“Because I’m not already the odd man out?”
“Did you just whine?”
I nodded. “Probably. I’m exhausted.”
“I know, and I know Lodestone’s keeping a close eye on you. I am, too. Your blood tests and the lactic acid profiles look good, for what that’s worth.” Pendergast looked so hopeful. I knew how much he and Ridgewood wanted this, and I believed them when they told me—as they did from time to time—they wanted it for me and not for what I could do for the program.
“They’d better?” I tried to laugh, but it only sounded strangled.
Pendergast frowned. “Is this too much?”
I thought about it for a while, or what felt like a while but was only a handful of seconds. “It feels like it if I slow down. If I stop during the day, I fall asleep.” I held up a hand to forestall him, because he’d opened his mouth. “But I went into this knowing what I was getting into, or knowing as much as I could. In terms of my health, I’m fine. I’m merely tired. A lot. But that’s what to expect with periodization and why I’m taking a minimum course load and why Lodestone’s in charge of almost everything about my life.”
Everything but Michael. The weird thing of it was, now that I was completely absorbed in training, the Castelreighs appeared to be loosening up. Of course, that was easy to do when I was never around…. Bastards.
“So,” Pendergast said, “the yoga?”
I shrugged. “Sure, why not? I don’t have the energy to care whether anyone resents me or not. I mean, anyone else besides Peevie Steevie.”
“Peevie Steevie?” Pendergast smirked.
“That’s what I call Steve—”
“Oh, I know who you’re talking about, and I should pretend I never heard a thing. So how do you want to do this?” my coach—or one of them—said.
I thought about it for a while. “Can you have a single waiting at the dock one day after practice? Oars not extended? I promise I’ll make it spectacular.”
“You’re a natural showman, aren’t you?” Pendergast grinned. He did that a lot. It was a good quality to possess.
I shook my head. “No, but if I’m going to make a point, I want it to stick, if not actually hurt.”
“Remy, do me a favor. Don’t ever go into education.”
Then Pendergast laughed. The thing was, I wasn’t sure he was kidding. “Don’t worry, Coach. I don’t plan on it.”
I’d forgotten about that part of our conversation when, a few days later, I found a single waiting for me after practice, oars in the riggers but not extended. That made for a very tippy boat. Pendergast met my eye, and I nodded.
“Can you hold the bow for me?” I asked the cox’n as I moved the boat around so that only its bow touched the dock.
“Sure.” She gave me a funny look. “What’re you up to?”
I gestured toward Pendergast with my chin. “Ask him.”
“May I have your attention, gentlemen”—Pendergast nodded to the cox’ns, all women on the varsity squad this year, apparently—“and ladies? I’ve been harping on balance for some time now, not that anyone takes me seriously. No matter what I say, no matter who I move where, and regardless of what drills I put you through, there continues to be an unacceptable degree of lateral motion in the boat. Some of you have even had the nerve to tell me the kind of balance I’m demanding is impossible. It’s not.”
While the sun shone bright and clear, someone forgot to tell the weather it was February, usually a time of respite and oddly warm temperatures for all that it was winter. I felt the chill coming off the water, or maybe I was cooling after practice. Either way, taking a bath so Pendergast could prove a point didn’t figure into my plans that morning.
Before I overthought it, I scampered down the bow deck, quick and agile as a monkey, to crouch in the seat. Admittedly, Pendergast had been thoughtful enough to provide me with an open-water craft, wider and more stable than a racing single.
I awkwardly turned around to face my assembled teammates on the dock, and being very, very careful, I stood up. I worked consciously to stay relaxed.
In every single of whatever size, there was a reinforced place that was safe to step. I had no intention of going through the hull.
Pendergast grinned at me. “Do you see what he did? No oars, no stability, and he made it down the deck. Okay, so the only reason he didn’t go through the decking is that he’s fast. But he’s centered in the boat, and probably in his mind. So don’t tell me it’s impossible to achieve that balance in the boat, because it’s clearly not. Go ahead and come back, Remy.”
