Tipping the Balance

by Koehler, Christopher

  They stopped talking then. Nick had a practice to run, and Brad knew he could either focus on the crews or talk to his old coach. He chose to watch the crews. He still thought it was a trip there were enough rowers for a B boat, plus some spares. The guys were going to have to hustle, and Brad wondered if he’d have made the cut. Then he realized it didn’t matter. That was then, and now he was out of the competition. No, he was helping run the competition. He smiled. This could be fun.

  After practice, Brad tagged along behind Nick as he debriefed with the coxswains. His attention wandered as they discussed specific people whose names he hadn’t yet learned. There, in the middle of the bay, was a gleaming vision in white, the latest in carbon-fiber hull technology from one of the boat-makers. Brad couldn’t tell which one, and right then he didn’t care. He just wanted to admire the boat.

  “That’s yours, you know,” Nick said, coming up behind him.

  “What’re you talking about?” Brad said, frowning.

  “It took me a while to figure it out, but you asked your dad to donate a boat when you graduated, didn’t you?” Nick said.

  Brad blushed. “Yeah. I… uh… I also figured it might give the athletic department some incentive to get off your case about Morgan.”

  Nick stared, stunned. “You did that? For me?”

  Brad shrugged, and his blush turned to one of shame. He couldn’t tell Nick that he was the one who’d turned in that anonymous note that lit the match to the whole powder keg. He didn’t regret much in life, but his actions that spring filled him with shame. He squirmed. “Can we not talk about this? Ever? My dad’s got more money than he knows what to do with. I thought about a car, but I like mine okay, and this way I could help someone else out, help out the crew, you know?”

  Nick gripped Brad’s shoulder. “You’re a good man. C’mere, there’s something I want to show you.”

  Nick led Brad around to the boat’s bow. “There. See the name?”

  Brad froze and time stood still. Helena Sundstrom. His mother. They’d named the boat for his late mother. “I…,” he started, but his mouth was dry. He coughed. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “I thought you might like that,” Nick said softly.

  Brad’s thoughts raced. His dad named the boat for his mother. The news shocked him. He really didn’t think the old bastard was capable of caring that much. Hell, at all. Where Brad was concerned, his dad usually parachuted in, spent what he had to spend to maintain appearances, and then bailed out just as quickly. That Randall first bought a boat for Brad’s old crew and then named it after his mother….

  “Didn’t think he had it in him,” Brad whispered.

  Nick scratched his head uncertainly. “That’s the thing. Once your dad donated the money, we never heard back. You’re on the oversight committee, so you should know.”

  “This went down before I joined. I think that’s why they wanted me, so they could juice some more out of my old man,” Brad said.

  “Usually the person who donates the money names the boat, but your dad won’t return my phone calls,” Nick said. “It’s pretty frustrating.”

  “Then… how’d you pick the name? How’d you know?” Brad said, his heart sinking.

  Nick looked Brad in the eye. “Drew thought you might like that.”

  Drew. Brad’s vision blurred. He blinked the moisture away. He didn’t care about Randall’s neglect, he insisted silently. He didn’t. But Drew…. All that time Drew had listened to Brad miss his mother, he’d really listened. Brad knew he’d harbored feelings for Drew for a while, but this? This filled him with something he couldn’t name. His feelings for Drew just kept growing stronger.

  Drew’s kindness and thoughtfulness humbled him, but rather than feeling ashamed of his own shortcomings, Brad longed to prove his worth to Drew in return. Right there in the boathouse, with Nick hovering expectantly, he knew he had to have Drew in his life for the rest of his life. He shoved questions of gay or straight or bi aside right then. He was for Drew, whatever that meant. That a man he’d known—really known—less than a year had thought of the one gesture that would mean the most to him while his dad ignored phone calls summed up his life pretty well.

  “I don’t know what to say,” Brad sniffled. Then he thought of something. “I’m kind of hurt I wasn’t invited to the dedication.”

  “There hasn’t been one. Like I said, your dad won’t call me back.” Nick hesitated. “If this is what your dad was like growing up, then some of the things I… uh, found abrasive when I coached you make more sense.”

  Brad shrugged. “You could’ve called me.”

  “I did. That’s why you’re here now,” Nick said. “We’ll either dedicate her here on our home water before our first race, or we’ll do it at the first race and her first victory.”

  “If there is one,” Brad said. That was not a tear in his eye. It wasn’t, damn it. “Can… can Drew be here? He was there for the win that’s made all the rest of this possible.”

  Nick looked at him like he knew there was more to say, but Brad didn’t feel like breaking down in the boathouse, and he knew he was close.

  “I think that’s only fair. We can do it next weekend, maybe Saturday after practice, if you can stick around for a few. If we both call Drew, I bet he’ll make sure not to schedule any viewings or open houses. After all,” Nick said with a tight smile, “he pestered me about you the whole season.”

  “Shut up, he did not,” Brad said, blushing. Even though Drew told him he had. Hearing it from Drew in the moment was one thing, but hearing it from Nick? That was just disturbing.

