Cycling Downhill: Love is a Triathlon, #3

By Chrissy Q Martin

I swim, run, and cycle into the hearts of two boys, but only one can win mine.

 

Nothing this year has gone according to plan. I lost my state title, place as valedictorian, and my dream college scholarship. I'm ready to coast through this last trimester of my senior year, but my boyfriend, Paul, throws a wrench in my plans and I veer off course.

 

I struggle to hang on and find comfort in my friends, including Dylan. I enter a triathlon with Paul and Dylan, hoping to repair their severed friendship, only to discover why they can never be friends. It comes down to the triathlon for me to let go of my plans and give someone a second chance. But it might be me who needs the second chance. At the finish line I award Dylan and Paul medals, but only one wins my love. Who will it be?

 

Coast along with Ash in the final book of the Love is a Triathlon series and discover who pedals into first place in her heart. Grab this sweet sports romance and cheer for your favorite young adult character as the trilogy crosses the finish line.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chrissy Q Martin
• Release date: Apr 15, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224305940

Book preview

Cycling Downhill

Love is a Triathlon Book 3

Chrissy Q Martin

Swimmer Girl Books

Copyright © 2020 by Chrissy Q Martin

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact Swimmer Girl Books or [e-mail].

The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

Book Cover by 100Covers.com

Formatted with Atticus

ISBN: 978-1-7354527-2-2 (Paperback)

Contents

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

TWENTY-FIVE

TWENTY-SIX

TWENTY-SEVEN

TWENTY-EIGHT

TWENTY-NINE

THIRTY

THIRTY-ONE

THIRTY-TWO

THIRTY-THREE

THIRTY-FOUR

THIRTY-FIVE

THIRTY-SIX

THIRTY-SEVEN

THIRTY-EIGHT

THIRTY-NINE

FORTY

FORTY-ONE

FORTY-TWO

FORTY-THREE

FORTY-FOUR

FORTY-FIVE

FORTY-SIX

FORTY-SEVEN

FORTY-EIGHT

FORTY-NINE

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Acknowledgements

Also By Chrissy Q Martin

About the Author

In memory of Maureen Thielen

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She inspired many students and athletes, including me.

ONE

I love you.

The words spill from my mouth. They’ve been in my heart, but this is the first time I voice them. I kiss Paul immediately after because I’m nervous about his response. He’s told me he loves me, but my heart feels vulnerable telling him. Butterflies flit in my stomach and mask the pain of my injuries. I sit in a chair of the medical tent at the Spring Fling 5K. My right leg rests on another chair and an icepack covers my knee. Paul stoops at my side and his fingers brush across my cheek.

I’m sorry about Bridgette, he says in his soft voice.

I sigh. Bridgette may have won the high school girls’ category of the 5K because she tripped me, but I win where it counts. Paul has my heart, and he chose to kiss me over her. It shouldn’t surprise me because I’m his girlfriend, but it does. Bridgette is everything I’m not. She’s Paul’s best friend, a cheerleader, fast track runner, outgoing, and much prettier than me. Her hair has beautiful brown curls, while mine is a mass of frizzy brown waves. Bridgette’s figure is curvy and girly, while mine is not. Bridgette has everything a girl could want, except Paul. I’m the one in her way of him.

It’s fine, I say. I don’t want to be the jealous girlfriend anymore. I trust Paul and his actions have shown me I can. It’s a tradition for the winner of the Spring Fling race to be awarded their medal and a kiss by someone they choose. Bridgette chose Paul, and she’s chosen him the last three years. Paul refused to kiss her this year because of me.

Let me take you home. Paul helps me up from the chair. My knee is stiff and sore, and I have a serious case of road rash on my palms and forearms from the unfortunate incident near the finish line. I was edging Bridgette out for the win, until she tripped me. Bridgette claims it was an accident, but I suspect otherwise. I limp to Paul’s blue truck while he holds and supports me.

Paul! A shrill voice yells.

Paul opens the passenger door for me and turns to the voice. It’s Bridgette. Her jaw is clenched, and her fists are even tighter as she storms our way. We stand still in the parking lot, Paul bracing me, as we wait for hurricane Bridgette to hit.

Why’d you leave? Bridgette demands. You promised you’d give me my award.

The kiss. She wanted Paul to kiss her. They may be best friends, but Bridgette wants more from Paul. He either knows and plays dumb or he’s oblivious.

Ash is hurt. I needed to be with her, Paul says. He turns away from Bridgette and helps me in the passenger seat. He shields me from the rage radiating off Bridgette.

You broke your promise. Bridgette’s voice is clipped with anger. You know what this means.

