Hold My Breath

by Ginger Scott

  I don’t look at him completely. I knew it was Will’s touch the instant I felt it. It’s the only thing that doesn’t really remind me of Evan at all. Will’s hands—the size, strength and tenderness of their movement—that was always something unique to him.

  “Thank you,” I say, smiling, but again, not at him. I move to the bench near the women’s locker room entrance and work my cap from my hair, toweling myself dry while I try to ignore the panicked thumping in my chest as I see Will walking toward me in my periphery.

  “We have six weeks,” my dad says. Most of us sit at the loud boom of his voice, some of us on the ground. Will leans against the metal pillar several feet away from me, and I sneak a glance when his attention is on my dad.

  He looks like Evan.

  “Trials are going to be like nothing you’ve ever seen. Some of you,” my dad pauses, dipping his head to catch my eyes, “are going to have major targets on your backs. You’re the ones to beat. And the people chasing you are going to swim the race of their lives, faster than they’re capable of, running on adrenaline alone.”

  His words soak in, and I know that as tired as I am from today, I still didn’t empty my tank. I need to give more, because I’m going to have one shot at clinching this. There is no next meet. There are trials, and today…I was distracted. My gaze drags along the ground to Will’s feet, then his legs, then his body. I can almost sense what it feels like to run my hands along his chest, around his back, to his neck, the wet ends of his hair, his jaw, his mouth. Not him, but…almost.

  “Tomorrow we add an hour in the evening. Even for the sprinters. Distance is good for your lungs, and we all need bigger lungs. I’m going to turn you all into fish. Now go eat something real for breakfast,” my dad says, reaching down and pulling a small granola bar from the hands of one of the younger female swimmers. She shrugs as he tosses it in the trash and heads inside through the men’s locker room.

  I don’t mean to look, but my eyes just go to Will. He’s packing up his things, his jaw working and his eyes hyper focused on the small space directly in front of him. He’s trying to become invisible…to me. My chest grows heavy, and my gut twists. I’m not being fair to him, blaming him because of his blood—because of who he reminds me of. He can’t help that any more than I can help the fact that my past is forever connected to his brother. But him being here…it’s also stirred other feelings—the kind twisted up in memories and adolescence. I don’t like the guilt that comes with those feelings.

  But that…that’s not Will’s fault, either.

  I linger, my fingers tingling with doubt while my mind second guesses what I’m about to do, but I know that I can’t keep going like this. If Will and I are going to swim in this pool together for the next six weeks, we can’t do it with the weight of the past drowning us. We need to find our way back to our younger selves—to the kids who used to dare each other to swim across Peterson Lake in the dark. We need to be pushing each other, not pulling the wrong way.

  “You want breakfast?” My question squeals from my mouth, my voice cracking. My teeth bite down on my lower lip while I stare at the wet pile of towels on the ground between us.

  “I could eat,” he says.

  His voice.

  “I…I rode with my dad, so…” I glance up and our eyes meet briefly before I blink away again.

  “I can drive,” Will says.

  I nod slowly and remind my mouth to make a smile as I look up again.

  “I’ll meet you out front,” I say, every word rehearsed in my head a millisecond before I utter it. Will doesn’t respond right away, but his eyes don’t seem to be as skittish as mine. He holds his stare on me, and his mouth is curved in a sincere hint of a smile. I’ve missed him.

  After a long second, he nods and tugs the men’s room door open, disappearing inside and leaving me alone under the covered patio. I look out at the water, the surface smooth—no breeze to make ripples. My insides are the exact opposite.

  My father is talking with two of the younger swimmers as I walk out to the main lobby. He’s holding one girl’s arm out and splaying her fingers, then cupping them.

  “Grabbing the water, are we?” I say through a closed-lipped smile. My dad’s expression reflects mine.

  “That’s how it all started with this one, you know. She was always coming in second. It was like this curse we just couldn’t seem to break until I told her she needed to grab more water,” he says.

