Commando (pt. 2)
The morning of the race dawned bright and sharp, a thin mist still rising off the water as the boys from Washington lined their shell up beside Cal’s. The smell of salt and varnish and adrenaline hung thick in the air. Every one of them could feel it — that nervous electricity that comes before something big.
Don sat at stroke, jaw tight, eyes on the horizon. He could feel the boat hum under him — his teammates shifting, breathing, waiting. Somewhere on the shore, he knew, Coach Ulbrickson stood with his ever-stoic expression.
And beside him, in dark dress blues, stood her.
Commander Kennedy Ulbrickson looked like something out of a dream — all crisp lines and quiet confidence, her black crackerjacks perfectly tailored, the white piping stark against the dark wool. She stood straight, hands clasped behind her back, cap tucked under one arm, watching the boats glide into position.
Her father might’ve been coaching the team, but her eyes were on one rower in particular.
Don Hume.
There was something about the focus in his face, the way his shoulders flexed with every stroke, the quiet intensity that lived behind his calm expression. She tried to keep her composure — she was, after all, a Commander, and this was her father’s crew — but her heart thudded faster every time she spotted him through her binoculars.
When the gun went off, the Sound erupted with motion.
Eight oars bit into the water in perfect unison, and Washington surged forward. The boys rowed like they were made of one heartbeat, one purpose. And when they crossed the finish line first — ahead of Cal, ahead of everyone — the crowd on shore exploded.
Kennedy didn’t realize she’d cheered until her throat hurt.
She was already halfway down the dock when her parents reached the water’s edge. Coach Ulbrickson’s usual stoicism cracked into something rare — a grin. When Kennedy threw her arms around him, he actually lifted her clean off her feet, laughing. The team froze in shock; none of them had ever seen him like that.
She laughed — a bright, warm sound — and pressed a kiss to his cheek before linking arms with her mother, both of them glowing with pride.
On the dock, the team stood grinning like fools, soaking wet and speechless.
It took Ulbrickson a solid five seconds to notice that none of them were moving.
“Well?” he barked, still smiling. “Someone get that boat out of the water before it floats back to Washington!”
The boys scrambled, but Don couldn’t quite tear his eyes away. Kennedy was walking up the dock beside her mother, her uniform catching the sunlight, her stride confident.
And just before she disappeared into the crowd, she glanced back — just for a second — and the faintest, knowing curve touched her lips.