  Nick just rolled his eyes. “So what’d you think? This something you can help me out with?”

  Brad nodded slowly. Just sitting in the launch with Nick watching the crews row… it felt right. He knew he needed this. “Yeah,” he said, smiling. “I think so. I checked with Drew and—”

  “You checked with Drew? You got permission?” Nick smirked.

  Brad turned as red as a Coke can. “We… uh, we might’ve had the ‘boyfriend talk’.”

  “Brad, that’s fantastic,” Nick said softly for his ears alone. “While I have questions, I hope you know you’ll never get any grief from me about this development in your life.”

  “As long as I treat him right?” Brad said. He knew how close Nick and Drew were.

  “Oh, if you fuck him over, there’s no hole deep enough to hide you,” Nick said cheerfully. “From me or Morgan.”

  “Well that’s not gonna happen,” Brad said. He got a dopy grin. “He’s….”

  Nick nodded. “Yes, he is. But spare me? Brad Sundstrom, nice guy and assistant coach, I’m all for, but Brad Sundstrom, goofy romantic? I don’t know if I can handle that.”

  “You and me both,” Brad muttered as he headed to the locker room to change for his shift at Suburban Graveyard.

  Chapter Eighteen

  A week and a day after his Friday ride-along, Brad was still finding his way as assistant coach. His confidence on the water grew with every practice, but the organized chaos of the boathouse after practice on Saturday mornings still threw him. All those new faces. Almost new, he corrected himself. After a week of staring intently at rowers from his launch, he knew faces. But names? That was going to take time.

  But right then, it didn't matter. In a few minutes, once the dedication started, he wouldn't be there as a coach but as Helena—Ellie—Sundstrom’s son, and the only representative of the family who cared enough to come to the dedication. He’d left messages for Philip and Randall but hadn’t heard back from either one. He hadn’t expected to.

  “You okay?” Nick said, coming up to him.

  Brad shrugged. “I will be.”

  “I’ll handle most of this,” Nick said, looking at him sympathetically, “and a lot of what I say will be for the benefit of new members of the team and anyone else who isn’t part of our traditions here.”

  “Which would mean just Drew, since none of my lame fam
ily could bother to come,” Brad muttered. He looked around but hadn’t seen him yet. He knew Drew wouldn’t let him down, but he worried just the same.

  “We’ll give him a few more minutes to get here,” Nick said, glancing at his watch. “We ended practice a little early.”

  Brad scanned the parking lot and finally relaxed when he saw the familiar BMW pull up. He smiled and waved; then he caught himself and looked around, feeling guilty. How much was safe to show at the boathouse? He didn’t know how much he was comfortable with his athletes knowing, because he wasn’t yet comfortable with himself.

  Brad turned around and caught Nick nodding to Morgan, who smiled knowingly. He realized just then that he’d seen no overt demonstrations of affection between the two, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it, because Drew came up behind him. Anyone watching would only see one man tap another on the back as if to say “excuse me,” but Brad felt Drew’s hand linger and heard his greeting, pitched for his ears only.

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” Drew said. “Wait… am I late?”

  Brad shook his head, smiling at Drew despite his nerves. “No, we just ended practice early.”

  “Thanks for waiting, then,” Drew said.

  “You had to be here,” Brad said. He hadn’t said anything about the new boat’s name to Drew all week. It was hard for him then, but he pushed on. “You knew,” he said thickly. “You knew what this would mean to me. You had to be here. We’d have waited.”

  They might not have been boyfriends for very long, but Brad could tell Drew was itching to hug him. He could also see that Drew fought the urge. He appreciated that. He wasn’t ready to be… whatever he was to the crew yet.

  Drew smiled shyly. “You’re not mad?”

  “How could I ever be mad at you for that?” Brad said.

  “Those things were said in confidence. I was hoping you wouldn’t think it was a betrayal, but when Nick told me he was getting frustrated with tracking your dad down….” Drew trailed off.

  Brad brushed a tear out of his eye with the back of his hand. “Let me show you the boat, maybe you can take a look around. I’ll see when Nick wants to get started.”

  “I’ve been down here before, but not with so many people around,” Drew said. “Operations have sure expanded.” He looked around again. “In fact, I’m not even sure this is the same boathouse. Did they build a bigger—”

  “Heads up!” a woman’s voice called.

  “—boathouse?” Drew asked, looking all around.

  With a quick look of apology at the tiny woman standing with her hand on the bow of a boat, Brad took Drew firmly by the arm and pulled him out of harm’s way. “I know you’ve been around Nick a lot, so I’m sure this is just a reminder, but ‘heads-up’ really means duck, and for the record, she’d have run you over.”

  “Rude,” Drew hissed.

  Brad shrugged. “Boats have the right of way.” He knew he had to distract Drew before things got out of hand. “Look outside the boathouse,” he said, pointing out the bay doors to where Stuart directed some of the varsity men as they put the Ellie into slings. “Nick might be ready for us.”

  With his hand on Drew’s lower back to guide him, Brad pushed the still-simmering Drew out into the yard.

