Page 62 of The Last Five Yards

Maren glances down at her clipboard. “Yeah, I still need to check on that inventory.”

Reese looks over at the clipboard, noticing the notes highlighted in different colors. “So, you are still color coding everything, I see. Have you checked the gold section for gold stars?” She teases.

Maren shakes her head and laughs softly. “I do not know what to do with you sometimes.”

The air between them softens. The noise of the pool fades to a warm hum. The space between them feels full and quiet.

Practice moves on in its normal ways. As Maren is wrapping the practice, stacking kickboards and throwing pool buoys into the garbage can on deck. Rowan pops up in lane two, shouting to her mom down on the bleachers.

“Mom, are we getting popsicles after practice?” She pleads.

Reese sighs, the kind of sound that is more fond than annoying. “Carpool tax,” she says with a shrug.

Rowan nods like that explains everything and dives back under the water.

Reese lingers for one more heartbeat, eyes returning to Maren.

“She did good today,” she says.

“She did,” Maren replies.

“So did you,” Reese says softly.

Something gentle settles between them, small and warm and steady.

Reese gives a quiet nod and heads back toward the bleachers to collect her things. Maren watches her go as Rowan climbs out of the pool and heads to the locker room to change. The afternoon light glows across the deck. That feeling returns in Maren’s ribs, something soft and quiet that she is still not ready to name.

23

False Starts

Maren steps out of her office, and the whistle calls hit instantly, sharp enough that her shoulders rise before she can help it. She looks around to get her bearings. Kids are already in the water, churning up splashes as they fight for space. Parents pace the deck in a low-grade panic, trying to make sure the time clocks work.

Across the diving well, the visiting coach stands at the corner, yelling at one of his swimmers after every breath they take. Maren is suddenly grateful, again, that the high school kids show up to help at summer meets. They are the only thing keeping the younger swimmers from scattering like startled birds.

She steps back into her office just long enough to grab her clipboard. There is no version of tonight where she survives without it.

Leaning her back against the wall, she glances around and takes it all in before everything really begins. The sharpness of the air hits her, bright and familiar. It settles her in a way that feels automatic, like a homing beacon she can always rely on.

Her entire team is crammed into three warm-up lanes. She watches for a moment, counting her blessings that no one has had a head-on collision yet. The kids weave around each other in frantic little bursts, darting through the water like minnows caught in a current.

She raises her whistle and gives a sharp blow to end warm-ups. Reaching for the lap counter on the nearby bench, she dips it into lane one and slides it back and forth, so Rowan will know it is time to stop.

Rowan pops up at the wall, her goggles slightly crooked, and her smile is already too big. She gives Maren a little salute before pushing her goggles up on her forehead.

Maren nods and lifts the counter out of the water. Rowan gets the message and hauls herself onto the deck with a wet slap of feet and hands on tile. She immediately starts talking to one of her teammates, both vibrating with the kind of adrenaline that makes Maren exhausted just watching.

Across the pool, Reese has taken a spot near the starting block of another lane. She is half talking to one of the older swimmers, half watching the blur of warm-up chaos unfold. Her posture is different here. Straighter, sharper. Maren tries not to linger on it.

She turns back to her younger swimmers, who are mostly pretending they are not vibrating with nerves. Rowan stands closest, still twisting the strap of her goggles.

“Alright, everyone,” Maren says, lowering her voice just enough that they have to lean in. “This is just another meet. Nothing new, nothing huge. You know how to do this. The only person you are racing tonight is yourself. No one else.”

A few shoulders drop. Rowan’s, especially.

Maren taps her clipboard lightly against her leg. “And remember what I always say. Finish hard. Races are won and lost in the last five yards.”

Rowan nods like she is storing the words somewhere safe. The others lean in too, taking it in without making a big deal out of it.