Chapter Thirty-Eight Max
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Max
By sheer luck, divisionals were only forty minutes outside of Max and Keely’s hometown. He’d been to this track so many times growing up, watching races with his dad. He knew it as well as the AMU track at this point, which might have made a difference a week ago.
But today, his teammates hadn’t talked to him the entire ride here, Nolan included. Even Coach had given him distance.
He was used to it. Everyone in Max’s life pulled away when he got prickly. Which was fine. Running—outside of the relay—was a solo sport. He shouldn’t have to rely on others to succeed.
From here it was another few weeks to regional qualifiers, then nationals, if they made it that far.
He’d know his future by then.
It was May first. The scholarship application was due at midnight, and his was still a draft on his laptop, waiting for him to press submit.
And he would.
Later. Currently, he was doing his best just to focus on the ground in front of him. His knee still ached from busting it at practice Tuesday.
No more than his heart, but still.
Max bounced on his toes and kept his core loose in the staging area until it was his heat for the hundred-meter-dash.
He eyed the runners, clocked their builds and strides as they lined up on the blocks.
Max had drawn lane three, which wasn’t his favorite, but he much preferred it to one of the outside positions.
He’d breezed through the qualifying heat earlier, but now the stands were fuller. More people to watch him fail. Or fall. They were the same thing in his mind.
The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He scanned the stands, hoping for a glimpse of a certain golden girl. Something that proved he was being watched like he suspected.
He shook his head. Of course he was being watched—upwards of five hundred people waved pom-poms, hoisted banners painted with their schools’ colors.
He caught flashes of emerald and gold throughout, and a larger blob of them closer to the finish line he was sure hadn’t been there earlier, but no one was close enough to make out.
Max needed to focus on what was in front of him: the track, wide open, his for the taking.
He centered his right foot on the back block, stretched his left knee once more, and took position. The sun-warmed pavement bit at his palms, grounding him. One deep breath right after the warning tone, and—
Go.
Max burst from the starting block, his heels digging in to find purchase as he hit his rhythm. The stadium blurred. Or maybe he was the blur, the only thing in motion while everything around him stood still.
This was flying.
The runner to his right tucked in closer, edging Max out. So he dug harder, leading with his chest. It was almost over, twenty or so meters until the end now.
He was going to lose, and what would this all be for?
Disappointment thundered through him, rattling his bones.
Then he heard his name from a familiar voice, clear through the haze of focus. “Go, Max! Bring it home!”
He twinged a neck muscle forcing himself not to look. It was impossible.
But the mere thought propelled Max farther, faster, and he edged in front of the runner on his right again.
Bring it home, Max, that voice echoed. It dug into his muscles, lengthened and strengthened his strides. His shoes ate the pavement. Nothing existed but the track and his mind and his body and his heart, all perfectly synchronized for the first time in weeks. In months. In his entire life.
Bring it home.
And he did.
When he’d slowed on the other side of the finish line, hands atop his head to press him back down to earth after flying so far above it, he gave into the urge to crane his neck and see who’d shouted.
His hands slipped right off his head, his entire body jolting.
That emerald-and-gold blob he’d seen from the starting block was right in front of him now. He recognized every single face.
His brother Thomas with his wife, Max’s nephew tucked between them on the row and wearing massively oversized headphones. His other brothers Henry and Jacob. Max’s mom, her face wet, hands clutched together beneath her trembling chin.
Nolan, who must have snuck over between his own heats to sit with the rest of the AMU cheer squad. Zoey, tucked into his side. Max resisted raising an eyebrow at that.
Front and center, wearing a smile that outshone the sun—
“Dad?”
Max leapt over the barrier, not caring whether he was impeding the races, the medal ceremony. He didn’t care about any of it anymore. “What are you doing here?”
He didn’t wait for an answer before throwing his arms around him, crushing him in a probably-too-intense hug.
“I couldn’t miss the chance to watch my son doing what he loves in one of his final college meets, could I?”
The back of Max’s neck burned. His brothers stifled laughter. Zoey hid a smile in Nolan’s arm.
“Doing what we love, Dad.” Max nodded, his breath coming both harder and easier. “It’s your sport, really. My win is your win. This one, the next. . . the Olympics. It’s all for you. So you can finally achieve your dreams.”
Dad’s eyes shone. This was it. Regardless of the scholarship, this was Max’s goal. Giving back to his dad everything he’d given up. Proving the sacrifice served a purpose.
His father’s face twisted, his jaw dropping half an inch. “My. . . dreams?”
