Can't Help Falling by Kara Isaac Page B

for the two boats to finally be ready.
    The Cambridge cox dropped his hand but the Oxford one remained upright.
    Finally, his hand dropped.
    â€œAttention, go!” The umpire wasn’t wasting any time.
    Both boats surged forward, all sixteen men pulling their oars in perfect unison. Forward and back, forward and back. The boats leapt, accelerating swiftly.
    Emelia was peering through her fingers without even realizing it. How was she going to survive this for another sixteen or so minutes? Oxford had a nose in front, then Cambridge. The slight coxes yelled instructions through their headsets, hands on the rudders. Oxford managed to get maybe a quarter of a boat length ahead.
    â€œC’mon, Oxford!” Allie’s yell ripped through Emelia’s right eardrum. She sure had a lot of volume for such a small person.
    Emelia watched, her heart trying to break out of her sternum, as the Cambridge crew drew back even. Then Oxford managed to get a slight lead back in the first bend.
    She kept her eyes glued on the screen as the crews approached Hammersmith Bridge. The perfect synchronization of the oars, the bodies in motion. The crowd roared as the boats swept along the course, coxes screaming, the rowers’ bodies flexing and straining. She’d never seen anything like it before.
    T he boys almost tumbled out of the boat as it pulled up to the riverbank. The buzz of adrenaline and euphoria saturated the air.
    â€œGood work.” Peter hugged crew member after crew member, clapping backs, shaking hands, rubbing heads.
    He should have been as euphoric as everyone else but it all felt a bit hollow. He pasted on a broad smile, forcing himself to pretend he wouldn’t have given anything to be one of the guys in the boat, stroking their way to victory, instead of just a bystander, a glorified water boy.
    It killed him even more that his brother had been in the boat. And he hated himself for having the fleeting thought, more than once, that if they lost it would be good that Victor would know what it felt like, for once, to taste defeat. Never mind the other seven rowers and cox in the boat, who would be utterly heartbroken.
    â€œGreat work, Grant.” He clasped hands with their slight cox, towering over him.
    â€œYou too, Coach.”
    He hadn’tdone anything. This day had no more to do with him than if he’d been standing on the banks of the Thames as an average-joe spectator.
    â€œBunny!” His brother’s voice boomed in his ear, one of his hands slapping him on his bad shoulder. Peter tried to cover up a grimace as pain radiated out from his brother’s palm print.
    Peter turned his head and braced himself for his brother’s usual smug smirk. Victor’s hair was wet from the combination of the Thames and the magnum of champagne that had already been sprayed over the team. His brother grinned at him, for once no hint of cynicism or loathing in his expression. Just unrestrained joy. Even his scar seemed to fade into the background.
    â€œCongratulations. It was a great race. You earned it.” Peter found himself actually meaning the words. Maybe this could be a turning point. Maybe they could finally leave the animosity between them in the past.
    â€œTough luck you’ll never know what it feels like again.” His brother gave him another whack on his shoulder, as if to underscore his point, and just like that the magic was gone.
    Before Peter could even conjure up a response, some curvy brunette was hanging off his brother’s arm, and Victor’s attention had shifted.
    Whatever joy he’d had in the win evaporated, and Peter left the boys to their celebrations. Busying himself supervising the removal of the boat from the water, he tried to ignore the press pack still swarming around, snapping photos from every conceivable angle.
    He stayed as far away from them as possible. More thana few requests for interviews with him and Victor had come in since the