I carefully sat back down and extended the oars. “Wait a minute, Coach.”
Then I stood back up and nudged the seat back. I stepped onto that reinforced place, so thoughtfully roughened by the boatwrights to reduce slippage. Then I carefully assumed vrksasana, the tree pose. Sure, I was showing off and I knew it, but if Pendergast really wanted to ram the point about balance home, I could think of few better ways.
“Find a way to make that happen, guys. Remy, may I see you in my office?”
I nodded as I carefully unfolded myself and sat down. No baths, not in the port and not at that time of year. There was no way to pull myself into the dock. “Can I get an assist?”
Grinning openly, the cox’n holding the bow pulled me in. “Too bad you bat for the other team. You’re all kinds of flexible.”
“Coach is waiting.” I winked as I hoisted the boat to my shoulder and picked up my oars. After putting the equipment away, I knocked on Pendergast’s door. “You wanted to see me.”
“Shut the door and have a seat.”
That didn’t sound good, but as soon as the door clicked closed, Pendergast started to laugh. “You should’ve seen their faces, Remy. I know you were concentrating, but I wished I could’ve filmed them for you.”
I sighed internally, if that was actually a thing. I knew I faced accusations of being the coach’s pet, even if my teammates had the wrong coach. Not where I could hear them or anything, but I’m sure they existed. Did that make me paranoid? Of course, just because one was paranoid, didn’t mean they weren’t out to get you….
I shrugged. “If it works, great. If not, it only gives certain people one more thing to resent.” I glanced at my watch. “I need to leave for school.”
“Go, go.” Pendergast waved me away. “I don’t even know if this will work. They’re not bad rowers… for a college crew, but they can be better than they are. You’re going places, Remy, and if they’re paying attention, you’ll show them the way.”
“Thanks, Coach.” I showered and dressed quickly. I’d stopped carpooling in February. My schedule was too finely calibrated to depend on anyone else, so at least I didn’t have to worry about missing my ride.
But I thought about team dynamics as I drove back to campus, chugging some bland protein concoction Lodestone demanded I drink after practice. I no longer worried about making friends. Who had the time and energy? But if I’d been concerned about such things, my little display had effectively murdered any chances of that.
Oh well, at least Michael knew me and understood my drives and compulsions.
MOST PEOPLE looked forward to spring break. Most people weren’t me. The week before? The week before hit one of the rests in Lodestone’s periodization, and that made me a happy, happy man. Every day after CalPac practice, I returned to my room and crashed. Lodestone had even arranged with Pendergast so that I could miss some practices. One of those mornings I even bailed on class, I was so tired. Brady, through the benign will of some saint or power or bodhisattva, had chosen to attend to his own education, and I had the room all to myself. I pulled my thick, fluffy duvet up over my head and enjoyed the precious luxury of sleep.
Until someone knocked on my door. I ignored this person for everyone’s sake. The people on my floor knew my deal and thought it a cool thing, indeed, so when Remy slept, they let me be. This? This constituted cruelty, and whoever set my phone off? This person needed
that phone inserted nasally. Sideways.
Then I checked the damn message. Michael. What the actual fuck?
Open the door.
I loved that boy, truly madly deeply, but at that moment all I could think was that he had better be bleeding profusely, and wasn’t that why God made ERs?
Throwing back my duvet, my sweet duvet, and glaring balefully out of the one eye I felt like opening, I staggered to the door and threw it open. “What the ever-loving fuck? Why aren’t you in school?”
“Why aren’t you?”
Damn, he rocked my world, even when mad. Especially when mad? Weirdly, I thought of the scrawny kid he’d been on that bus to San Diego two years ago. Time had been good to him. I melted.
“I’m sleeping. Or trying.” I pulled him inside before I went back to bed. He knew the score. He could join me or find his own seat.
Since Michael followed me so closely, I pulled the covers back. He hesitated for a moment and then climbed in next to me. I squirmed around, positioning him until he was the little spoon. Then I slid one arm under the pillow he’d appropriated and wrapped the other around his waist. With my head against his neck, I was in heaven.
