39. “Whoah, calm down, Rambo.”

THIRTY-NINE

“WHOAH, CALM DOWN, RAMBO.”

SHEP

If there’s one thing I enjoy, it’s a challenge.

And Harlow Sutherland is proving to be my most favorite one yet.

Watching her find me and my sign in the crowd was a sight I’ve committed to memory. The shock, the flush, the light in her eyes even though she tried to hide it.

She asked if she really was mine, and I made it damn clear she is.

Somehow though, she left me in the stands feeling like I don’t have the upperhand. I could tell she wanted to kiss me and, damn, did I want to kiss her too. But the thought of our first kiss being at a swim meet just didn’t feel right, it doesn’t do justice to the way I feel about her.

Wes and Lennon finally stopped bickering and now he and I are sitting in the stands waiting for our girls to swim. I think this may be one of the greatest moments of my life. Wes and I are together, cheering on the girls we like, who also happen to be friends.

Lennon’s event is first and Wes is locked in on her lane. I swear he doesn’t blink during the entirety of her race. When she finishes in second, he still claps and cheers like she came in first.

While he focuses on her, I spend my time tracking Harlow. There’s a side to her I’m getting to see that knocks me off my feet. Her passion for the sport she loves and her team is radiating off of her. I thought I’d seen her fired up before, but that was nothing compared to this version. Every so often, she sneaks glances at me which I return with winks. Her cheeks blush and she quickly darts her vision back to the pool. It’s amazing.

I know we still have a lot to talk about, but I can’t help but let myself fall into this bubble of what it would be like for us to date. Sometimes I forget we’re not.

Mom and Dad talk about her enough like she’s already part of the family. I think about her all the time. I feel things for her that I’ve never felt about anyone else before. She’s my girl.

And right now, I’m watching my girl bounce up and down on her toes, shaking out her arms and twisting her neck around. Her race is coming up and I think I might be more nervous than she is.

“Look,” I elbow Wes in the side. He yelps before smacking my arm. “Harlow’s group is up next.”

“Heat,” Wes retorts. “It’s called a heat. Seriously, didn’t you do any research before coming to this?”

“I know what it’s called, but it’s also a group. Excuse me for not being technical.” I roll my eyes.

Harlow puts her goggles on, then pulls her swim cap over her head. Coach Bradford walks up to her and my chest tightens. I swear, if I have to go down there again.

“Whoa, calm down, Rambo.” Wes nudges my knee with his and I look down to see that I’m white-knuckling the edge of the bleachers.

“I’m fine. I just don’t know if I trust her coach yet.” But then Harlow hugs him and my shoulders relax. “Okay, maybe things are okay.”

Wes laughs and rambles on about me needing to chill out. I don’t think he understands the extent of Harlow’s recovery that I’ve had a front row seat to. Sure, he knows I was always working when she had her rehab practices, but I never went into detail with him about everything that I saw. He doesn’t know how many times I watched her cry or get frustrated. I also never told him in depth what happened that day during her first evaluation.

It wasn’t that I didn’t trust him, but even then I felt the need to protect Harlow. I could tell she didn’t want anyone’s pity, so I kept my cards close to my chest. I’m not sure what all Lennon has shared with him, but either way, I know how much this race means to Harlow, whether she admits it or not.

Because it’s not just a race, it’s a test. It’s a contradiction of her deepest fears and a confirmation of her biggest hopes. It’s the moment where she proves herself. She’s not here for anyone other than Harlow. She isn’t competing against the other athletes. She’s competing with herself and damn, I hope she wins.

Harlow looks over to me as she approaches her lane. She gives me a soft smile and I give her two thumbs up just like I did the day of her evaluation. The announcer instructs them to take the starting block, and she steps up, rolling her shoulders a few times.

You got this, baby. You got this.

In a monotonous tone, the speaker states, “Take your marks.”

Harlow bends down, assuming a position that looks like a track start—one leg in front and the other behind her. She grips the edge of the block, then springs forward when the buzzer sounds.

Her dive into the pool is effortless and I sit there mesmerized, watching her streamline underwater before breaking the surface. I hold my breath as she takes her first few strokes. She’s only swimming the 50 meter freestyle so she won’t be in the water for long, but the seconds are ticking away like hours.

Her arms move in and out of the water in a fluid motion that makes it look like she’s gliding, floating through the pool. She’s keeping up with the rest of her heat and as she nears the wall to finish, I can’t help but jump up and scream. “Go Harlow! Go!”

It’s as if she hears me and her kicks become stronger, her strokes become longer, and she’s nearing first place. My stomach is in knots and I want to look away, but I can’t. Just a few more pulls of her hand and…holy shit. Holy shit! She did it! She won!

I lean down and shake Wes’s shoulders. “She won!”

The crowd erupts in a loud cheer, people rising to their feet. Harlow pulls up her goggles and glances around, I’m sure it’s water from the pool but I wouldn’t be surprised if there are a few tears mixed in with the droplets.

The announcer cuts back in, “And there you have it, folks of Everson Valley. Harlow Sutherland’s first swim of the season post-injury and coming out on top! Let’s hear it!”

Pride swells up in my chest and I don’t even care what anyone thinks of me. I lean back and puff my chest out, yelling into the roar of the stands, “THAT’S MY GIRL!”