Josh
“Victoria City’s out, guys,” Teagan called. “Caught a crab. Long and strong! Long and strong!”
They were fourth of four boats. Last place. He shook it off. He just needed to keep his eyes on Cam’s shoulders, match his stroke rate, and nothing else.
“We’re at thirty-four.” Teagan was tapping her cox box. Checking the stroke rate. Called a thirty-six to close that gap with Roxbury.
In other words: Row harder. Stronger.
He knew it was kind of stupid, but when the doctor told him he needed to listen to his heart, Josh sometimes put whatever it was telling him into words.
Slow down, idiot.
Take it easy, dude.
He was pushing hard. Feeling the strain. But his heart wasn’t telling him the usual stuff. It was saying: Isn’t this great? Being out on the water? Sun up above. Water sparkling like diamonds. Have fun, kid, it was telling him. Enjoy it.
And just like that, he and the eight people with him were flying. A fluid stream of motion.
Eight oars sliced through the water, pushing them past Roxbury.
He could do this. He would do this. For his dad. And maybe a little bit for himself. He was sorry he and Ryder might never make their peace, but screw it. Who needed rulebooks when you could write your own?