  Nick looked up and smiled. “Drew! Glad you could make it.”

  “Thanks for asking me,” Drew said, hanging back a little.

  Nick frowned and pulled him into a hug. “What, you’re shy now?”

  “I didn’t know how out you were at the boathouse, after….” Drew trailed off, his voice muffled by Nick’s chest.

  “It’s a hug between old friends, not sex on the dock,” Nick said. He shook his head and released Drew. “Anyway, now that you’re here, we’ll get started. It’s pretty straightforward,” he explained to Drew. “Brad’s seen dedications before, but this is the first one he’s participated in, yes?”

  Brad nodded.

  “So you’ll stand near me while I say a few words about the CalPac crew and its traditions, and then you’ll talk briefly about your mother. That’s really all there is to it,” Nick explained. “Then you’ll pour champagne over the bow and the Helena Sundstrom will be ready to row. Some of the varsity men will take her out for a spin, and then that’s that. Any questions?”

  “Where do I stand?” Drew said.

  “Over there near Morgan,” Nick said. “I promise he won’t bite.”

  “That’s not how I remember it,” Drew said.

  “You should live so long,” Morgan said, rolling his eyes.

  Drew smiled. “How’re you?”

  “Hush, Nick’s about to start,” Morgan said.

  Nick held up an air horn and let out a deafening blast to get everyone’s attention, and in short order, both men’s squads, the junior varsity and the varsity, had gathered around. “Thanks for sticking around, guys. This won’t take too much of your time, but today’s an important part of our life here at the CalPac boathouse. Today, we dedicate a new shell, a men’s heavyweight eight, and she’s a beauty. You’ll have to earn your places in this one.

  “As a coach, dedicating a boat is both a joyous and a melancholy privilege. It’s a privilege, because another boat, whether it’s a used single or a flagship eight, is a cause for celebration. The crew is growing. One of our alumni, one of the great PCRC Eight from last year, thought so much of this sport and this crew that when his dad asked what he wanted for graduation, he said a boat for the men of the CalPac rowing team.

  “But it’s also melancholy, because it’s our tradition at California Pacific to name boats for the dearly departed. Every name on the bow of one of these proud shells represents a life ended. Some died young, taken from their lives and crews, immortalized in carbon fiber by their grieving parents and rowed with pride by former teammates. Some shells are named by children, themselves well into middle age, to celebrate their parents’ lives, and we cherish these boats no less for all that their namesakes’ exploits in the sport took place long before any of us was born.”

  Nick paused to look around at his crews. “Young or old, the people whose names you see every day, who you may not even think about, these people live forever, honored every time we launch and every time a novice rower reads the legends in the crew handbook.

  “And their names and legends live on even beyond this boathouse, because once CalPac no longer needs these shells and sells them to clubs or smaller schools that lack our resources, no crew will ever change the name of a boat. They know what naming a boat means.

  “So today we gather to dedicate a new boat,” Nick said, “donated by the generosity of our new assistant coach’s family. Brad, would you say a few words?”

  Brad stepped forward. He swallowed and wiped his hands nervously on his jeans. He hated speaking in public. “Uh… Mom died before I discovered crew, but she always supported my decisions and encouraged me to chase my dreams. She never got upset with me when I failed, but if I didn’t give something my all, well… then she got mad.” He swallowed, his throat dry. “I think she’d be proud to know that her name lives on to help a new generation of men row beyond the limits they knew through crew.” Brad turned to the varsity squad, sparing a quick smile for Morgan and Stuart and the others he remembered. “The Ellie will carry you as far as you can go. Because this is a sport about limits, she’ll take you beyond what you ever thought possible. Row her well, men. Make her proud.”

  Morgan started clapping, slowly, loudly, followed quickly by Stuart, as the rest of the crew joined in. To the sound of applause, Nick handed Brad an open bottle of champagne. “Just dribble it across the bow deck. If you break it against the bow, you’ll scratch the carbon with the broken glass.”

  Brad nodded, his chest tight, his eyes stinging. “Here’s to you, Mom,” he whispered as he trickled the champagne across the white hull and watched with unseeing eyes as the pale liquid flowed across the cursive script of the new boat’s name in the bold blue of the CalPac Titans.

&nbs
p; “All right, men!” Stuart cried. “Hands on the Ellie! Act like you know what you’re doing.”

  Brad stood back as eight of the varsity rowers stepped forward to flip the boat up and out of the slings and onto their shoulders for the Ellie’s maiden row.

  As Brad watched the new varsity A boat head down the dock on the shoulders of eight of CalPac’s best, Drew slipped under his arm. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, I guess,” Brad said. The PDA made him squirm a bit, but he also liked how Drew felt under his arm. A lot.

  “I’ve got to take off, but I’m glad I could be here,” Drew said.

  “Me too,” Brad replied, staring out at the water as the rowers lowered the Ellie into the river. He squeezed Drew and, with a furtive look around, kissed the top of his head quickly before releasing him.

  Drew looked up at him and smiled. “I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

  “Definitely. Have a good afternoon, and thanks again for coming.”