  “I’m really excited to be swimming with you here…I’m…I’m a fan,” the girl says, shaking her arm out and flexing her fingers in and out like she was just instructed. I reach down and grab her palm, squeezing it lightly, but with enough muscle to live up to her idea of me.

  “I’m nothing special. I’m excited to be swimming here with you,” I say, pausing and tilting my head, waiting for her name.

  “Amber,” she says.

  I repeat it and smile, and I can feel her grip grow a little stronger just before she lets go. Confidence is a funny thing. The slightest sentence can be either a rocket or a missile to self-esteem.

  My dad always keeps the negative away from ears, especially young ears. Even now, as the two girls leave us alone in the lobby, he waits for the door to close to tell me what he really thinks.

  “She’s not ready. She’d get eaten up at trials. But…she can train. She’s young, just graduated high school. Maybe…maybe in four years, if she sticks with it,” he says, turning to me, our eyes locking.

  I nod, grateful that my father spares me of the negative, too. It doesn’t mean I don’t think about it, though. And in a way, that’s almost worse. I bet there have been times when my dad has thought I wasn’t ready, or that I was lucky to win. He would never say it, but I know better than to believe he’s never thought it.

  I’m about to let my dad know I don’t need a ride when Will steps through the men’s doors, his eyes settling on both of us.

  “I just need to run my things upstairs and we can go,” he says, holding up his bag. His gaze darts between my father and me before he moves to the stairs, leaving us alone.

  “We’re…I thought maybe it would be good to…breakfast. I invited him for breakfast,” I stammer.

  “Good,” my dad responds quickly. Both of us are watching the empty stairwell, waiting for Will’s return, and several seconds pass without a sound from his door or his footsteps.

  “I just don’t want there to be any distractions,” I start, stopping when I sense my dad looking at me. I turn to meet him.

  “I think it’s good, Maddy. You two need to talk. You’ve always been good teammates…and friends…” my dad says.

  “That’s what I was thinking,” I say after a sharp inhale.

  My dad nods, and eventually we both look back at the steps again. They remain silent, but I can hear the sounds of drawers sliding in and out upstairs followed by a few muffled words. I wonder if I should invite his uncle?

  “Will is an important part of this,” my dad says, catching my attention. I twist my neck and pull my lips in tight, waiting for him to elaborate. His brow is heavy, and his eyes seem to be lost somewhere else entirely, but eventually he shakes his head and breathes out a short huff through his nose, turning to me and patting both of my shoulders twice before squeezing them. “He’ll never make it past trials, though, so just…don’t torture yourself more than you need to.”

  My father finishes speaking just as the door creaks upstairs, leaving me alone with just one more dose of his brand of honesty. I force my wide eyes to normal before I face the stairs, and then I remind my mouth to smile again when Will walks toward me—gray T-shirt, faded jeans, hair dark from being wet, not the normal light brown, and a scent that is, of course, familiar.

  “Ready?” I ask. He looks at me with pause, and my chest tightens because for a brief second, I think he must know—he must have heard my dad or read my face. That hint of suspicion in his expression fades quickly, though, and soon his keys jingle in his palm and his
head gestures toward the front door.

  “Or would you rather climb out through the back, maybe hop the fence in the alley?” he says. I stop walking, and he spins to walk backward, the left side of his mouth tugged up in a teasing grin. I purse my lips and say something I haven’t said in years.

  “Careful, Will Hollister. You don’t want me to remind you what it feels like to lose to a girl again, do you?”

  My chest opens up and my lips stretch into a smile all on their own as Will’s head falls to the side and his eyes narrow on me. Familiar.

  “You. Wish.” he says, his mouth careful with every word, uttering them nice and slow—just like he always has.

