Page 30 of Catch
Then again…
Ethan’s texted me every day this week with silly jokes, complaints about his buzz cut, and pics of him at hockey practice that I didn’t ask for. I should block him, but I don’t. His persistence is distracting, and not in a bad way. Even though I know I should delete every message and photo from him, I don’t do that either. My hand itches to reply, but I hold back. As though I’m afraid that if I give in, I’m going to fall down a rabbit hole I can’t get out of.
The situation is made worse by the fact I’ve been thinking about Ethan not as the guy who antagonizes me, but as a guy I’m curious about. There, I said it. I have to remind myself ten times a day that my curiosity can go fuck itself. I’m not interested in Ethan. He’s straight and he sure as fuck’s not flirting with me, he’s playing some kind of game.
My phone buzzes with a reminder, and when I check thetime, I realize I’m cutting it close for practice today. I jog across campus at a fast clip, down to the lake, and make a beeline for the storage sheds. It’s a near-perfect day for rowing on Lake Kinnear—sunny, low winds, and cool temps.
As I get closer to the dock, I notice the rest of my teammates are already hauling our shell toward the water. I also notice that our coach, Linwood Ridley, is on the phone and swearing up a storm. Lin’s from the UK, and at twenty-six, he’s also the youngest coach at the college level. His record speaks for itself; he’s won numerous medals at national and international rowing events, and we’re damn grateful to work with him.
“Someone broke into one of the boatsheds last night,” Hudson announces when he spots me.
“What?”
“Yeah. Lin’s on the phone with the police. Thankfully, most of the shells are untouched, but they sure made a mess.”
I glance at Okto, our beloved boat, and breathe a sigh of immense relief. Replacing a shell can be a pain in the ass, not to mention as expensive as a car. Not only that, but it can also take a while to break in a new one, and for competitive racers, there’s nothing worse than an unfamiliar boat.
“Why would someone break in to the shed?” I reply. “It’s not like it’s easy to steal a two-hundred-pound boat with no motor.”
“Probably teenagers on a dare,” Archie offers. “Or someone with a fetish for life vests.”
I walk around and sure enough, the first shed is fine but the second one has a broken window. There’s gear all over the floor, like someone pulled everything off the shelves and made a mess of it. Some life vests are missing, as well as other small pieces of equipment. For what? There’s nothing of value in here. Not unless you’re into water sports.
I head back to the first shed, and everything in here is untouched. But again, this is where we house the boats andthey aren’t easy to steal. Dropping off my backpack, I stalk back to the dock.
“Like you said, it was probably teenagers pulling a prank,” I offer to Hudson, and then help my teammates set Okto down on a rack.
First up, inspection duty. We check the inside of the shell, the oars, and the oarlocks. Thankfully, it’s all good to go. Once we set him in the water and we take our positions, it’s time for final adjustments, including the foot stretchers and our seats.
An eight-crew boat means it takes a lot of time to get things right, but it’s necessary.
Each member has their strengths, and when I say rowing is a team effort, it’s a fact. When one rower is off, there’s a domino effect and everyone struggles. When all of us are in sync, however, it’s a heady, incredible feat.
Kai sits in the bow seat, number one, and is responsible for balancing and steering, like Jackson, who sits number two. Hudson and Archie are numbers three and four, the engine or powerhouse rowers, along with August and Wyatt, seated five and six. Iggy is seven, and I’m eight, the stern pair, and we set the pace and the rhythm for the team. For me, it’s even harder since I’m the last one, and I can’t see anyone behind me. And sitting at the end of the stern is Felix, who, as the coxswain, gets in his position with his mic on, facing the rest of us. He provides direction for the crew and helps us steer.
As we push off the dock, I settle into my seat and enjoy the view. There’s a mist rising from the water, and the quiet chirp of birdsong in the air. We’re alone out here at this early hour, and I love it. The serene peacefulness that settles into me when I’m rowing is something that never gets old. I thrive out here on the water, in the country air, and I can’t even imagine how anyone survives city life. Small town Sutton suits me fine. It may not be the ranch back home, but it’s close enough.
Lin reappears at the dock, breaking my musings.
“Morning, gents,” he calls out. “Now that the drama on land is under control and security is on the way, it’s time to get to work. Ten minute warm-up and then we’re running drills. Let’s go.”
He hops into his motorboat, and starts it up, the familiar hum of the engine signaling it’s time for us to get moving.
Our blades catch the water, and we’re off.
We go at a slow clip to start. Our bodies need time to adjust, and we also take it easy to make sure there’s no issues with the shell.
Once we’re moving smoothly, and all the kinks have been worked out, Lin puts us through our paces. Our coach doesn’t hold back. With every stroke, I’m sweating hard despite the cool air, and I can feel the burn in my thighs and between my shoulder blades.
When we reach our final destination, it’s time to pause for a quick break. Lin offers more feedback, and we’re back at it, running drill after drill.
The wind whips up when we head back in the direction of the dock, and things get challenging. Being a rower means we’re all gluttons for punishment, and the more Lin critiques us, the harder we work. I’m so caught up in pushing myself to the max that I don’t notice anything in my periphery. That’s what our coxswain is for.
“Is that the fastest you can go?” a familiar voice yells out.
My rhythm falters, and Felix is the first to notice. Shit.
“Hold water,” Felix calls out.
