by Ginger Scott
“Five,” I say.
“Dibs on showering first,” he says.
I lie there for the next several hours and watch my uncle work. He hardly moves, and I’m inspired by his level of concentration. I don’t think I have ever focused on something so minute—on the details and the parts. Maybe if I did I’d start to understand how things work. Maybe I need to take his magnifying glass and press it against pieces of my life.
And maybe if I hold it there long enough under the sun, I can just set all this shit on fire.
Chapter Four
Maddy
Will didn’t make practice today. Morning and afternoon.
It’s all I focused on during my entire swim. I was off. Everything about me was off. The fact that Will wasn’t here threw me off, which is screwing with me even more because I didn’t really want him here in the first place for that very reason. His presence was supposed to throw me, not his absence.
I asked my dad where Will was, but he didn’t have a real answer.
“He said something about estate papers, having to drive his uncle to the city. I questioned it at first, but his uncle backed it up. Seems legit,” my dad said.
That’s the thing, though. I never thought it could be anything more than something simple until my dad put that idea in my head. Then I lost focus. As much as I’ve tried to pretend that I don’t think about Will Hollister, because it’s a direct line to thinking about Evan, I do think about him. I have for years. Every time I read something about the State swimmer who blew it his senior year—the guy who drove his car into a tree just outside the city because he has, as the newspapers put it, a death wish—I thought about Will.
And I worried.
And then I hated him…just a little. He was the one spared, and here he was—wasting it. The last time I saw him in the news, in a short local spot that referenced the talented former swimmer and brother of the late, great Evan Hollister, he looked like a bum. His unshaven face poked out of an ill-fitting suit while his uncle walked him up some courthouse steps to deal with an extreme DUI. That was a little over a year ago, and I swore I would quit thinking about him, quit worrying.
He’s still in there, though. He’s always been in my head, rattling around. This nagging worry, this source of resentment—a symbol for all of my worst parts. It wasn’t fair that I begrudged him for his self-destruction. He was suffering, too. I just hated him for making it all so public. I didn’t want to see it, because no matter how much I worried about Will, in the end, all I was left doing was mourning Evan.
Yet here I am—worrying about him again.
I pull my phone into my lap and lean back into the deck chair, looking out on the quiet pool lanes of my parents’ swim club. It’s peaceful here at night. I like the quiet.
I’ve been waiting for Will to come back for about an hour, but now, with each minute that passes, I begin to feel more and more pathetic. It’s clear that he wasn’t lying. At least, his uncle is gone, so it seems reasonable that they did, in fact, go somewhere together. I still crave proof, though.
I send a short text to my friend to ease my whirling mind.
I think I need to get a job.
I wait for Holly to respond, and when my phone buzzes with her call, I’m happy. She speaks the second I answer.
“Why would you want to do something crazy like that?” she asks. I can hear the beeping noises around the nurses’ station behind her. I miss those sounds.
“Because…” I sigh, sliding lower in my lounger, pulling my knees up and swaying them side-to-side. “I have too much idle time. I swim all morning, then I work out. Then I watch shows about tiny homes, tree houses, biker life…Neilson should really hire me. I’d be a great ratings representative.”
“I don’t think Neilson ratings work like that,” she says, stopping to crunch through a snack.
“You on a break?” I ask.
“Yeah. Slow night. Not that I’m complaining,” she says.
Our conversation goes quiet for a second. It feels nice, like I’m sitting there next to her, watching people so we can make up stories about them later. Holly and I are comfortable with our quiet. Introverted soul mates.
“So…” she says finally. She doesn’t finish. She doesn’t have to. I know everything the so implies. Holly knows my sad story, and she was with me when my dad called to tell me about Will coming to train. Holly was the only person I could truly rant to and not sound like a heartless bitch. I told her that I didn’t want to see his face because it reminded me of Evan’s, and that I hoped he washed out right away or changed his mind. She never once judged.
“He’s still here,” I say.
She crunches something again. It sounds like celery.
“Oh,” she says, through a full mouth.
More silence.
“I’m actually at the pool right now waiting for him. He never showed today, and…”
“And you’re afraid something bad happened to him,” my friend fills in.
I breathe in deeply and let the air escape through my nose.
“I think maybe I am,” I say.
“He isn’t Evan,” she says. They’re words I need to hear.
“I know. That’s what worries me. Evan would never have missed a practice. Not for anything in the world. And Will has a history of…”
“Missing life? Yeah, you said that before. But don’t let his shit stick to you,” Holly says.
I chuckle, because she has a way with words.
“I miss you,” I say.
“Awe, hon…I miss you more. There’s a new doc. He’s…well, frankly, Maddy, he’s fucking delicious. Like, he has me eating celery and shit because he’s all about nutrition, and I want him to notice me eating celery,” she says, punctuating with one more crunch.
I knew it was celery.