“Are you going to stay awake long enough to talk?” He sounded upset, even a little angry.
“Do you feel lucky today?” I mumbled. I tried to wake up, but when I crashed, I crashed hard.
He sighed. “Not today, Rem.”
I struggled to form words. It felt better to rest against him and pretend I was still asleep. With a little more drifting, I would be. “Cut me some slack, Michael. This is the first time I’ve had a chance to sleep—really sleep—in weeks.”
Michael inhaled to reply but then didn’t. I lost my battle and fell back to sleep. Michael made it so easy.
When I woke up again, Michael was sitting up. My head was in his lap, and he played with my hair. I looked up at him. “Hi.”
He looked down at me, his expression softer than when he’d arrived. “Hi, yourself.”
“I’m really sorry.” I remembered that he’d come here to talk to me and I’d fallen asleep.
“It’s all right.” He smiled. “I guess I wasn’t lucky.”
I looked away. “I’m….” There was no point in finishing the sentence. We both knew.
“I know.” Michael was quiet for a moment. “That’s what I wanted to talk about.”
I felt like I was standing in quicksand, like someone had cut off my air. “What do you want to talk about?”
“I never see you.” Michael sounded so anguished.
“That’s not true. We see each other at practice.” I winced. It sounded stupid as I said it.
“Boats passing on opposite sides of the river doesn’t count, and you know it.” Michael’s voice could’ve cut metal.
I sighed. What could I say? “Michael, you knew what I was getting into. You were right next to me in Lodestone’s office when he laid it all out. Did you ever think there might’ve been a reason you were included?”
I sat up and pulled at Michael until he let me hold him. My man needed comfort, and I was at least a little more alert.
“Hearing it was one thing, but living it has been something else.” He sounded so sad, so much younger than he was. I tended to forget that for all his balls of brass, Michael was still seventeen, still so young. We both were.
I held him tighter, thinking hard about what to say. Had I been selfish the last couple of months? I’d been following Lodestone’s schedule as written, and I knew Michael had a copy of it somewhere, and not only that, I’d e-mailed him a copy.
Was there some way I could carve more time for Michael? With twice-daily practices, school, and homework, I didn’t see how. We engaged in an awful lot of parallel play as it was, doing our homework together or otherwise spending time doing our separate things in close proximity, and when it came down to it, the fact that I now shouldered more commitments was not the only reason we saw less of each other. Yep, his psycho parents could always try lengthening his leash.
I sighed, trying to think of a diplomatic way to bring up all of this. I was the adult, and I knew I needed to be strong for him. Yes, I felt nothing but constant exhaustion, but my guy was hurting. While I kept hearing the echoes of my grandfather’s words about paying the price for what you wanted, I hated that Michael, rather Michael and I as a set, had to be a casualty of that.
“Michael, I’m not sure how I can exist on less sleep than I already am, but I’ll look at what I’m doing every day to see if I can possibly carve out more time. Maybe we can lift together or something?”
He at least appeared to give it some consideration, which encouraged me.
“But I need you to work on your end, too.” I still held him, so I twisted around so I could see his face.
Michael didn’t look happy, but he was far from a stupid man. “My parents?”
“Your parents. A 9:00 p.m. curfew for a high school senior is idiotic, and while the ‘my friends all get to stay up later’ argument has never worked in the history of ever, maybe if it starts getting in the way of study groups, it’ll get their attention.”
“I’ll see what I can do. I’ve applied to enough competitive schools that I can’t afford to let my grades slip, even this late into the year.” Michael sighed. “It sucks being smart.”
I looked at him like he was crazy. “No, it really doesn’t.”
“Yeah, but if you’re stupid, you don’t know you’re stupid.” At least Michael was smiling again. “So what’re you going to do with the rest of your day?”
My first thought was you. I reached for him. “The question is, what’re you going to do?”
