merged over. Once through, she hooked an arm over my kayak, sputtering as she worked to remove her goggles with her free hand.

As her hazel eyes fell on mine, I realized we weren’t just dealing with any triathlete but April Baird.

The relief in her eyes was replaced with mortification.

I smiled. “You know a triathlon isn’t supposed to be a contact sport, right?”

She huffed out a laugh. “Tell that to the person who kicked me. She seems to think this is The Octagon.” She rubbed her head and pursed a set of full lips. “How is it that you are here to bear witness every time I get injured? ”

“It’s only been twice, Baird.” Although, I’d had the same thought. “But let’s not make a third time’s the charm deal. Where did you get kicked?”

Even as I asked it, I started to make out the red blotch that went beyond the reach of her goggle imprints.

“My eye.” She winced as she tested the area. “I don’t know if it’s good I had my goggles on or infinitely worse.”

“We should probably get you looked at—make sure you don’t have a concussion.”

I started to dip my paddle in the water, but April grabbed it. “Stop! If you move while I’m hanging on, I’ll get disqualified.”

“You could have a head injury,” Emily supplied.

“I’m fine,” April responded, then poised to get back to swimming.

I put a hand on her shoulder. “Wait.” Then I sighed. This was the same woman who broke her collarbone and still wanted to keep riding her bike. She wouldn’t drop out of the race for a bump on the head, but maybe I could still help her. “You’re a strong swimmer?”

Her eyebrows scrunched. “I’m no Katie Ledecky, but I’m not going to drown if that’s what you are worried about.”

“When you get back into the water, slowly make your way over to the left.” I pointed, and April tracked the movement. “You see all that open space? It’s because people love having the buoys and kayaks as a safety net. But you have a built-in safety net. If you get tired or into trouble, what can you do?”

“Float on my back?”

“Exactly.”

“This,” I pointed to the congested gaggle of arms, “is an injury waiting to happen.” I knew Clay wasn’t her coach anymore, but she’d been through triathlons while under his wing, and she acted like she’d never heard this advice before. My attention snagged on the reddening skin around her eye. “But I don’t need to tell you that.”

She nodded, then pulled her goggles back on.

“April.” I grabbed her arm again. “If you feel dizzy or sick, wave your arms and then float on your back. I’ll come get you.” Before she could argue, I added, “This hometown triathlon isn’t worth drowning for.”

She nodded again and then was off, fighting to get across the stream of swimmers.

“Should we have let her go?” Emily asked.

“No, but I don’t think we could have stopped her. Mierda ,” I cursed under my breath. It was nearly impossible to keep track of her. All the women wore pink caps. “Are you two good here? I’m going to follow her to make sure she gets out of the water.”

Beck waived me off. “Yeah, go.”

To my relief, I watched April slosh to shore. Or at least, I was pretty sure it was her. I didn’t see any other athletes with the same purple and pink tri-suit, but I couldn’t see her face to confirm.

I pulled my kayak to land and made the trek to the transition area. Jim, one of my athletes, was sitting down, pulling socks on for the bike portion. The sight of him refocused me. I wasn’t at the race to keep tabs on April. I was there to support my athletes.

Jim got to his feet and pulled his bike off the rack, but I could see the cogs whirring, his eyes roaming over his designated area. I knew the feeling all too well. You get back on dry land, and you’re dizzy from being horizontal in the water for so long. Getting to transition is a relief. One discipline checked off. But then comes the discombobulation: What am I doing? What do I need for the bike? Which way is the transition exit?

That’s why it’s critical to have everything laid out and organized. Yes, it helps with speed, but also, when your adrenaline is that high, your brain almost coasts.

I waited until he was running, guiding his bike by the handlebars to call out, “You’re making good time, Jim!”

His head snapped up, and I saw the usual light of recognition that an athlete gets from hearing his name called during a race. The ‘ I’m not alone. People are on my side’ feeling.

“Thanks, Coach!” he called before hopping onto his bike.

The bike course stretched for miles, and the athletes zipped by, making spectating pointless. So, I stayed until my last athlete made it out of the water and then journeyed to the one-and-a-half-mile marker of the run. It was a great position. The run course looped, so I could see athletes at the halfway point and then watch them cross the finish line.

Trevor must have had the same idea because I spotted him sitting on the curb with a cartoonishly large camera. He often took pictures for races and sold them, but it would be a while before the first runners reached the three-mile mark. Trevor passed the time by scrolling on his phone. Johnson lay in the grass next to him, looking bored. It was like someone stuffed a sixty-year-old man’s personality into a wiener dog. There was just no impressing him.

