Page 96 of Racing Hearts

I twist to extricate my arm from his grasp.

“Maxwell,” I say, my voice cold as I squeeze the damp stems. “You broke up with me on the docks at my last World Cup final. Maybe that wasn’t the only reason I bombed that day, but it doesn’t matter. You hurt me.”

He frowns, thick eyebrows knitting together. “I know, but I was going through a tough time, Katherine. That week was especially hard. My coach had just announced he was retiring. Losing him was a huge deal.”

“I’m well aware of how difficult it is to lose your coach,” I snap.

He folds his arms. “It doesn’t sound like you are.”

“Let me assure you, Maxwell.” I spit out the word with enough venom that Sofi would be proud. “I absolutely am. Or maybe you forgot that I, too, lost my coach this summer.”

“Right, then you should also understand what a difficult situation I was in and why I might have made a mistake. I already told you I was wrong. I don’t know what more you want from me.”

“Let me be clear,” I counter. “I want nothing from you.”

And then, just because I can, I drop the bouquet and stamp my foot on the shower of petals. I am so fucking glad Sofi insisted I wear boots tonight because this would be far less gratifying in sneakers.

Maxwell’s placid expression morphs into incredulity. He takes in the detritus of petals littered at his feet. That, more than anything else, gives me a purr of satisfaction.

His eyes go dull and hard. Slowly, he flips his notebook closed and sheaths it back into his pocket. “Is this because of that guy?”

“The…What guy?”

He huffs. “The guy from TikTok. The high school coach.”

Involuntarily, I step back. Even though I’ve spent the last two months trying to convince Adrian he can do more, my stomach hardens at the casual way Maxwell just wielded his title like an insult.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say.

“Don’t pretend. I’ve seen the way you two look at each other.”

My heart is a painful drumbeat hammering against my rib cage. Maybe I should be worried about who else figured out the true nature of our relationship, but I can’t think beyond the sneering asshole who just insulted the best man I’ve ever known.

My hands close into fists, like I’m ready to throw a punch on Adrian’s behalf. “I’m not pretending anything. Yes, the high school coach, Adrian is his name, and I have been—” I don’t know how to put this, so I settle on the easiest, vaguest, explanation that will still put Maxwell in his place. “We’re together.”

“Are you in love with him?”

I feel a telltale churn of my stomach. “What?”

Maxwell sneers. “And how is that going to work, exactly? You’re going to date across the state? Fly up here on the weekends? Lose hours of sleep and training time so you can travel back and forth? Or”—he lowers his chin and aims for the kill—“are you planning to stay in Berkeley and give up rowing to be with him?”

It’s like I have rocks in my lungs and I’m having trouble getting a full inhale around them. I suck in a breath as hard as I can, willing my body to calm, refusing to give Maxwell an inch in this conversation. He can’t have the upper hand. He can’t know how precisely his missiles are landing.

“That’s really none of your business,” I manage.

He shakes his head. “I thought I was wrong about you. I thought you were serious about training and racing. I thought you had what it takes to go all the way. I guess not.”

“It’s time for you to leave,” I say, my voice quivering. “Now.”

Maxwell’s eyes snap from the strewn petals to my face. “I’m already gone.”

The front door slams behind him.

I throw the lock closed and spin, landing with my back against the wood. A sob struggles against my throat. I slip down to a seat. Knees hugged into my chest, I squeeze my eyelids shut, trying to close out his words.

He isn’t worth a single more tear. Mom is right and Sofi is right and I am right—he’s a jerk and a conceited asshole. He also…

He also isn’t wrong.