THREE RAFE

T HREE

R AFE

Rafe Karlsson woke seconds before his alarm sounded. He shut it off, rolled over to where Nadia slept, and kissed her on her cheek.

"Let me sleep," she mumbled into the darkness.

"You can sleep while I shower." He slipped out of bed and walked into the en suite bathroom, which the former owner had put in as an addition along with a nice walk-in closet.

He turned on the water for his shower, went to the bathroom, and then stepped into the navy blue and white mosaic tiled stand-up he and his father had built a few years after Rafe and Nadia bought the craftsman-style home. They'd kept most of the old charm and character of the home and changed only the kitchen, modernizing it with brand-new appliances, granite countertops, and white subway tiles. Rafe and Nadia had fallen in love with the exposed ceiling beams, the extensive built-ins, the large windows, and the spacious porch with its thick, tapered columns.

Rafe stood under the hot spray and worked the muscles in his shoulder while he imagined the road course he'd run many times prior to this morning. This year, he was going to win. None of this coming in second or third shit. This was his year.

The Commonwealth Cup started a hundred years ago, when two townies got into an argument over the location of Heartbreak Hill. According to the map and every Bostonian, the famed hill was in the town of Newton. Some of the questionable folks who didn't know their heads from their ... said it was "on the outskirts" of the city. No such thing when it comes to Boston. You're either within city limits or you're not.

Newton was not.

Instead of a good ole fistfight, they decided to race each other uphill for a half mile. When they both crossed the made-up finish line, they kept going, running along Commonwealth Avenue, past Boston University, and across the bridge, then continuing along the Charles River until they reached Harvard Square, where they both collapsed from exhaustion. Neither man declared victory, and both vowed to race again, after they'd had a year of training. Thus, the Commonwealth Cup was born. Over the decades, the course had been altered to create a ten-mile road race from Newton to Harvard.

At some point, the race had stopped being about two townies. It was about two communities coming together and raising funds to aid in the development of parks and recreational activities for the youth. It was about police officers earning bragging rights over their counterparts. It was about a father pushing his wheelchair-bound son across the finish line.

Rafe didn't have an objective, other than winning. He loved running, but mostly he loved seeing his family along the route, cheering for him. Even if he didn't cross the finish line first, he'd have his daughters, Gemma and Lynnea, there at the end, telling him how proud they were of him.

Still, he wanted to win. He wanted the Cup to sit proudly on his desk and to have his new clients ask him about it. Doing so would give him an opportunity to encourage them to not only invest their money with his firm but also give back to their community.

He got out of the shower, dried off, and dressed in a pair of running shorts with compression shorts built in, a long-sleeve moisture-wicking shirt and socks, and his favorite brand of running shoes, which were fairly new and perfectly broken in.

When he came out of the bathroom, he found their bed empty but could hear laughter coming from downstairs. As soon as he entered the hallway, he smelled bacon, eggs, and coffee. His stomach growled.

On most mornings when he'd come downstairs to greet his daughters, he'd find chaos. Mornings were hectic, with him trying to get to work and Nadia trying to wrangle two rambunctious girls out the door for school before she headed off to work. When he could, he'd go in an hour late so he could stay and help his wife.

Rafe entered the kitchen and made his way to the breakfast nook, which had a built-in bench that offered them prime sitting space, where he found his youngest dressed in last year's Halloween pirate costume, complete with eye patch. He just stared, unsure of how to proceed. He and Nadia encouraged Lynnea's creative process: her "individuality," as the pediatrician had called it. This was a phase she'd grow out of; at least that was what they were told. He kissed the top of her head and then made his way over to Gemma and did the same.

At eight and six, respectively, they were as opposite as they came. Gemma was cool, calm, nurturing, and wise beyond her years, while Lynnea was the hurricane in their household. She had a sassy mouth, loved to watch horror films (even though they were strictly forbidden), and pushed her mother's buttons often. Lynnea went from zero to one hundred and stayed there until the crash happened, which thankfully came around eight at night, like clockwork. Lynnea exhausted them most days, but Rafe and Nadia wouldn't have had it any other way.

"Daddy," Gemma said, getting his attention. "You know the father-daughter dance is coming up at school. Do you want to go?"

"I don't know. Can you dance?"

Gemma nodded and stood up from the table. She began moving back and forth and waving her arms in some fancy motion she'd undoubtedly seen on a video. Rafe reached for her hand and told her to put her feet on his. She did, and then he waltzed them around the room, with him dipping her at the end.

"Do we have to dance like that?" Gemma asked.

Rafe shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. I can dance like this." He started flailing his arms around and contorting his body. Lynnea loved it. Gemma not so much.

"Mommy, make him stop."

Nadia refused and laughed right along with Lynnea.

"Daddy!" Gemma moaned. Rafe stopped and pulled her into his arms. "I'd absolutely love to go to the dance with you, Gemma. Tell Mommy the date, and she'll put it in my calendar."

"Can I get a new dress?"

Rafe glanced at Nadia, who shrugged. "Only if you make sure to buy me a matching tie."

Gemma smiled brightly. "We can do that, right?" She looked at her mom.

"Of course. We have time. I think the dance is in May."

"Loads of time," Rafe said.

"What about me?" Lynnea asked.

"Yours will start next year," Nadia told her. "Then Daddy will take you."

"Do I have to wear a dress?"

"Nope," Rafe said. "You can wear whatever you want." He'd probably regret those words later.