“Hey, Trev,” I said.

“Hey, man.” Then, “You’re not racing today?”

“Nope. Just here for my athletes.”

Trevor nodded. “Have you tried out the new shoes yet?”

“I did a five miler in them yesterday. I flew.”

“I knew you’d like them. ”

Johnson shifted his eye between us without picking his head off the ground. I thought of the pit bull Trevor had rescued and wondered how Johnson reacted to sharing his home and human with someone else.

“Were you able to get the pit bull to that no-kill rescue?”

“No.” Trevor sighed. “They don’t have space right now, so he’s going to stay with me until they find someone to foster. The only problem is that pit bulls aren’t allowed at my apartment complex. So, I have to be sneaky when I take him out for walks.”

I considered offering to take the dog off Trevor’s hands, but I honestly didn’t know the first thing about dogs. I’d had one pet as a kid—a goldfish I’d won from a carnival game—and he died within his first week at our home. The dog would be better off waiting for a more suitable home.

Eventually, a runner made his way down the course, and Trevor settled his camera in front of his face. It made a constant shutter sound as the athlete passed. When my athletes came by, one at a time, I high-fived and offered encouragement.

“Keep it up, Sandra! Looking strong!”

Red-faced, she still found the energy to beam at me. “Thanks, Gabe!”

Trevor chuckled quietly.

“What?”

“Can you just cheer like that for everyone that passes?” He shifted the lens to a more comfortable position. “These runners all look like they are close to death. Then, you call their name, and they look like anime characters with stars for eyes.” He paused, a crease forming between his brows. “Speaking of, see if you can pull your magic on my cousin.”

I snapped my head up to see April coming down the path. Her jog was a deflated shuffle. “Trev, if you take my picture,” she panted, “I’ll shove that camera up your ass. ”

He moved the camera away from his face. “You don’t look so good. You okay?”

“Peachy,” she said, dragging her feet past us. I followed her. My stride was long, so I could have kept up with just a brisk walk, but that felt insulting. Instead, I jogged next to her.

“What’s going on?”

“Suffering. Suffering is going on.” Her breathing was jagged. “If I pay you twenty bucks,” she said, stopping to gulp in air, “will you carry my bib to the finish line?”

“When’s the last time you had nutrition?”

“Uhhh . . .” By the judge of her pause, I knew I wasn’t going to like her answer. “I had eggs, toast, and a banana at like five a.m.”

I looked at my watch. She hadn’t eaten anything in three hours. “April—”

“Clay never worried about nutrition plans for sprints.”

“I could see skipping nutrition if this was a 5k.” Still jogging, I pulled my backpack around and dug in it until I found a water bottle and a package of chews. “But you’ve been racing for an hour. You need to refuel. Have you ever tried these?” I asked, handing her the package.

“I’m more of a gel girl, but yeah. Chews are fine.” I slowed down to untwist the cap off the water bottle and handed that over, too. “Here, drink first.”

“Yes, Coach,” she mumbled as if answering a nagging parent.

I smiled. “See you at the finish line.”

“Your cousin is pretty resilient,” I said to Trevor after rejoining him and Johnson.

“Yeah,” he agreed. The camera shuttered as he captured another wave of runners.

“Did you know she got kicked in the face this morning?”

That got his attention. He looked up from the viewfinder, effectively missing the last three runners in the group.

“It was the swim,” I said, realizing I needed to clarify so Trevor didn’t picture a karate brawl in transition. “I tried to get her to stop the race and get checked out by a medic, but—”

“She’s stubborn.”

I hesitated but then finally asked what had been gnawing at me ever since the day she’d broken her collarbone and had still wanted to remount her bike.

“Why is racing so important to her?”

“Her mom dreamed of them completing an Ironman together. So she feels like she needs to fulfill what she can. I think it’s also a way for her to feel connected to her.”

I knew about her mom, Tiffany. As the person who’d opened the town’s first and only tri-shop, she’d been somewhat of a legend in our triathlon community. It had been a while since she’d passed, but people still talked about her.

An ache grew behind my ribs as his words settled—the kind of pain that throbs when you recognize the hurt in someone else, which was ironic because April’s drive was the direct opposite of mine. If her goal had been a sketch made in ink, mine was the whitespace around it.

She desired to hold a connection with her mom, and I was coming at the tether to my dad with diamond cutters. Still, we shared a likeness in having a parent drive our decisions even long after they were out of the picture.

And I felt that likeness acutely, enough so that I knew that if she was willing, I’d have one more athlete to create a training plan for when I got home.