The more practical thought was Get you back to school so you don’t get in trouble. Grown-up, remember?
I looked at the clock. I bet I could fit him in and still get him back to school before lunch ended.
Chapter 22
I COULDN’T maintain this pace, but what form the fall would take remained to be seen. When it came, it came ugly, because even I had my limits, and I could only trip out on lactic acid for so long before it all came crashing down on me. Rowing at least once a day, weights and erging, weekly testing on said ergs, it was all bound to take its toll. Lodestone did his weekly lactate tests, but I knew it had built up in my muscles. Figuring that out took no special skill, and I could tell because all my major muscle groups—including ones I’d never use for rowing—were mildly fatigued all the time, even during recovery periods. I went back and forth on including things like this in my training journal—on the one hand, it sounded like whining; on the other, this was what it felt like.
While I personally had a difficult time believing I was supposed to feel like this constantly, I had to trust Lodestone. After all, he was the one with the USR coaching certificates and the info pipeline to the University of Washington, one of the major rowing powerhouses in this country. Without faith in Lodestone, I’d have bailed, pure and simple.
One morning after CalPac practice, I trudged up the dock, my mind anywhere but there. Second declension Latin nouns? The Krebs cycle? Then I fell down and broke my crown, as the rhyme went. If only. Instead I fell to my knees and split the right one wide open. Blood everywhere.
So not suave.
“Whoa, dude, are you all right?”
I forced myself up. Exposing my teammates to poz blood was not an option. Jeez, that stung.
Even Peevie Stevie seemed sympathetic. “I’ll get the first aid kit. Someone help him to the locker room.”
“There’s a spill kit in Coach’s office.” I sighed. “I’ll need that, too.”
Laurie, bow seat in the A boat, looked at me funny. “What’s a spill kit, and why do you need one?”
“Never mind, Remy said he needed it so he needs it,” Jonah called over his shoulder as he helped me to the locker room. Jonah rowed at six, right in front of me. “Can you do what he said without arguing?”
Jeez, here it came. “There’s bleach in there. Wear
gloves and douse any place my blood spilled with the bleach.”
“Some people simply cannot follow directions,” Jonah whispered to me.
I snickered.
Jonah sat me on bench in the locker room and then ran to get the first aid kit. First thing he did? Snapped on the nitrile gloves. Then he unfolded spill pads under my right leg. They looked like puddle pads leftover from when someone trained a puppy, but they’d catch blood, too.
“Poz?” Jonah said softly.
“How’d you know?”
Jonah laughed. “You’re acting like your blood’s radioactive. It doesn’t take a Rhodes scholar to figure out. Besides, my aunt’s a nurse, and she’s poz. Needle stick on a medical mission in Africa. She couldn’t get the postexposure drugs in time.”
“Doctors Without Borders?”
“Baptist missionary.”
When I went still, Jonah put his hand on my leg. Above the cut, but still. “Remy, I’m not judging. I’ve got my faith, but if God handed out diseases as punishments, we’d all be on Obamacare.”
“Thanks.”
“Thank my aunt. She’s a good, godly woman, and if she caught HIV, it couldn’t be divine wrath.” Jonah didn’t say anything for a moment or two as he carefully cleaned up my knee. “It took me time to reconcile it all, but I got there.”
“So now what?” I said. The ball was in his court, I supposed. I wasn’t sure how to handle really religious people. Would he freak out about the fact that I was gay? Love the sinner, hate the sin? Because that was bullshit, but I’d take it over open warfare in the boathouse.
“Now you hold the edges of the cut together while I apply the butterfly bandages to it.” Jonah frowned at the supplies in the kit. “I’m thinking two.”
I laughed. “You’re kind of awesome.”
“I know, and I know that’s not what you meant.” He elbowed me. “Look, I know my religion hasn’t made itself any friends in the gay community, and personally I don’t get why Christians have chosen those verses to freak out about over the ones about disobeying your parents or women being virgins on their wedding nights or any number of other things—”
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