Bring Down the Stars

“Nothing to say?” Hayes clucked his tongue. “I’m disappointed. Has the Amherst Asshole changed his ways?”

I ignored him, took my starting position and concentrated on driving oxygen deep into my lungs, hoping the cold air would snap some energy into me.

The gun fired.

Normally, I could anticipate the shot, my muscles coiled like a spring, ready to take off the instant the sound cut the air. Not today.

Three strides in and I knew it was over.

For the first time in a long time, I had four guys ahead of me, including Hayes. I dug deep to give it everything I had, driving my legs faster and faster. I caught up and passed a few of the runners, but Hayes was uncatchable.

I crossed the finish line after him, and came to a slow jog. Hands planted on my hips, chest wheezing worse than my car had this morning. I didn’t have to look at the scoreboard to know my time was a good second and a half behind my best.

“Second place,” Hayes said, hardly winded. “This is new. Or were you trying to get a look at my ass? My girlfriend’s in the stands, don’t make her jealous.”

I sucked in air and glanced up at the bleachers. Ruby was there, in bright yellow. And sitting next to her, with my mother and Paul to his right, was Connor.

He cupped his hands over his mouth. “You’re still my boy, Blue.”

“You’ll get ‘em next time, baby!” my mother shouted.

I hid a smile in my shoulder and blinked stinging sweat out of my eyes.

Coach Braun approached. “Talk to me,” he said in his no-nonsense coach voice.

“Shitty sleep,” I said. “I’m okay. I’ll push through.”

Coach pursed his lips, nodding. “Settle in. Focus. We’re still in prelims and today isn’t the last day you’ll see the NCAA.”

“I know. I’m good.”

Forty minutes later, I was lining up again for the hurdles.

I’m so fucked.

My legs felt like dead weight after the first race. I felt the pressure of my mother’s presence and Paul sitting next to her. Sitting where my father should’ve been. Autumn wasn’t there to trick my male ego into a better performance. The NCAA people were there, and I felt the catastrophe coming even before the starting gun went off.

I cleared the first three hurdles, but getting my body over each one grew harder and harder. On the fourth hurdle, I didn’t tuck my right foot enough and my toe hit the board. Not hard enough to knock it over, but enough to throw me off my rhythm. My three-step cadence faltered, and my muscle memory short-circuited.

I shouldn’t have even tried for the next hurdle, but I was moving too fast. My left foot hit the board and my right foot hooked under it as it tipped. I crashed down hard and flung my hands out to save me from smashing face first into the turf. I tumbled with the hurdle tangling in my legs, then lay flat on my back, the wind knocked out of me.

Sucking in deep breaths, I took inventory. Nothing broken. Nothing sprained. But I ached all over and my palms were scraped all to hell. My right knee stung like a bitch. I sat up slowly to visually assess the damage. I’d scraped the skin off my knee cap and a steady stream of blood was oozing down my shin and calf.

The medical team and Coach Braun rushed over. Before they could surround me, I saw my mother, Paul, Connor and Ruby on their feet in concern. My mother clutched Paul’s shoulder and he had his arm around her.

“Wes.” Coach Braun crouched down. “Hey. Look at me. How bad?”

I couldn’t meet his eye. “I’m fine. Road rash and some bruises.”

I kept looking at the ground as I hobbled off the track to a smattering of applause. A medic sat me down on a cooler, cleaned up my leg and bandaged my scraped knee.

“Not your day,” Coach said, his hands on his hips, a sympathetic softness over his face.

“Of all the days,” I said.

“They got all your times from the last two years, Wes. This season is only starting. We all have shitty days. This is yours.”

I nodded. I was supposed to anchor the 4x400 relay but that was out of the question. “Sorry, Coach.”