He whistled. “You aren’t holding back for me, are you?”
My eyebrows shot up. “Do you want me to?”
“No.” He grinned. “Let’s do it.”
He blew me away.
He wasn’t just in good shape, he was in incredible shape. Swimming as well, if not better than most of the Berkeley guys I’d trained with. We hit 7000 meters before the workout was finished, and he hung with me lap for lap. A truth made much more significant by the fact that while I’d been working out with Olympic level athletes for months, he’d been squeezing his training into 90 minute workouts before a full day of school. I was impressed.
We leaned against the pool edge, our tired limbs hanging loose in the water. “You’ve got to compete, Nate.”
He shook his head. “I still don’t know if I’m ready.”
“Of course you’re ready. Your times are amazing. You’re obviously strong. Your stroke looks great.”
“It’s not just about that. It’s been so long since I’ve been in that head space, you know? Competition is intense.”
“Whatever. It’s like riding a bike. Lots of swimmers make comebacks after time away. You can totally do this.” I faced him, excitement filling me with more energy than I should have had. “There are a few Pro Swim Series meets left. You could hit the qualifying times— you probably did tonight, in a 25-meter pool that’s twelve degrees too warm. Seriously, Nate. Swimming like you’re swimming, you could qualify for the trials. I could make some calls. Do you want me to make some calls?”
“Hey.” He reached for my shoulders. “Slow down. I know the meet schedule. I’ve called my old swim club; my coach at Stanford. I’ve done all the research already.”
I tried to focus on his words instead of the warmth of his fingers against my skin. “Then what’s holding you back?”
He sighed and dropped his arms— leaving behind an emptiness I immediately felt. He ran his hands across his hair and leaned back into the water so he was immersed up to his shoulders. He finally stood up, looking at me straight on. “Fear?”
I was impressed he was willing to admit it. But… “That isn’t a reason not to do it.”
He gave me a hard look. “You really think so?”
“Yeah, I do.”
He moved closer, my heart instantly picking up speed. “That we shouldn’t not do something just because we’re afraid?”
I swallowed. “Right.”
He propped his hands against the pool, one on either side of where I leaned against the pool edge, so I was encircled in his arms. Not quite touching, but almost.
He leaned forward. “Then you shouldn’t back away from this.”
He kissed me slowly, one hand caressing the curve of my cheek. I stopped thinking; every fear, thought, reason, worry disappeared into the heavy, humid air around us. I leaned in, kissing him back, harder, longer, aware of nothing but the feel of him under my touch, the taste of him on my lips, the pounding of my heartbeat pulsating through my body. Only when my fingers found the jagged scar on his shoulder did I pause long enough to take a breath. I eased away but kept my hand there, my fingers resting lightly on rough skin.
“Don’t worry.” He leaned his forehead against mine. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”
“I know. I just… I’m sorry you had to go through that.” I ran my fingers up the length of his scar, where it arched across his shoulder, then traced it back down again until my hand rested at the top of his bicep. “Sorry. Was that… I don’t know what I’m doing.”
He cleared his throat. “It feels to me like you know exactly what you’re doing.”
I gave him a playful push, my hands re-settling on his chest. “You know what I mean.”
His arms slid to the small of my back, nothing but water in between us there. “I know you said you don’t want to date anyone, and I can respect that. But I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”
“I’m not afraid. But it’s complicated. You know that.”
“I know it doesn’t have to be a big deal. I promise not to put crazy pressure on you. And I’ll absolutely respect your training schedule. We can keep things easy. Hang out. Have fun.”
It was such a nice idea, but he was missing one fundamental point. He was Nate. In the formative years of my life, he’d taken up way too much room in my heart for me to keep things easy and shallow now. I’d kissed him one time, and it already felt like I was in the deep end.
I shook my head. “It’s not that easy.”
“Why not?”
“Because… Nate, do you remember my freshman year?”
He scratched his chin. “My senior year.”
I nodded. “I had such a big crush on you.”
“Yeah. I remember.”
I groaned. “You’re supposed to tell me you never knew. It would be so much less embarrassing that way.”
“You shouldn’t be embarrassed. I thought it was… sweet.”
“Right. Sweet. Great word. Puppies are sweet, too. And little girls in pigtails.”
“I didn’t think… I mean, I did. You were young, and I was very aware of that. I remember thinking more than once that if you’d just been a little older, things might have been different.”
My jaw hung open. “Are you serious?”
“Um, were you here when I kissed you just now? Why are you so surprised?”
“I’m… I don’t know. I guess I just felt so invisible that year. All I really wanted was for you to see me. It’s crazy now to wrap my head around the possibility that you actually did.”
“I promise, I saw you. I think maybe it’s what makes this,” he motioned between us, “so easy now.”
Easy?
It all felt surreal.