  Were this the past, now would be the point when I would rush past him, and he’d grab my stomach and toss me in the air, each of us pulling on each other in our battle to be first. But this isn’t the past, and while my legs itch to run, my heart doesn’t have it in it. So instead, I chuckle and shake my head. Will turns to walk forward again, and his smile falls just a hint as he does. I think maybe he’s disappointed I didn’t follow through.

  Will is an important part of this.

  My dad’s words echo as I wait for Will to open the car door. I’m starting to wonder if the whole reason my dad agreed to let Will train here, at home, was because of the push he hoped it would give me.

  My arms begin to tingle again, and my legs grow restless at the thought.

  Rocket? Or missile?

  Will

  I can’t help but take the fact that she looked at me—we made actual eye contact—as a sign that things are going to be okay. The single percent of optimism left in me holds on to it. I’m not naïve enough to believe that we can pick up right where life ended for us without ever having a conversation about what happened, about Evan, about my coma, about the shit reality that is my life and how it bled into hers. But at least she’s willing to be alone with me, and that’s…that’s not something I thought would happen ever.

  Even with damp hair, denim shorts, and a T-shirt, Maddy Woodsen is still the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met. She’s never smelled like anything other than lake water or chlorine, yet somehow those two things have only ever been able to remind me of her.

  We don’t talk during the short car ride, and when we get to the diner off old sixty-six, near Pigeon Creek, we both sit still, our eyes forward on the faded-blue doors, the sound of cars whooshing by behind us.

  “I haven’t eaten here in years.”

  I’m the first to break the silence. I can hear her breathe, long and slow. I hate how hard this is for her. I hate how hard everything probably is for her. That’s why, no matter my urges, I don’t need to say any more than she truly wants to hear.

  “I come here sometimes with Dad. Or…at least since I’ve been back,” she says, her hand finding the lever for the door. She pushes it down and climbs from the car; I wait for her door to close before I exit, needing that brief second of time in a space all alone to remind myself that I’m here for her.

  She’s waiting in front of the car when I step out, her hands stuffed in her pockets while her feet kick at the loose gravel on the ground. I hate how uncomfortable this all is, but I guess that was always inevitable. That’s why we both stayed away.

  “You still at Valpo?” I ask, knowing she is. I look her up all the time. Not…stalking, just…shit, I guess it’s stalking.

  “I am. Last year of nursing school, or, it would have been. I took the year off, for…” she stops, holding her arms out to her side, her mouth offering a crooked smile. I gesture for us to walk forward, and her hands slap against her thighs as she drags her feet forward, still kicking the gravel.

  “You had to, Maddy. This is your year,” I say.

  “You sound like my father,” she says through light laughter.

  I hold the door for her, and when she walks inside, she moves her hair from the opposite shoulder to the one facing me. She’s still putting up shields.

  The hostess holds up two fingers, and I nod. We both follow her to a booth near the kitchen entrance, and I wait for Maddy to pick what side she wants.

  “Coffee?” the woman asks.

  “Please,” we both say in unison. She bites her tongue, her cheeks raised with her smile, and I breathe out a small laugh.

  The silence is never far away, and when the hostess leaves, we’re instantly back to avoiding eye contact and busying ourselves with straightening the condiments on the table, checking our phones and wiping away lost salt granules from the table top. I start to regret agreeing to come, only because I see how hard it is on her. When she looks up and our eyes catch and hold on, I regret nothing.

  “I’m sorry I’m being so…”

  “It’s okay,” I break in, shocked she’s even going here. I swallow hard and hold my breath, hoping she doesn’t retract everything and go back to awkward silence. This conversation is too necessary.

  Another minute passes while we look at each other. The waitress delivers our coffee and tells us she’ll be back in a minute to take our order, and I break away long enough to tell her “fine” and smile.

  “I miss him,” she says, her eyes leaving mine as soon as she says the word him.

  “Me too,” I say, stopping there. Only what she wants to hear, and nothing more.

  She chuckles to herself and adjusts her posture on her side of the booth, tucking one leg under the other before leaning to stare at me, her mouth crooked, curious.

