The sky is streaked with the soft blues and oranges of sunrise when I leave the boathouse in the early morning. Our practices are increasing in intensity and yet we're all stepping up to the challenge. I don't know what it is but there's this unspoken agreement that seems to ripple through the boat every time we line up for a start. As if we have to win this race, be number one this season. It's like if we don't, we're letting Adrian down. And no one wants to be responsible for that, especially not me. After all, he is the reason I'm even rowing this season. And now it seems like that resolve has spilled over to the rest of the boat. We're all pushing ourselves, committed to the season, focused on each moment of the race. But Adrian Rodriguez's name is never spoken aloud, as if just the mention of him will blow the whole season to h.e.l.l. Jinx us all.

My back is sore and my legs are aching as I walk toward the Land Rover. It's a good sore, though, one that reminds me I'm working toward something, fulfilling a purpose. Adrian loved rowing, reveled in the hours out on the water. And even though I couldn't save him, maybe I can still save his dream. So we have to be the best this season, and I need to make sure that we win.

I click the key fob to unlock the doors and I'm just about to slide behind the wheel when an old Boston Red Sox hat and hot pink shoelaces catch my eye. Maura is running up the trail, an old hat of Adrian's that I bought him on one of my trips to Boston perched on top of her curls. Her eyes are hidden behind a pair of sungla.s.ses but her mouth is set in a line of grim determination. She almost looks angry. As she draws closer, she increases her pace, her arms pumping furiously.

"Maura!" I call out to her, convinced she won't be able to hear me over the music playing in her earphones.

I'm happily surprised when she stops abruptly and turns in my direction. She raises a hand cautiously. "Hey." She begins to walk toward me, and I notice that she doesn't have any earphones dangling from her ears.

"What's going on? Running after practice?" I raise my eyebrows. "You're really pushing yourself."

She rolls her eyes. "Trust me, I'm fine. I cut practice today." Her voice is sharp, every trace of the playful Maura I'm getting to know gone, completely erased.

"You okay?" I ask her, wincing at the obvious concern that colors my tone.

She barks out a laugh that makes me cringe. "Yeah. I'm f.u.c.king awesome. You?" She looks up at me from under the brim of her hat. Her dark eyes swirl with emotions I can't read, her mouth an angry slant.

What the h.e.l.l is going on? "Hey." I take a step forward, tentatively placing my hands on her shoulders and bending slightly so we're eye level. "What's going on?"

She looks away and I detect the moisture collecting in the corners of her eyes. She blinks rapidly, and I hate that she wants to cry, hate even more that she doesn't want to cry in front of me. Without overthinking it, I pull her into my chest and wrap my arms around her, tucking her head under my chin. I feel her body stiffen momentarily before softening into me, silent sobs moving through her shoulders as she sighs into my chest. I stand still, rubbing my palms up and down her back, waiting until she's ready to look at me, ready to talk.

But d.a.m.n I'll stand here all day if that's what it takes.

Chapter Twenty-Four.

Maura

Zack's embrace feels like a forbidden homecoming. His T-shirt is soft and comforting against my cheek, and I bury my face deeper into his chest. He smells like mint toothpaste and Tide laundry detergent and sweat and the cold wind and damp sweetness of the river. I wish I could stay nestled here forever instead of face his worried eyes and genuine kindness.

Kay's words from yesterday morning still ping-pong in my mind. And as p.i.s.sed as I am at her for tossing reality in my face, I'm angrier with myself for spinning so far out of control. Jesus. She thinks I'm on drugs. I squeeze my eyes tighter against Zack's soothing, steady heartbeat. I'm so angry, so embarra.s.sed, so ashamed. I cut practice this morning knowing that's the worst move I can make. Instead, I'm occupying the early morning hours with a run that offers me the solitude I crave and the loneliness I detest. Being alone with myself is both a relief and torture. I bang my forehead against Zack's collarbone gently. What the f.u.c.k is wrong with me?

Taking large gulps of air to steady my breathing and sooth my shattered nerves, I take a step back. Keeping my eyes trained on my sneakers, I try and brush the tears from my face without Zack noticing, which is stupid since he's not an idiot and is completely aware that I am literally falling apart. In his arms.

Jesus he's such a good guy. What is wrong with me? Receiving comfort from him when all I can offer him is the train wreck I've become. I'm damaged, tainted, disgusting. And all I want to do is lose myself so completely in him until I can find myself again. Not like I did in that dingy bathroom stall the other night with a total stranger. After being with Zack, I want to resurface healed and not numb.

Sometimes, when Zack looks at me, I swear he sees me, the real me, and all my ugly faults and disgusting habits and accepts them anyway. The thought terrifies me. But not as much as the thought that this is all in my head and when he discovers all my ugly truths, he'll be just as disgusted with me as I am.