Nate. Nate! It was surreal, but also crushing. The very fact that it felt so amazing and easy, was what made us being together such a problem. “That’s just it, Nate. We’d be too complicated for a no stress, no pressure, having fun kind of relationship. It was more than just a crush for me. It was huge. Big enough that through the rest of high school it pretty much defined every other experience I had with guys. I know it was a long time ago. And I’m not a teenager anymore, and I should be able to separate myself from those feelings now, but… I’m pretty sure with you, the chances of me falling hard and fast just like before are pretty high. And then what? I’ll be right back where I was four years ago, too distracted to focus on the biggest thing I’ve ever tried to accomplish in my swimming career. I can’t risk it.”
“Wow.”
My words played back through my brain and I winced. I’d all but made a declaration of love. At least, future love. “Sorry.” I pressed my forehead into my hand. “I probably sound crazy.”
“Nope.” He tilted my chin up and kissed me again, softly this time, lingering only a moment before pulling away. “I get it.”
“So you just kissed me again?”
He smiled. “That was totally selfish. But I figured if I’m going to watch you walk out of here without me, I should probably kiss you while I still can.”
I huffed. “Make it hard on me, why don’t you.”
He took a step back, bending his knees so his shoulders dropped into the water. “Better?”
Not a fair question. So not fair. How could anything ever be better with him farther away?
He leaned onto the lane rope, hooking his arms over it and stretched his legs out.
I looked past him across the pool. We were totally alone now. The overhead lights reflected on the water, bouncing on the ripples made by Nate’s movements.
“Not better,” I finally said. “But necessary.”
He nodded. “I know.” His voice was sad but kind. “And I admire your dedication. Promise you’ll call me after you win all those gold medals?”
I pushed off the wall and crossed the lane so I could wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him one last time. “I promise.”
Chapter Six
NATE
Telling Kayla I was good wit
h her walking away and actually letting her go were two entirely different things. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Halfway through school on Monday, I was useless to my students. Preoccupied. Distracted. Everything I needed to keep up with in constant battle with the compulsion to call her. I hadn’t been so consumed by a woman in… ever. During my planning period after lunch, I paced back and forth in front of my desk biting my thumbnail— a nervous habit resurfacing from my youth.
A knock sounded behind me. “Hey, Coach. You wanted to see me?”
I turned. “Bridget. Yes. Thanks for stopping by.”
I walked to my desk and pulled a clipboard from the top drawer. “I just wanted to let you know I’ve worked out the events for Thursday’s meet. You’re swimming the 200 Free, the IM and the 100 Fly.”
She gave me a quizzical look. “Okay?”
I looked back at the list. “Oh, and the anchor leg of the 4x100 Relay.”
“So, pretty much what I always swim.”
“Right. Of course. But, you know, I didn’t want to leave you wondering.”
“Is that all you needed?” She still looked confused.
I dropped the clipboard onto my desk and shoved my hands into my pockets.
“Because,” she said, “in the two years I’ve been on your swim team, you’ve never confirmed events with anyone before we’re on the bus, on the way to the meet.”
Busted.
“Coach Hanson? If you wanted to ask me about Kayla, it’s really okay. I don’t mind.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. Probably should have just been honest with her from the start. “How is she?”
“Well, let’s see. Last night I caught her digging through my room trying to find a copy of my meet schedule.”
“Why does she need your meet schedule?”
“I think she was hoping it maybe had your phone number on it somewhere. That’s my best guess. She wasn’t really forthcoming with information once I started pelting her with questions.”
“She wants my phone number?” Why hadn’t we exchanged numbers already? It’s like we’d missed some fundamental step in our communication. We’d had a date, technically, if you could call our swim session a date. But I still had no way to reach her without involving her sister.
Bridget rolled her eyes and crossed to my desk. She picked up a pen and scribbled a phone number onto a yellow sticky note. “Here. Send her a text or something. Maybe then she’ll stop talking about you so much.”
“Thanks, Bridget.”
“No problem.” She turned to leave, and then spun back around. “Um, maybe don’t tell her I said she was talking about you so much?”
I grinned. “Maybe don’t tell her I called you to my classroom to fish for her phone number?”
She laughed. “Deal.”
I closed the door behind Bridget and sat down at my desk. I had twenty minutes before my last class. Plenty of time to write up a text.
And delete it.
And type a new one.
And delete it, too.
Finally, I keyed out a quick message and hit send before I could overthink it.
Don’t be mad at Bridget for giving me your number.
Her response came through immediately. Funny. Bridget just texted me the same request. I’m not mad. It’s nice to hear from you.
I smiled. Glad to hear it.
Confession? she texted.
Sure.
I can’t stop thinking about Saturday night.
Those were good words. Very, very good words. Me neither. Care to reconsider your decision about having dinner with me?
Nope. I am resolute in my commitment to refrain. Not excited about that commitment. But still not wavering.
I grumbled. I had to admire her discipline, but those words weren’t quite as fun. Fair enough, I texted back.
Maybe we could swim together, though. In the name of training.
Of course.
Seriously. I work harder when I have someone challenging me.
Bridget isn’t available? I almost felt guilty for goading her. Almost.
Not as long as Brett is on her swim team. I doubt she’d skip practicing with him to see Hamilton on Broadway. Definitely not just to practice with me.
I knew something was going on with those two.
