Page 102 of Racing Hearts

Sofi’s gaze traces a long arc across the table between us before she raises her eyes to mine. “Okay, here’s the deal. I’ve been thinking about this ever since I left Berkeley. And I decided it’s true that I’m capable of living without you. If I needed to, I could figure it out on my own. The boat is stressful as hell right now, and Missy keeps falling apart, and I seem to be the only one who can talk her down, and, yes, I could handle it all without you.

“But, you know what, I don’t want to. I want you back in the training center. I want you to hand me prefilled water bottles and spray my stinky shoes so they smell like fresh linen. I want to lean on you and let you lean on me right back. Not figuratively or over FaceTime. In real life. But I also didn’t want to admit any of that to you because I don’t think you need any more reasons to be nervous on that line tomorrow.”

“That doesn’t make it harder,” I say softly.

“It just makes the pressure even bigger.”

I shake my head, and look at my friend—my powerful, nearly indestructible best friend. “All you’ve done is tell me I’m not alone.”

Sofi’s smile stutters and she squeezes my hands together so tightly, I lose sensation in my fingertips. “I love you.”

I use a shoulder to wipe my eye. “I love you, too.”

My phone pings. I release Sofi so I can fish it out of my pocket, assuming it’ll be Mom. Our conversations were still strained when I left, but I know she’s been watching my races on YouTube because she’s been texting me encouragements all week. It’s felt a little performative—tinged by our fight—but I appreciate that she’s still trying to be supportive.

But the message isn’t from her.

I drop the phone.

Sofi glances up, fork paused. “What? What’s happening?”

“Adrian.” My voice sounds distant in my own ears. “I don’t think I can look.”

“You want me to read it to you?”

Nauseous pain rises up in my gut, spinning and whirling like I’m on one of those horrible carnival rides. “I don’t think I want to know.”

“It might help.”

I bury my face in my palms, digging my fingertips against my hairline. So far this week, my heartbreak hasn’t derailed my performance. Somehow, I’ve been racing well, despite all the pain. Whatever is on that phone could change that, though. Because no matter what this message says, it will reopen the painful wound that hasn’t begun to heal.

The chair next to me scrapes back. Sofi’s arm curls around my waist.

“Maybe it will hurt,” she whispers. “But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t see what he has to say. He’s earned that much.”

Another ping.

My gaze travels from the lines of her muscled forearms to my black phone case. Then I take a breath, unlock the screen, and nudge it toward my friend. “Read it for me?”

Her lips remain pursed as her eyes scan the message. She sets the illuminated device face up in front of me. “You should read it for yourself.”

With shaking fingers, I pick it up.

Good luck tomorrow, Parker. You’ll be extraordinary. But just in case you don’t believe it right now, you should know that I believe it enough for the both of us.

Just remember: Out of your head. Into your body. You’ve got this.

The words slice through me from scalp to toes. My skin starts buzzing all over, and the sensation is so intense I can barely feel Sofi’s fingers as she squeezes my shoulder. I can barely feel the tears that track down my cheeks and drip off the end of my chin.

The world is folding in on itself. I’m upside down and all my blood is rushing to my head. Like I’m underwater, fighting to find the surface.

“I’m in love with him,” I whisper.

“I know,” Sofi tells me.

“I love rowing, too.”

“I’m sorry, Kath,” Sofi says, squeezing me still closer. “I’m so sorry.”