Rafe helped Nadia finish preparing breakfast. He made toast and his oatmeal, while she plated eggs and bacon for herself and the girls, and then he carried everything over. Before he sat, he noticed Gemma's and Nadia's shirts: R AFE K ARLSSON IS #1 IN MY HEART .

His eyes misted.

"I love your shirts," he said as he pulled his chair out, sat down at the table, and reached for the orange juice and a banana from the basket of fruit on the table. He held it up to Lynnea, silently asking her if she wanted some. She nodded.

He peeled a banana, gave the top half to Lynnea, and added pieces of the rest to his oatmeal, along with a dollop of peanut butter. This was his normal go-to breakfast. Nadia handed him two slices of toast, also with peanut butter. For the past couple of months, while training for this road race, he'd changed his diet.

Rafe's phone chimed. He glanced at the screen and groaned.

"What's wrong?" Nadia asked.

"Kiran," Rafe said with a sigh. "He's not running today." Kiran Dunlap had been Rafe's best friend since their freshman year in college, when they'd met on the rowing team. This would've been Kiran's first time running in the Commonwealth Cup. Rafe had asked him, in hopes they'd be able to convince more coworkers to join them next year and enter as a team.

"How come?"

Rafe shook his head. It didn't matter what excuse Kiran came up with; Rafe would run regardless. He turned his attention back to Nadia and the girls. "I can't wait for tonight."

"Why, what's tonight?" Nadia asked.

"Nachos," he said with a wink. "I don't even care where we go out to eat, as long as there are nachos."

"Can we go with you?" Gemma asked.

Rafe nodded. "Big family dinner. Grandma and Grandpa will join us."

"Yay," Lynnea said with a mouth full of banana.

They ate breakfast and washed up, and Nadia somehow convinced Lynnea that pirates weren't allowed at the race. She reluctantly changed, donning the same shirt her mother and sister wore, and begrudgingly made her way downstairs.

Rafe stood at the bottom of the stairs. When she was three steps from him, she launched herself into his arms.

"Are you going to win?" She placed her hands on his cheek and scratched her nails against his scruff.

"No," he told her, despite wanting to. He figured if he won, she'd be over-the-moon happy for him. And if he didn't, she'd still be proud, and he wouldn't have let her down. "There are way better runners than me."

"Next year," she said. "You can practice more better."

Rafe didn't bother correcting her, even though he knew he should. He pulled his youngest closer and held her to his chest, kissed her forehead, and then moved her to his hip. He'd carry her as long as she'd let him.

Rafe couldn't have scripted his morning any better.

Rafe drove them to the staging area, not far from the starting line. Nadia got out of the car and moved over to the passenger side. She reached for her husband.

"Today is going to be great. I'll see you at the finish line," she told him. Rafe kissed her, much to the annoyance of their daughters, who heckled them from the back seat.

"Thank you."

"I'm so proud of you."

"I haven't raced yet," he reminded her.

"Doesn't matter. When you first raced, three years ago, you said you'd better your time each year. Now you have a chance to win."

His smile beamed at her compliment.

"You wanted something and worked to achieve it. That's exactly the kind of work ethic we're working to instill in our children. You're a very good role model, Rafe Karlsson."

Rafe thanked her again and stepped aside to open the back door. He leaned in. "I'll see you girls at the finish line."

"Good luck, Daddy," the girls said in unison before he shut the door.

He gave Nadia one last kiss. "Run fast," she told him.

Rafe laughed. "It shouldn't take me more than an hour."

"I'll be waiting."

Rafe kissed Nadia again. He waited for her to get back into the car and leave before he left the parking lot. He let a couple of cars pass by and then made his way over to the tent where he needed to check in. After he gave the young woman at the table his name, she gave him a bib to pin to his shirt and directed him to the starting line.

He stepped off to the side and looked at his bib numbers, 777. Rafe was far from superstitious but would take this as a sign. "Lucky sevens," he muttered to himself. On his way home, he'd buy a lotto ticket.

"Everyone line up, please," someone with a loudspeaker said. Casually, everyone moved toward the starting line. Rafe looked around. Last year, they'd had thirteen hundred runners, and if he had to guess, the amount was the same this year.

Rafe had a plan—keep pace with whoever jumped out front; then he'd turn on his boosters, as Lynnea called them, and beat them to the finish line.

The firing gun sounded, and everyone took off. He wove in and out of groups of people and found himself a nice groove rather quickly. Rafe liked running alone. He enjoyed the solitude but also the freedom he felt. After passing a couple more runners, he counted five people ahead of him. The woman to his right wore those over-the-ear headphones and had established a good pace. He matched it easily. In two or three blocks, he'd surge ahead to the next person, and then again until he had a mile to go. Unless the leader had bigger boosters than him.

Along the route, people cheered. They had signs, miniature megaphones, and other artificial noisemakers. He heard cowbells, lots of clapping, and a car horn. The latter seemed odd, until he saw the group of people blocking the street scramble out of the way.

In a split second, he saw the car careening toward him and the other runners. It was like time had stopped, and nothing existed except the car and the muddled sound of its horn. In a flash, the runner he had passed, the one with the headphones, zipped by.

Rafe saw it all unfold. He rushed toward her and pushed her out of the way. She turned and looked at him with horror etched across her face. She yelled, but he couldn't hear her over the screaming and the horn. Why wasn't she grateful he'd moved them out of the way?