"Maura?" His voice is gentle, his hands still cupping my shoulders.

I take a fortifying breath, the cold air a salve on my heated skin, and raise my head to meet his concerned gaze. "Sorry," I whisper.

Zack tilts his head to left, a casual smile playing over his lips. He shakes his head slightly. "You want to get breakfast?"

I snort, relieved that he isn't going to press me for details, elated that he actually wants to spend time with me and isn't running as fast as he can in the opposite direction.

A nervous bubble of laughter mixed with the anguish still coursing through my veins erupts from my lips, and I wipe the back of my hand across my eyes, nodding. "Yeah. Breakfast would be good."

Zack throws an arm around my shoulders, walking with me around the front of his SUV to the pa.s.senger door. He opens the door and gestures for me to get inside. "Then let's go. I know a fancy spot I think you'll like."

I smile gratefully and allow him to buckle me in and close the door.

Zack keeps up a stream of random chatter as he drives, telling me about the Phillies game he caught the night before with D'Arco, the blondies his mom just sent him in the mail, the upcoming first-date his sister Nicole is dreading on Halloween. I stare out the window, grateful that the conversation doesn't require any input from me, enjoying the sound of Zack's voice as it washes over me nonetheless.

Ten minutes later, we park next to a rundown pancake house. "Very fancy," I comment, smiling as I remember our bet for a fancy lunch that resulted in a trip to Pat's.

"I knew you'd approve." Zack unclicks his seatbelt and turns off the ignition. "Ready?"

I nod, a pang piercing my chest at his thoughtfulness. Even now, after I literally sobbed snot on his T-shirt, he would sit in his car in a nearly-empty parking lot at 7:52 AM as I collect myself. Do guys like Zack really exist?

Opening the door, I hop out of the Land Rover, walking next to Zack as we enter Pete's Pancakes.

"Morning, guys. Sit wherever," a waitress calls out to us as we shuffle inside.

Zack directs us to a corner booth. The interior is surprisingly cheery and sunny: light yellows and beiges.

I slide into the booth across from him and smile. "You know, it seems like the only thing we ever do together is eat. I'm going to get fat."

"Not a chance," he quips. "You couldn't get fat if you tried. Like really tried. Like ate ten donuts and a pizza and a gallon of ice cream and washed it all down with a liter of Dr. Pepper every day."

I snort. "Then I'd be a ma.s.sive monstrosity."

He shakes his head, his eyes thoughtful. "Nah, you'll always be beautiful."

I stop at his words, grateful that the waitress chooses that moment to introduce herself and drop off two menus.

I quickly order a large coffee and a water. Zack nods in agreement. She turns back to the kitchen to prepare our drinks, and I flip open the menu.

Zack's hand darts out as he closes the menu on top of my hand. "Do you trust me?" he asks.

"What?" I'm startled. "Yeah."

"Okay, then don't look. Let's wing it."

"Huh?"

He smiles up at the waitress who returns with two steaming mugs of coffee and two waters. "What can I get for you guys?"

"We'll take a short stack of banana nut, a short stack of chocolate chip, a short stack of old fashioned, a short stack of blueberry, and a Belgian waffle with ice cream and strawberries please."

She stops momentarily, her pen hovering over the notepad as she eyes Zack to see if he's messing with her. At his serious expression she asks, "You sure? That's a lot of food."

"Oh yeah." He nods. "I'm on a mission to make this girl fat."

I snort out laughter, half amazed that he ordered half the menu, half amazed that he just said that to the waitress.

She cuts a look at me, clearly confused by my reaction. "Uh, okay." She finishes writing down our order and walks back to the kitchen, taking our menus with her.

Once she's out of ear shot, I lean forward. "Are you crazy? We can't eat all of that!"

Zack shrugs, a playful smile crossing his lips. G.o.d, he's adorable. "We'll see. I'm sure you can eat most of it on your own so ..." He trails off as I dart my palm out, swiping at him. Laughing, Zack moves out of my reach. "Now we can sample a bit of everything," he explains logically.

I shake my head at him. "You're crazy."

"You're weird."

I laugh.

He smiles.

And we stare at each other over our coffee mugs for a moment that stretches into a minute before Zack clears his throat and leans back in the booth. "So ..." he prompts.

I look down at my hands, my fingers playing with the handle of the mug. Immediately, I'm reminded of my mother and how she would sit at the kitchen table in the summer, gripping her coffee mug with no coffee to drink. Jeez, I'm going off the rails. "My captain accused me of having a drug issue." I look back up.

Zack's eyebrows shoot up as he leans forward so fast his chest b.u.mps against the table, coffee sloshing over the rim of his mug. "What? Why?"