“He’s probably married, Holly.”
“Nope. Checked. Double checked. Asked,” she says. I can hear her moving, and the sounds in the background start to fade, which means she’s probably heading to the break room to throw away her trash and get back to work.
“I can’t believe you asked,” I say.
“Someone had to, and I’ve sorta become the outspoken one. It’s my thing here now. I have a thing,” she says.
“You, the outspoken one. Shocker,” I laugh.
“Bite me,” she says, and I hear her locker slam shut in the background. “Call you tomorrow.”
I chuckle to myself after she hangs up, but it only takes a minute or two for me to feel lonely again. It’s strange how I can crave the quiet but miss the noise all at once.
Before tucking my phone back in my pocket, I check the time. It’s almost nine, and if I want to get my ass up at four to show up here again, I should give up on this rescue mission I seem to feel obligated to carry out. I straddle the chair as I stand and tuck my phone into my back pocket just as the sound of tires on gravel hits my ears.
By the time I slide the back door open, Will and his uncle are unlocking the front. I stand, half inside, half out, while Will’s uncle takes a heavy-looking messenger bag from Will’s shoulder. I step inside and meet them at the bottom of the steps.
“Maddy, I’m not sure how well you remember me, but I used to come to some of your meets…when you all were kids,” Will’s uncle says. “I’d come down from Michigan for the summers?”
I reach forward and grasp his hand, smiling.
“Duncan, of course I remember you. I’m glad you’re here with him. This one…he needs eyes on him at all times,” I lean in close, smirking. “Can’t be trusted.”
Duncan laughs at my joke, but it fades quickly. Will watches my eyes the entire time, only allowing a slight smile.
“I’m gonna head up to the room. Long day for me, but Maddy…I do hope we get a chance to catch up sometime. I’m looking forward to watching you two swim. I always loved watching you race,” Duncan says, squeezing my grasp on his hand once before letting go.
“I’ll be up later. I�
��ve gotta get my workout in,” Will says, his eyes leaving me for only a second.
“No matter to me. I’ll be asleep in about thirty seconds,” Duncan says, his hand waving over his shoulder.
When the door shuts, Will leans back against the wall, his thumbs looped in his pockets and his eyes paused just below mine.
“You’re here kinda late,” he says, and his gaze flits to mine for only a beat. He’s nervous.
He’s guilty.
“You missed. I wanted to make sure you were taking this whole thing seriously,” I say, falling against the opposite wall and folding my arms across my body.
Will’s mouth tugs up on one corner just before he pushes off from the wall and walks past me and through the back door.
“If you want me to pee in a cup, Maddy, all you need to do is ask,” he says.
I open my mouth to argue that’s not why I’m here, but before I can utter a word, Will’s hands reach above his head and he tugs the black T-shirt he’s wearing up and over his head.
“What are you doing?” I ask instead.
“I’m getting my laps in. Promised your dad I would,” he says, his feet working to kick off his shoes before he pulls one heel up and slips away a sock.
“Will, it’s nine at night. You’re swimming again in…” I pull my phone from my pocket to help me with the math as I look at the clock. “Less than eight hours. You’re going to exhaust yourself.”
“Better than not trying,” he says, unbuttoning his jeans and sliding them down without hesitation. I turn to the side and bring my thumbnail to my teeth, shielding my eyes with my other hand.
“Maddy, you’ve seen me in my underwear more than any girl I know,” he says.
His words make me shift to look at him again, but the moment I do, my eyes grow wide and my face heats up at the sight of him. There’s something different about seeing him like this—not in his training suit, but just…like a man. He’s toned, hell, ripped even. His muscles make that perfect parallel down his stomach and into his underwear, which hug his hips and legs like only the world’s greatest pair of boxer sport briefs can. I cover my eyes and turn again quickly.
“Yeah, I know, but it’s different when you’re scrawny and fourteen. I’ll leave you to it,” I say.
“Suit yourself,” he says. I take a few steps to the door, and my heart is pounding in my throat, when Will baits me. “If you’re afraid to lose to a boy.”
Goddamn him.
I hear the water splash, and I wait a second before turning to make sure he’s submersed. When I face the water, he’s treading in the center lane, a dozen yards out, moving backward. The deck light is only bright enough to see his profile.
“I’ve got nothing to prove to you, Will Hollister,” I say, taking more steps forward until I’m at the end of the deck.
“Yeah…I know,” he says, splashing as he pushes backward a few more strokes. “But I have a mountain of shit to prove, most of it to myself. Racing you always brings out the best in me, but it’s okay.”
The water moves with his strokes as he swims slowly to the other side. I watch as his form fades until the only evidence he’s in the pool at all is the ripples left in his wake. He doesn’t move for several seconds, and I know he’s waiting at the edge, watching me.
“Shit,” I say finally, kicking my sandals to the side.