“Winning gold,” Max went on. He gestured vaguely to his chest, where a medal might lie. “You don’t have to regret giving it up anymore.”
Dad shook his head, his mouth opening and closing a few times.
Max lurched forward, ready to help him through a coughing fit or find the nearest sip of water and force it down his throat.
But his dad only blinked up at him, and the longer he didn’t say anything, the more Max felt like maybe he’d messed something up. Something else.
“What?” he said when the silence had stretched on long enough.
His father stroked his chin. “What is it, exactly,” Dad said, “that you think I gave up?”
What? The bleachers jolted under Max’s feet. He grabbed the railing. Somewhere, distantly, someone called his name. “Your. . . your whole life.”
Another slow blink from Wade. “And what might that be?”
Max stared. . . and stared. “Your athletics career. Running. Track. Competitive sprinting. Going for gold. Everything.”
“I didn’t give it up, Max. That implies.
. .” Dad scratched his neck, looking for the right words.
“A sacrifice, when it really wasn’t a decision to be made at all.
My entire life was you. You, and your brothers, and your mother.
” He turned his pensive gaze on each of them.
Max followed behind, slogging to catch up.
His dad slipped a thin, wiry arm around his mom, who had buried her face in his neck. “As long as I had that—as long as I have this, I will be the happiest man on the planet.”
Max’s head pulsed, and he sucked in air. More distant shouts of his name. Down on the track, the next event was due to start, and Coach was waving his hat at Max, trying to get his ass back to where he belonged.
But Max was already there. He blocked out all the other noise. “My entire life, I thought you’d sacrificed so much.”
Dad grinned, wan but happy. “Just because you didn’t see me running doesn’t mean I didn’t.
Sometimes I woke up at four in the morning to get in laps around the neighborhood.
I’d strap you all into strollers and take you with me.
You don’t give up what you love for who you love.
If it’s meant to be, you won’t ever have to pick between the two. You just. . . figure it out as you go.”
Max laughed, hands on his hips. “I’m not sure if I know how to do that.”
Dad chuckled, and his eyes crinkled so much Max could have sworn he winked instead. “You’ll figure that out, too.”
Somehow, without ever having explicitly discussed it, Max’s dad knew the root of the problem. Why this was tripping Max up so much. Maybe he’d known since their phone call earlier this year. Or over spring break.
The announcer called the event on deck.
“I’ve gotta go,” Max said. He touched his dad’s shoe with his own. “You sure you’re okay out here?”
“Been better, been worse, here now, Max.” Dad nodded. “So be here now.”
Max’s eyes stung—sweat, probably. He’d have to mainline electrolytes to make it to the starting line. Or the finish line. He wanted to win this for himself this time, since that was an option now.
Max turned to Nolan then, whose arm was around Zoey. Her curls were going wild in the wind, and some of them kept hitting Nolan in the face. He didn’t seem to mind. They looked good together.
“What are you doing over here?” Max asked. Last he’d seen, Nolan was still busy ignoring him over by the race tents.
“Had a few minutes.” Nolan shrugged. “And I told you, friends show up for each other. Even when things get rough.” His head tilted. “Even when they’re still mad at each other.”
Max tipped his chin, a smile taking him by surprise. “Yeah, that’s fair.” He swallowed. “I appreciate it. I guess friendship is something you show, not just say.” He made a mental note to fix what he’d screwed up, sooner rather than later.
“Maybe when Coach isn’t turning purple yelling our names,” Nolan offered, and Max was grateful all over again.
As they went to leave, Max searched the bleachers again for golden hair, a hint of peppermint, a wide smile aimed only at him.
“She’s not here,” Zoey said, throwing a sad smile Max’s way.
He’d known that, but it still pulled at a stitch near his heart.
As he and Nolan walked down to the track and over to their team, Max tried to focus.
Be here now. Why was that so hard?
He loved running, would always love running and what it did for his body and mind, but he’d missed out on so much this semester by putting his all into dreams that—surprise—weren’t legit to begin with.
He’d worked himself to the bone, missed out on time with his dad he wouldn’t ever get back.
Time at the shelter with the dogs, time with Nolan and the team.
Time with Keely.
Don’t think about—
Why the hell shouldn’t he?
Dad said you don’t give up what you love for who you love, and if Max wasn’t in love with Keely, he’d never known love at all.
He’d messed everything up. She probably hated him.
He didn’t hate her—the opposite, actually—but he wasn’t sure they could come back from where they’d left it. They’d thrown punches intended to hurt, and they did. And if nothing else, Max was very good at running from his problems.
So he put his head down and did exactly that.