Ah s.h.i.t. Do I tell him the truth? Do I admit that I'm losing it, drinking too much, going through the motions half-sloshed most of the time? My fingers find the handle of the coffee mug and that gesture is the determining factor for my honesty.

"I turned up at practice a bit drunk," I admit, my eyes never leaving his.

He raises his eyebrows, a low whistle escaping between his lips. Then his eyes narrow, and I look down, noting the smudged red ring still stamped on the underside of my wrist from the club two nights ago. s.h.i.t. I lick my finger and rub it into my skin, trying to erase the evidence.

Zack looks away for a moment. "Okay, but everyone's done that once or twice. I mean, we practice when it's still practically night. That doesn't hint at a drug problem."

I shake my head. "I've done it repeatedly. A lot more than once or twice."

His face twists in concern, his mouth thinning into a firm line. "Why?"

I shrug.

Zack's hand inches across the table until it covers mine. "Maura, what's going on?"

"I'm a mess," I admit. "And drinking seems to help when I'm alone and lonely. It makes everything numb and then it's like I can finally breathe." Oh my G.o.d. Why am I telling him this? He's going to think I'm certifiable and never speak to me again. But Zack's eyes are kind and caring and patient. And the longer they stay trained on my face, the more secrets I let slip out. "I've been partying a lot lately. And it's been fun. Real fun. And as much as I hate rowing because all it does is remind me of Adrian, I don't want to lose it either because then it's like losing the only part of him I have left."

Zack nods in understanding, his fingers squeezing against my palm until we're holding hands. "I know what you mean. I want us to win this season so badly because if we don't, I feel like I'm letting him down. So we're all pushing ourselves to the extreme. And I'm not sure if any of us really want it that badly or if we just want it for him."

I shudder at his confession, completely understanding the feeling. The guilt of disappointing Adrian seems worse than disappointing ourselves.

"But you can't get lost in the bottom of a bottle every time you feel bad." His voice hardens and a glint of anger shines in his deep blue eyes. He leans back suddenly, his hand pushing his hair away from his forehead. "I mean, Jesus, Maura, you start that s.h.i.t now, it will turn into a habit before you can get a handle on it."

"I know," I agree quietly.

"So call me." He leans forward again, his voice dropping to a desperate whisper. "Confide in me. I'm right here. I already told you I'm always here if you need to talk. Use me."

I break eye contact, a blush creeping up my neck. If only he knew all the ways I want to use him. Get lost in him. Disappear with him. I shake my head. "Won't that cause problems for you?"

He furrows his brow in confusion.

"With Lauren," I clarify.

Zack shakes his head slowly. "Lauren and I aren't together. We're not even casually seeing each other. Just friends." He shrugs.

What? Well, this is news to me! After I saw them together at Philips' house, I just a.s.sumed they had gotten back together and were busy creating a five-year plan. "Since when?" I can't hide the curiosity burning behind my words.

"Since after Philips' wine and cheese party." Zack scoffs and I'm guessing it has more to do with the theme of the party than with Lauren. "We talked the following week and felt it was best not to get back together or start anything up. I mean, we broke up for a reason so..." He shrugs again.

"Are you okay?" I ask, desperate to know whose idea it was not to see each other anymore.

He laughs and nods. "Yeah, Maura, I'm fine."

The waitress, with her impeccable timing, returns then with a tray laden with pancakes. "Here you go..." she begins setting down plates between us "...banana nut, chocolate chip, old fashioned, blueberry, and your waffle."

Zack squeezes my fingers lightly before letting go. "Thank you," he tells her. He jabs his fork into a few pancakes, piling them onto a side plate and handing it to me. His eyes grow serious again. "I'm not going to lecture you," he says seriously. "But I'm not going to let you hurt yourself either. I messed up with Adrian. I failed him. But, Maura..." he blows out a deep breath "...I don't care if this is cheesy as h.e.l.l to say aloud, but I'll be d.a.m.ned if I lose you too." His eyes cut me to the core. "I get what it's like to feel so alone with your thoughts, with old memories, with what-ifs ... you think you'll go crazy. I need you to promise that you'll reach out to me. Any time, any day, whatever you need. You call me. Okay?"

I pour a generous amount of syrup over my pancakes, letting his words, his care wash over me. "Promise," I agree, feeling something shift inside my chest. I make myself really listen to his words, to hear the concern behind them. And I will myself to believe them, to believe him.

He settles me with a stare for several more moments before smiling lightly. "Alright then..." he holds up his fork to me "...cheers." He clinks his fork against mine. "Let's see how much damage you can do." He nods to my stack of pancakes, and we both laugh, the seriousness of our conversation dissipating into the playful version I can handle.

Chapter Twenty-Five.

Zack