A heavy sigh emerges from Paul and he closes his eyes tight. He lets his fingers linger on my hand for a moment before closing the door and sealing me in his truck. He turns back to Bridgette and his hands move in an apologetic gesture. They talk in low voices and from the cab of the truck I only hear muffled sounds.

Paul rubs the back of his neck and short sandy blond hair with his hand. Bridgette narrows her eyes and juts her chin out at the truck. She gestures at me, obviously not happy. I cross my arms over my chest and wait. I can either focus on the mental pain from Bridgette or the physical pain she’s caused me. My knee is swollen and the road rash on my hands and forearms throb in discomfort. After a couple of minutes, Paul walks around the truck and opens the driver’s door.

You have until tonight, I hear Bridgette say. She gives me one last evil look and jerks around before heading to her car.

Paul starts the truck and the noise breaks through the tense situation.

I’m sorry, I say. Apologizing for anything and everything, even if it isn’t my fault, is natural to my personality.

Paul clenches the steering wheel. I’m sorry. It’s not your fault. I’ve messed everything up and I don’t know how to fix it.

Things happen, I say. It’ll be okay. I’ve become an expert this past year at not achieving my plans and messing stuff up, and somehow things still work out okay. What was Bridgette saying about tonight? I ask.

Paul grinds his teeth together. I’ve seen him get this angry about Dylan, but never about Bridgette. He’s usually ready to defend her behavior. She may have gone too far wanting Paul to kiss her when I’m his girlfriend.

She’s mad I’m not spending much time with her lately, Paul says.

Oh. I pinch my lips together. Out of respect for me, Paul won’t be alone with other girls, including his best friend. I do the same thing with other boys for him, but I understand how Paul feels. My best friend, Nora, and I had the same problem last trimester. It can be difficult to balance a best friend and a boyfriend or girlfriend. As much as I don’t trust or like Bridgette, I’m still Paul’s girlfriend and can make an effort to help him with this.

Why don’t you invite her to hang out with us tonight? I reach over and squeeze Paul’s tight leg with my hand.

Paul gently picks my hand up and turns it over. I don’t think that’s a good idea. He quickly glances at the road rash covering my palm. He lifts his eyes from the injury Bridgette caused and focuses on the road ahead. I’ll figure out what to do about her later. Let me get you home.

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At my house, I recline on the couch with my leg up and an icepack on my scraped and swollen knee.

Can I get you anything? Paul asks. He’s been extra attentive this morning.

Another donut?

Paul smiles and grabs my favorite chocolate donut covered in chocolate frosting and coconut from the box on the coffee table. He hands it to me on a napkin.

I take a bite, famished from running hard. You decided on Eastern? I ask.

Eastern is a smaller subset of the State University and it’s on the eastern side of Minnesota. Paul and I visited the campus together months ago. Paul’s been keeping his college choice a secret from me because he doesn’t want to influence my decision. I only found out this Saturday morning where he’s decided to go.

Paul nods and takes a bite of his donut.

I made a decision on college, I say as if I’m announcing what we’re having for dinner.

Paul wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. You did? Are you taking the scholarship?

No. I want to swim, I say. I’m going to Eastern.

Paul sets the remaining half of his donut on a napkin on the table. There’s a long silence and I wait.

But what about the scholarship? You have a full-ride, Paul says.

I’d rather swim, I say. It won’t cost much for me to go to Eastern.

I’ve thought this through long and hard. I’ve been offered a full-ride scholarship to play water polo for the new team at the State University. I enjoy water polo, but I don’t love it like I do swimming. The thought my tuition rides on me playing a sport I don’t really love isn’t fair to those who want to do it.

Have you let them know you turned down the scholarship? Paul asks.

I have until Monday. I’ll let them know then.

You should think about it a little more. Paul picks up his donut. This could be a good opportunity for you. I’d be jumping at the chance for a sports scholarship if I could get one.

I’ve already thought about it, I say, feeling defensive. Eastern has a swim team, a good education program, and it’s a smaller school. Plus, you’ll be there.

You’ll only be an hour away at the State University, Paul says. That’s why I didn’t tell you where I’m going. I don’t want you making a decision based on me.

There’s no good way to answer this. If I say I made the decision not based on him, it looks as if I place no value on our relationship. If I say I made the decision based on him, it looks like I’m not valuing myself. I’m somewhere in the middle.

I made the decision on a number of things, and mostly on the fact I don’t want to play water polo, I say.

You should think about it a little longer. I don’t want you making a decision you regret. Paul brushes his hands off and slides closer to me. I adjust my position on the couch and turn into him. I can’t help but smile. He’s so cute with his short sandy brown hair, blue eyes, and sprinkling of freckles.

