Cole
The whistle blows and the reaction is instant. By now it’s instinct. When I was first starting out, I imagined that it was like the straps of gravity had been severed with the swift cut of an ax. One. Two. My tensed muscles release, propelling my body forward into space in a single movement.
No thoughts.
No worries.
I am nothing but rhythm and motion.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Breathe.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Breathe.
I pump my arms and push my hips down, squeezing all of the power out each leg extension. My limbs and lungs work in tandem, shredding reality down to this steady pattern of movement and breaths. It’s comfortable. It’s what I know. I feel it in every pore of my body.
No thoughts.
No worries.
On the track, under the burning summer sun, there is only this moment and the one that follows.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Breathe.
The count pounds in my chest and pulses through me like blood in my veins, driving my muscles harder, faster.
I can sense Nate on one side of me and Brady on the other, getting closer, gaining. I kick my legs out, ignoring the burning sensation starting in my thighs and shooting up my body. Faster.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Breathe.
No worries.
I am ahead again.
One. Two. A final push. Three. Four. And I’m over the line.
I breathe in a sudden rush like I’m coming up for air after being held under water for too long. Everything slows down as my heels dig into the ground and my arms release. I ease to a stop and bend over to brace my hands on my knees. Through the sweat dripping from my forehead, I make out a splash of green. I push my torso up and suck more air into my aching chest. Coach is saying something to me, but my eyes are darting to the digital display board and my hand is running over my face.
I blink. Not bad.
One. Two. Three. Breathe.
No worries.
No thoughts.
Later, with a towel wrapped around my waist and Nate’s music thumping against my skull, I lean my bare back against the cool concrete wall and let the words of my teammates seep into my skin. Quentin is talking about some chick he met last Saturday.
“At first I was into the friend because her rack was unbelievable. But then this one hottie, who looked all prim and proper with a pink cardigan on, whispers in my ear that she wants to go down on me right then and there at the bar and…” He spreads his hands and grins. “I’m only human.”
The other guys hoot with laughter.
“Speaking of unbelievable racks.” Brady turns his gaze on me. “I saw Kate at Ashton’s place last night and she was asking me about you.”
I knock my head on the wall once and stand, reaching for my shirt and sweats. I don’t want to talk about Kate Dutton. “I’m sure she was.”
“So… are you still on that?” He inclines his head in my direction. “Because if not then I’ve got to admit that I’m interested.”
Of course he is. Brady is ruled by one thing only: his dick.
“Do you have a problem with me calling her?”
I turn away from him as I slip the thin white cotton shirt over my head and throw off the damp towel. “She’s all yours. Just watch out for her because she can get a little bit clingy.”
Quentin slaps my shoulder. “Yeah, man, I wouldn’t worry too much about that. I think Brady has a few parts that he’d be more than willing to have her to cling to.”
I ignore the laughter and the rest of the conversation. I’m not feeling it today. I just want to finish getting dressed, pack my shit up, and get the hell out of here.
Before I can make my escape, Coach comes in and wants to give us a gruff speech about conditioning, getting enough sleep, and laying off alcohol. Yeah, sure thing, Coach…
By the time I make it out of the building, the sky is a purple-black bruise eating up the peach-tinged skin horizon. I check my phone. One missed call and a voicemail from a number that I don’t have saved but that I recognize as my mother’s cell phone. I delete the message without listening to it.
Here’s the thing: I haven’t spoken to the woman that gave birth to me since she left us three years ago. Every so often she seems to grow a conscience and she’ll call and leave me a message saying a bunch of contrite shit like she misses me and wants to make things right between us. Make things right? Come the fuck on.
I let go of a bitter sigh and turn my focus back to the phone. There’s a text from Kate asking me whether or not she left her shorts at my place last week and one from my sister, Sophie. I ignore the one from Kate and respond to Sophie. She must be sitting on her phone because she answers right away.
I laugh and start to type back when I hear my name called. I look up and see Daniel jogging toward me with his gym bag and a damp towel in his hand.