Chapter Sixteen Griffin #2
Miles paddled enthusiastically in the wrong direction while Cooper stared at him as if evaluating whether friendship was worth it.
Maren dug her paddle in hard. “Left, Griffin.”
“I am on the right.”
“I know. I am saying we are drifting left.”
“That means I need to correct right.”
“Or it means stop correcting everything and match me.”
He almost argued.
Almost.
Then he heard himself.
Stop correcting everything and match me.
The canoe wobbled as he adjusted his stroke. He watched her rhythm. Dip. Pull. Lift. Breathe.
She was not stronger than him.
She was better at feeling the water.
Of course she was.
Maren Brooks lived by reading movement other people missed.
Griffin matched her stroke.
The canoe straightened.
Maren looked back, eyes bright. “Look at that. Growth.”
“Do not make this a metaphor.”
“You made yourself a metaphor when you got into a canoe and tried to supervise a lake.”
He wanted to deny that.
He could not.
They reached the first buoy behind Nate and Ava, but ahead of Tyler and Beckett, who were still turning in a slow circle while Tyler yelled, “We are simply giving the crowd a panoramic experience.”
The red flag floated from a ring tied to the buoy.
Maren reached for it.
Griffin steadied the canoe with one paddle stroke before she had to ask.
She caught the flag.
The crowd cheered.
Maren held it up like a trophy. “One.”
“Good grab.”
She glanced back.
His chest did something ridiculous because apparently praise, when aimed at Maren, could become a weapon against himself.
“Careful, Hayes,” she said. “That almost sounded impressed.”
“I am impressed.”
Her paddle slipped.
The canoe wobbled.
Griffin’s hand shot out to the gunwale. “Maren.”
“I am fine.”
“You just short-circuited because I complimented you.”
“I did not short-circuit. I experienced temporary paddle uncertainty.”
“Spiritual short-circuit.”
She turned forward again, but he saw the smile.
He wanted to keep it.
Bad idea.
They paddled toward the second buoy, gaining on Nate and Ava, who were laughing because Nate had apparently splashed himself in the face and Ava had no intention of letting love protect him from consequences.
The second buoy had a laminated card attached.
Maren leaned over and read it aloud.
“Teamwork question. Name one thing your partner is better at than people give them credit for.”
The crowd got louder.
Tyler yelled from somewhere behind them, “Say kissing!”
Griffin did not turn around. “Tyler.”
“I am in another canoe. Your authority is diluted by water.”
Maren coughed on a laugh.
Then she looked back at Griffin.
For once, she did not rush to make the moment funny.
His answer came before he could polish it.
“Maren sees the story before anyone else knows they are in it.”
Her face changed.
Softened.
Went still in a way that made the crowd fade back.
Griffin tightened his grip on the paddle.
“She knows what people will care about,” he said, quieter now, though not quiet enough to hide. “Not because she tricks them. Because she pays attention. She makes things matter without making them fake.”
Maren stared at him.
The canoe drifted.
Ava and Nate passed the second marker ahead of them, but Griffin did not care.
Not right then.
Maren swallowed.
“That counts,” Denise called from the dock, voice gentler than usual.
Maren blinked fast and looked forward.
“Your turn,” Griffin said.
Her shoulders lifted with a breath.
She read the second half of the card. “Name one thing Griffin likes but will not admit.”
The team noise rose.
Griffin prepared himself for joy.
Or rules.
Or khakis.
Maren looked at the water for one second.
Then back at him.
“Being trusted,” she said.
Everything in Griffin went silent.
Not the lake.
Not the crowd.
Him.
Maren held his gaze like she had not meant to say it lightly and would not pretend she had.
“He likes when people trust him,” she said. “Not just to stop things. To be there. To listen. To hold the line without taking over the whole room.”
Griffin could not move.
The canoe rocked softly beneath them.
The blue flag tapped against the buoy in the breeze.
Maren smiled a little.
“Also, he likes winning. A lot. Deeply. With his whole emotionally repressed chest.”
The crowd burst out laughing.
Griffin exhaled.
He had not realized he needed to.
“Correct,” Denise called. “And possibly too accurate.”
Maren grabbed the blue flag and shoved her paddle back into the water. “Come on, Hayes. We are losing.”
He matched her.
This time, he did not need her to tell him.
They cut across the water faster now, their rhythm clean. Dip. Pull. Lift. Breathe. The canoe moved like it had been waiting for them to stop fighting it.
Ava and Nate were still ahead, but not by much.
Miles and Cooper had somehow lodged their canoe sideways against the first buoy.
Cooper called, “This is a protest.”
Miles said, “This is physics.”
Tyler and Beckett had stopped spinning and were now making alarming progress powered entirely by panic and theater.
The final gold flag bobbed near the last turn, tied lower than the others, close to the water. Whoever designed the course had intended for one person to lean carefully while the other balanced the canoe.
Griffin knew because he had read the setup notes.
Maren knew because she leaned forward before he could say a word.
“No,” he said.
She did not look back. “You do not know what I am doing.”
“You are about to reach too far.”
“I am about to win.”
“You are about to go swimming.”
“Could be both.”
“Maren.”
She glanced over her shoulder.
The wind had loosened more hair around her face. Her cheeks were flushed from paddling. Her eyes were alive in a way that made Griffin understand, with terrible clarity, why people followed bad ideas off docks and into storms.
Some people made risk look like oxygen.
“Trust me,” she said.
There it was.
The challenge.
The choice.
The worst and best thing she could have said.
Griffin looked at the flag.
Then at the canoe.
Then at her.
“I will balance,” he said.
Her smile hit him full force.
“Good man.”
“Do not make me regret that sentence.”
“No promises.”
She shifted forward, reaching for the flag.
The canoe tipped.
Griffin leaned the opposite direction, steadying it. “Slow.”
“I have it.”
“You do not.”
“I almost have it.”
“Maren.”
Her fingers brushed the gold flag.
The crowd roared.
Ava shouted something from the green canoe. Nate yelled, “Careful!”
Tyler screamed, “COMMIT TO THE BIT!”
“Tyler,” Cooper yelled from across the lake, “stop coaching danger.”
Maren stretched another inch.
Griffin held the balance, every muscle locked, every instinct in his body begging him to grab the back of her life jacket and pull her down.
He did not.
She had asked for trust.
He gave it.
Her fingers closed around the flag.
“Yes!” she shouted.
Then Tyler and Beckett’s canoe shot past the buoy at an angle no course designer, reasonable adult, or merciful God had intended.
Their wake hit Griffin and Maren sideways.
The blue canoe rocked hard.
Maren’s eyes went wide.
Griffin dropped his paddle and reached for her hand.
She grabbed it.
For half a second, they held.
Flag in one hand.
Each other in the other.
Then the canoe tipped, the lake rushed up, and Griffin Hayes had one clear thought before the water took them.
At least she got the flag.