Page 77 of Racing Hearts

“You weren’t so bad yourself,” I say. His kind of unconditional support is rare, especially among coaches. I know Carla wouldn’t have found a way to be that kind and level.

“We’re a good team.”

“Yeah,” I say, and my heart surges with affection. “So, the quad.”

Adrian lets out a shaky sigh. “The quad.”

“Do you have any thoughts for a good replacement?”

“A few ideas, yeah,” he says. So, he did think about this in the hospital room. I never would have been able to tell. “Matt is the obvious choice. He does well in the stroke seat of his eight.”

Adrian says this with less conviction than I’d have expected considering Matt is absolutely the right choice on paper with his experience sculling, consistent rhythm, and clean technique. Then Adrian frowns—the same expression he gets when I quote textbook advice that he has a gut reaction against.

“What are you thinking?” I ask.

He swallows and his eyes skate away from me. “Matt is the obvious choice. But I don’t know if he’s the right choice.”

I consider this for a long moment. Matt is one of the strongest rowers on the team, and in many ways, he reminds me of a younger Maxwell: strong, exacting, and demanding. Then I think about the angry meltdowns Maxwell had when their coach announced his retirement, and how much his sour mood affected the rest of the team. Or the way a single one of his disappointed headshakes could turn my entire day upside down.

“I think I see what you’re saying,” I tell him. “The other three guys have spent months learning to swing with Peter, and work as a cohesive team. It’s going to be a huge deal to change all that with just over a month to go. This late in the game, technique isn’t as important as personality. You need someone willing and able to adapt to the others rather than insisting they all change to fit him.”

Adrian nods, and the gesture simmers with relief. “Exactly, Kath. That’s exactly it.”

“You need someone with heart,” I say. “Someone with empathy and charisma.”

He needs someone like Sofi. He needs someone like himself.

“How about Rohan?” I ask.

“Rohan?”

I sit up a little straighter. “He’s not quite like Matt, but he’s still got a strong technical base. His stroke is a bit different than Peter’s, but he’s got the skills and personality to meet the other guys in the middle. And he’s definitely got the heart.”

Adrian pauses, expression going faraway for a moment. “It’s a lot to ask. It would be a big step for him.”

“I bet he can take it.” When Adrian still doesn’t answer, I add: “Is something else wrong?”

He shakes his head like he’s clearing it. “No. No. It’s a really good idea.” He smiles at me, approving, and my heart melts just a little more. “It’s just an unconventional choice, but I think you’re right—it’s the best choice we have. I’ll talk to him.”

I watch Adrian’s face, torn between lightness at the way he’s trusting me and wariness at the uncertain look in his eyes. “All you can do is ask.”

“Yeah. And the worst that can happen is he’ll say no.”

Twenty-Four

35 Days Until Pan Ams

For reasons I don’t fully understand, Adrian waits three days to talk to Rohan. When he finally does, it’s well past our last practice of the day, when—after the usual informal social hour—all the other kids have finally headed home. I’ve just finished wiping down my shell and giving my boat shoes an extra clean. I’m feeling happy with my performance today—or at least content. I’ve finally been progressing nicely. Nothing revelatory, but it’s progress. Whether it will be enough to beat either the Brazilian or the Canadian, I don’t know.

With my newly freshened shell back in its berth, I forge back toward the bay doors of the dusty boathouse. As I approach the exit, though, I find Adrian and Rohan, rimmed in the low light of sunset. The conversation doesn’t look like it’s going well. Rohan has his arms folded tightly around his torso and Adrian’s mouth is etched with a frown.

I take another step, aiming to bolt past them, but Adrian catches me mid-stride with his eyes. He shakes his head minutely, as if to warn me away. So, instead, I tuck myself into the shadows between the rafters and wait.

“I just—” Rohan’s voice is strained, higher pitched than I’ve heard before. It’s certainly not filled with the easy charisma that he exudes in most of his videos, even the ones where he’s being real, as he says, “I just don’t think I’d be good at it.”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” Adrian replies. “But I want to make sure you know that you’re just as capable as the others in the boat. I wouldn’t be asking you if I didn’t believe in you.”

He’s using that steady, confident voice again. It’s as smooth as sun butter.