  “How’d my dad get you back in his pool, Will?” she asks.

  Not the direction I wanted our conversation to go. I wanted to air out things with Evan, all the shit I’ve done and been through, but again, all of that would be for me. We’ll do this her way, under her direction. It’s fine.

  “Actually, I called him. I’m getting old,” I say, and Maddy laughs, sliding her hands forward on the table as she leans. I itch to touch them, but I don’t. “Twenty-five is old in swimming,” I add, my lips twisted.

  “So’s twenty-three,” she chuckles.

  “Nah, twenty-three’s right where you wanna be,” I say, stretching one arm out along the back of the booth and twisting to match her. My muscles ache. I’m nowhere near in the condition Maddy is, and I broke myself trying to keep up with her today. I knew I would—that’s why I had to come here to train.

  “You all ready?” the waitress asks. I raise a brow to Maddy, and she furrows hers, holding up a finger.

  “You go first, then I’ll be ready,” she says.

  “Short stack, side of bacon,” I tell the waitress. When I look back at Maddy, her hand is on her forehead.

  “That was really fast…ummmm,” she flips through the pages of the menu, like she isn’t going to get what she always gets, what she’s eaten every single time I’ve ever had breakfast with her, which numbers maybe into the hundreds. “I don’t know…I guess…uhhhhh…”

  I only catch it because I’m watching her manically turn the pages of her menu. Her hands are shaking with nerves, and the more she rushes to pick something to eat, the bigger those trembles become. I reach forward and push her menu flat, causing her to look up at me, so I wink.

  “She’ll have the oatmeal, topped with apples and cinnamon, and a side of bacon,” I say.

  The waitress waits for Maddy to look up and nod, confirming it, then tucks her pen behind her ear and tears our ticket off on her way back to the kitchen.

  “What if I wanted something different?” she asks.

  “Since when have you ever ordered anything else at this place,” I smirk.

  She purses her lips, but they betray her and bend into a smile. We both settle into our seats more, and before the silence can win again, I fill the void, continuing to answer her last question.

  “I only have one more shot at this, and I know I’m a long shot, but I kinda think maybe I’m better than some of those other freestylers heading to Omaha. I just had to see it through, and if I was going to go, I wanted to be my best,” I say.

  She s
tudies me, her arms folded over her chest, and I’m relieved when a refill comes for our coffee so I can give my attention over to the creamer and packs of sugar.

  “You were always my dad’s favorite, you know,” she says. Her words hit my gut like a heavy-handed punch. I can’t help but feel like that’s a lie—only Maddy has never lied to me.

  “I’m pretty sure you are your dad’s favorite,” I say, the only answer I can think of that doesn’t head down a dangerous path.

  “Oh, I can assure you I’m not,” she laughs.

  I laugh with her, blowing the steam from my coffee and sipping, the heat stinging the tip of my tongue.

  “My dad’s glad you’re here. I can tell,” she says. I glance over the rim of my cup and her eyes look uncertain. She’s never lied to me, but that doesn’t mean she always tells me everything. When I called Curtis, I could sense the hesitation in his voice. He’s always been in my corner, even after the accident. But he also loves his daughter, and I know he had to be worried about what my presence would do to her.

  “I’m glad I’m here, is all I know. Nothing’s ever quite felt like home,” I say, leaving out the unsaid things—since my family died.

  Our food comes quickly, and for the next ten minutes, we both eat and make comments about how “nobody makes better bacon” and “coffee tastes a million times better with whole milk.” We talk nonsense, like acquaintances, and the world feels right for just a moment. I know it can’t last, though. My phone buzzes with a message, reminding me of one of the biggest reasons it can’t. I glance at it enough to know who it is, then I tap the auto response, hoping that the person who sent this just assumes I’m busy in training. These worlds cannot collide right now. They can’t collide at all. And I just need the universe to give me six damned weeks.