She’s very excited about the dance this weekend. He just asked her to go.
Good for him. I texted. I have to go, too, you know. Teacher duties.
Painful. But maybe cute, too? Lots of young love blossoming around you?
I scoffed. Some. Mostly just drama. I had a sudden and intense desire to have her there with me, and I almost told her so. But she’d been clear.
Are you swimming in the morning?
Yep. Meet me there? 5 a.m.
Only on one condition.
Uh oh. Okay.
Just swimming, she texted. No kissing.
Way to hit me where it hurts, Phillips.
Deal?
Fine. But you can’t stop me from thinking about kissing you.
A concession I’m willing to make.
I grinned. See you tomorrow.
Can’t wait.
Those last two words were the best I’d read all day.
Chapter Seven
KAYLA
5 a.m. workouts had never been this fun. Three days in a row, I woke before my alarm and beat Nate to the pool. I told myself it was just because I’d missed working out with other swimmers, but who was I kidding? Not me. And by the way he looked at me, not Nate either.
Thursday morning I took a break and timed him. We’d had a rough idea of where he was coming in, but we needed something more concrete. His times were impressive. More than impressive. When he finished his last 200 free, I showed him the stopwatch app on my phone.
“What’s it say?” he asked, his breathing labored and short. “I can’t see that far.”
“You just swam three seconds slower than the US record.”
He shook his head. “It’s short course. It’s not a fair representation.”
He was arguing that the extra flip turn required when swimming in a 25-meter pool versus 50 meters had made him faster. And he had a solid point. Short course times always had an edge. But I shook my head. “It is a fair representation. I’m comparing it to short course times. You’re only three seconds off the short course national record. And four seconds off the world record. Do you realize what that means, Nate? You start training full time, and you’re there. You are ready for this.”
He didn’t say anything. Just stood there, leaning against the side of the pool, his head resting on his folded arms.
Finally, he pushed up and hoisted himself out of the water. “I’ve got to get to school.”
“Nate, wait.”
He turned back. “Thank you for helping me this morning,” he said. “I just can’t be late, okay? First period is presenting their monologues, and I need to be there on time.”
I nodded. “Okay.” Except, it wasn’t really okay. It felt like he’d just thrown up an impossibly giant wall between us. Maybe I’d pushed friendly encouragement into, well, just pushing.
I understood that it was tough. There were two different sides to his life now: before the accident and after. He’d had to make a living doing something else besides swimming, which totally made sense. And he loved being a teacher and coach, which he’d have to give up, at least temporarily, if he were to pursue another Olympics. But it killed me to think of him missing his chance to get back in. He was ready. He was more than good enough. Was it scary? Sure. Risky? Absolutely. But I was convinced it would be totally worth it.
I resisted the urge to text him throughout the day, wanting to give him space or time or whatever it was he needed. I even played it cool through Bridget’s afternoon swim meet. Staying in the stands, focusing on the races instead of trying to catch Nate’s eye. When my phone dinged just after dinner, I lunged for it so fast Bridget started to laugh.
“Tell Coach I said hi,
” she called, as I headed for my bedroom.
I shut the door and dropped onto my bed before reading the text.
I think I screwed up this morning.
My heart melted a little. You didn’t. It’s a lot to think through. I get it.
Will you come with me to the dance on Friday night? It’s Valentine’s Day, after all. I don’t want to go without you.
I stared at his text. Read it over and over. I wanted to go. Of course I wanted to go. But a part of me was also annoyed he was still pushing. Though, it wasn’t as if I’d been exactly fair in how I’d handled things. I’d told him no to dating, and then had done everything I could to still see him. We’d been texting every day since I told him I wasn’t interested in dating. Talk about sending mixed messages.
Another text dinged through. I know I probably annoyed you by asking you again. But hear me out?
I huffed. How did he know me so well? I’m listening.
I watched the tiny dots bounce at the bottom of my phone screen, telling me he was typing. It took a while, so I wasn’t surprised when a long message popped up.
Here’s the thing. You’re not the same person you were four years ago. You’re older. Wiser. More dedicated. The past six months, you’ve set more records and won more races than ever before. I don’t think there’s anything that could derail you. I certainly don’t want to. But I would like to cheer you on/buy you dinner/celebrate your victories. You’re telling me I should take the risk and start swimming again, and you’re right. I should. I guess I’m hoping you’ll be willing to take a risk, too.
I couldn’t stop smiling. Are you telling me you’ll start racing again, if I’m open to dating?
You mean dancing. As in high school Valentine’s Day dancing.
Ha! That’s quite the ultimatum.
It was meant to be more of an invitation than an ultimatum. I’m holding my breath and jumping in, Kayla. Come, too?
His persistence was impressive, but not overwhelming. It was charming, even endearing. But my own fears and doubts still felt so close. I’d been repeating my “no dating” mantra for so long, would agreeing to something different now be a betrayal of everything I’d worked so hard for? But Nate was right, too. Maybe I was a different person than the Kayla who’d made such a mess of things before.
Valentine's Day Collection (A Timeless Romance Anthology Book 19) Page 14