It won’t be the first time, I say. I have to make my own mistakes.

I should have done more to stop one of them. Paul’s thinking of when Dylan fake dated me to distract me from swimming. Coach threatened Paul to stay away from me during swim season and he did, but Dylan swooped in and disrupted my plans.

Do you not want me to go to the same school as you? My insides twist at the thought of being away from Paul. I can’t even fathom the thought of losing him.

It’d be a mistake to miss out on an opportunity like this because you’re following me. Paul runs his fingers along my jawline and brings his face close to mine. His breath is warm and softly scented with chocolate. My heart beats in a staccato rhythm, anticipating his kiss. We can still be together when you go to State, he whispers, and his lips brush mine.

Blood rushes through me, setting me on fire. How does he make me feel this way? But what if I want to go to Eastern with you? I whisper back.

Paul’s fingers dance on my cheeks. I love you. Take the scholarship, Ash. Then he kisses me, a long kiss where my mind only focuses on him. Paul knows how to break me, and I give in to the thought of taking the scholarship.

TWO

Paul leaves me to head home and change from the race. I also clean up but move at sloth pace with my injuries. After a shower and a change of clothes, I settle back on the couch with a fresh icepack. I flinch in pain when I bend my swollen knee and reach for my phone. There are some messages for me to catch up on. I call my mom, who is staying the night at my grandparents’ house to help them with some projects. I text my brother, Jacob, to let him know I’m home. He’s spending the night at a friend’s house. I quickly text Nora and notice I have another text from Dylan. He asked about the race earlier and knows I crashed.

Aquaman: How R U doing?

Me: Banged up, but okay

I recline on a throw pillow and wait for Dylan’s reply. He always texts back and tries to get the last word in. Paul can’t stand Dylan, which is why I have him as Aquaman in my phone. The former best friends agreed to a truce for me and Paul accepts the fact I’ve settled into a friendship with Dylan. Paul doesn’t understand how I can forgive Dylan for being blackmailed to fake date and distract me from swimming. I don’t understand how Paul can’t see Bridgette’s motives. A little nudge at the back of my thoughts tells me I should try to be friends with Bridgette. I’m friends with Dylan, even after what he did to me, but the difference is Dylan apologized and wants to be friends with me, while Bridgette doesn’t.

Aquaman: You never answered. Did he kiss her?

Me: No

Aquaman: Good for him. How are your injuries?

I take a photo of my road rash and swollen knee and send it to Dylan.

Aquaman: Ouch. Wish I was there to catch U

Me: Plans for tonight? A date? A party?

Aquaman: You wish

I do wish for it. Dylan may have conceded I’ll win our bet, but it’s still going on. He bet Paul and I won’t last as a couple until graduation. Even though Dylan says I win, he’s stubbornly upholding his end of the bet by not dating or partying until graduation.

The front door creaks open and I type out one more text.

Me: Paul’s here. Gotta run. Have a good night

Paul walks in as I send the message. Texting Nora? he asks.

I place the phone on the coffee table. No, I say and pause. I could stop here, but I don’t want to keep more things from Paul. The bet with Dylan is the only secret I’m keeping from him. Dylan wanted to know how the race went.

Paul’s body freezes for a second. He does that anytime there’s a mention of Dylan. What’d you tell him? Paul rarely says Dylan’s name.

I shrug. Just that I crashed.

I’m sorry, Paul says again. His mood takes a dive, and a frown coats his face. It’s my fault.

It’s not. I shake my head. You weren’t anywhere near me.

My phone pings. I know it’s Dylan getting his last word in.

Paul gestures at my phone. You text with him often?

Not much, I reply as Paul’s phone chimes.

I know Bridgette is texting Paul and I grab my phone. I turn the screen on and bring up my texting string with Dylan.

Aquaman: Have fun with Turner

Here. I hold my phone out to Paul. I don’t care if he sees Dylan’s profile as Aquaman. I’m not going to hide it from my boyfriend.

What’s this? Paul takes my phone.

You can see what we text.

Paul only glances at the phone before he looks at me with a surprised expression. He pushes my phone back at me. You don’t need to do that. I trust you.

I take my phone back and tighten my lips. Paul isn’t going to offer to let me see his phone, and he ignores the text Bridgette just sent. I’ll trust him, even if my gut tells me something is wrong.

Paul and I spend the afternoon together and I manage to hobble around with his help. In the evening, we end up on the couch again, and another ice pack covers my knee.

Thanks for taking care of me today. I intertwine my fingers with Paul’s. I love how it feels like he fits perfectly with me. His long fingers wrap around mine.

I’d do anything for you, Paul says in his soft voice.

Can you believe we start our last trimester of school on Monday? I turn to look at Paul. It’s still amazing to me to think we’ve been together fifteen weeks. Our four-month anniversary is in a few days.

Paul places a kiss on my forehead and brushes loose strands of my wavy brown hair away from my face. I don’t see how it can be any better than this one.

It has to be, I say. We’ve already been accepted into college, the weather will be warming up, and the last trimester of your senior year is supposed to be the easiest one. Then we also have spring break.

The heat of Paul’s body seeps into mine, warming me up from the ice on my knee. Even though it’s early March, it’s still winter in Minnesota. It was chilly running this morning.

You always have plans, Paul says.

Do I? I feel like I haven’t done much planning lately. I had plans and none of them worked out. Paul’s the only thing guiding my plans right now.

I’m going to Eastern, I say in a whisper. I told Paul I’d think about it, and I did. But I know what I want this time, and nothing can change my course.

Are you sure? Paul says it like I’m making a bad decision. You still have until Monday to decide.

I’m sure. This decision is clear in my mind, and I’m usually horrible at making decisions.

Paul’s phone chimes. He pulls it out of his pocket, looks at it, and sighs. I lean against him, taking in his clean scent while he texts.

Everything okay? I ask after a few minutes. Paul’s body is rigid next to mine and he seems tense. He keeps his phone turned away from my view.

It’s Bridgette again. Paul’s fingers punch fast on his phone.

What does she want? I ask. She’s been texting Paul on and off all day.

She’s still mad at me about the race, Paul says. His fingers fidget on the phone. She swears she didn’t trip you.

Oh. I don’t want to add fuel to the fire. Paul doesn’t need to be stuck in the middle of his best friend saying she didn’t do it on purpose and his girlfriend saying she did. It’s fine, I say. We can’t change what happened, and I know Bridgette won’t own up to the truth.

Has she said anything to you? Paul asks. Another concerned look crosses his face, and he shoves the phone in his pocket.

No. I’d be surprised if she apologized.

A relieved look passes over Paul. Good.

What do you want to do? I ask. The evening is still young, and we have the house to ourselves.

My phone starts to ring. Paul looks at it and swears. My eyes widen because I’ve never heard Paul swear. I glance at my phone and it’s a number I don’t recognize. I reach for it, wondering why it alarms Paul. He grabs my wrist.

Don’t, Paul says. I twist toward him, confused. It’s Bridgette, he says.

Paul keeps his hand clasped around my wrist and the phone remains ringing on the coffee table.

I guess she can leave a message if it’s important, I say when the phone quiets.

Paul’s shoulders hunch and he lets go of me. He places his head in his hands and I hear him swear under his breath again.

Is everything okay? I ask, concerned because Paul is acting strange.

Paul jerks his head up and glares at my phone as if it’s going to hurt him. You should take the scholarship, he tells me again.

I place my palms on Paul’s chest and lean into him. But I like the idea of Eastern. Paul and I could be together every day, and not supervised by his mom, like we are at his house.

I should go home, Paul whispers.

I let my lips brush against his cheek in small, feathery kisses. But we’re alone, I say. I place my lips on Paul’s, but he gently pushes me away. Confused, I look at the furrows between Paul’s eyes.

Ash, Paul says softly. This isn’t working.

I wrinkle my nose. What is he talking about? But I…

I think we should break up, Paul says fast.

A whoosh of air leaves my lungs, like I’ve been punched in the gut. I’m not sure I heard him correctly. This is coming out of nowhere. I never expected this. Not at all.

What? My response is drawn out and confused sounding. I must have heard him wrong. He can’t be breaking up with me.

Paul grabs my hands, which are still on his chest. His thumbs run over mine. My hands feel frozen and I’m not sure if it’s from cold air or the terror running through me.

We need to break up, Paul says.

It feels like I’m underwater and hearing the words through liquid. This can’t be happening. While the rest of me feels frigid, hot tears pool in the bottom of my eyes.

Why? I yank my hands away from Paul. His eyes blink and mine fill with tears.

It’s for the best, Paul says in his soft voice, but I hear him clearly. He can barely look at me.

How? Why? My eyes overflow with pooled tears.

It just is.

Did I do something wrong? I ask.

Paul’s head shakes. No. He closes his eyes and opens them again. It’s me.

A tear rolls down my cheek. He’s giving me the generic break up excuse and I don’t believe it for a minute.

Is there someone else? I ask. My thoughts flicker to Bridgette. Paul texted her just moments ago.

Paul shakes his head. No.

I don’t understand, I whisper. Why is he breaking up with me?

You’ll understand someday, Paul says and stands. It’s just better if we break up now, rather than later.

Later? The word comes out choked. I have no plans to