“Ohhhh ho ho yes! I knew you couldn’t handle walking away from a challenge,” he says through cocky laughter.
“Turn around,” I yell.
“Oh I am, don’t you worry,” he says, nothing about his tone sounding honest.
“Will, you better turn your ass around or so help me God…” My hands are frozen on the button of my shorts, my arms and legs tingling with adrenaline.
“I’m turned; I’m turned! Pinky swear,” he says.
He’s never broken a pinky swear. Not with me. Shit, I’m really going to do this.
I tug my shorts down fast, then flip my T-shirt over my head, leaving my clothes in a pile by my shoes a few feet away from the water.
“You’re in my lane. Move over one,” I say, sitting on the edge and feeling the water. The heater hasn’t been working great, so the temperature is a little cooler than I’m used to.
“If you want the center lane, Maddy, you’re going to have to earn it,” he says, and I can tell he’s facing the other way by the way his voice echoes off the back wall. I stop swishing my legs in the water and look up, squinting in his direction.
“I always swim in the center lane, Will. Move. Over,” I grit. It’s a stupid thing to pick a fight over, but aggression has always been my friend in a race, so I let myself be childish.
“Tonight you don’t,” he says, and I hear the water splash with his movement. “And if there’s something you don’t want me to see, you better get your ass in the water now, because I’m coming back.”
Will
I catch her body slipping into the water just as I turn and begin swimming to the other side. I have no idea what I’m doing, and I know that my motives here—they’re dangerous. I should leave her alone. I should have just gone upstairs and changed and come back down when she left, but something in me just sort of acted.
She was here waiting for me. If anything, she was told the same story I told her dad, and yeah…maybe she didn’t believe it and figured I’d gone to hit up some bar, ditched my responsibilities to drink away my sorrows—like I’ve done in the past. None of that takes away the fact that she was still here, though. That she was waiting. Whether it was just to see me or to check on me, she was here for me. Not Evan, but me.
I look up for my last few strokes and see her holding onto the side of the pool, both arms stretched out along the deck, her chest puffed up defiantly and proud. Her absolutely perfect breasts both sexy and strong underneath a blue silk bra. It’s no different from the swimsuits I’d seen her in for years, but yet somehow, just knowing that this garment is not meant for the water makes it appealing as fuck. I swim up next to her, gripping the side.
“Nice suit,” I smirk.
Her eyes narrow. She nudges her head to the right.
“Get in your lane, buddy,” she says. Her lips are tight, almost smirking, but not quite.
“I told you, you’re going to have to earn it,” I say.
I watch her breathe in, her eyes locked on mine, as she considers my challenge. I could easily just swim five feet to the right, but something about this feeling makes me not want to be so accommodating. It’s a rush—and I’ve always had a problem saying no to rushes.
“Fine. We’ll swim opposite. Go back over there, and when I say go, you give me your best two hundred,” she says. Her lip always gives her away. Maddy Woodsen has always had swagger, even when she was a kid. Her right upper lip is her tell, though—it lifts like Elvis’s when she’s holding a pair of aces.
“You go over there. I just swam back here, and you need a little warm-up anyhow,” I say.
Her brow falls and she huffs out a “fine.” I wait until she’s maybe fifteen yards out before I change the terms.
“And five hundred. I’m supposed to be making up for missing. Two hundred won’t make a dent on what I need to get in,” I shout. Maddy stops mid-stroke, twisting then treading in the middle of the pool.
I can see enough of her to know that her mouth is flat again, lips probably pursed, and her nostrils are likely flaring. I can read the silence between us, and I pissed her off. My mouth curves because God, I love pissing that girl off. I’ve missed it.
“Fine,” she says, louder than the time before. “You better be all right with getting lapped.”
“It’s on, sistah,” I say, splashing water over my face and head before stretching my arms one at a time.
“Like Donkey Kong,” she yells back through her own splashing and stretching. I chuckle at her because she’s cute. This whole scene is such a bad idea, and if I were half the man I’m pretending to be, maybe trying to be, I’d call this whole thing off now an
d tell her to just head home, that I have work to do. I’d be cold and avoid her just like she did the minute I arrived. But she let me in—and then, there’s the rush.
God, I love the rush.
“You call it,” I shout, lifting myself to the deck and shaking out my arms in front of my body, searching for more blood flow—any edge I can get.
I can barely see Maddy climb out on her side, the shadows of her arms and legs mimicking mine. She’s not going to make this easy, but I also know that she doesn’t have a shot.
“You ready?” she yells.
“Born ready, Woodsen. Bring it!” I chuckle.
“Take your marks,” she yells.
I breathe through my nose, my heart starting to race faster while I blink once at the water below me. I’m coiled and ready, like a runner waiting for the gun, and when Maddy shouts, “Go!” I hear her hit the water just as I do. For exactly two strokes, I think about her body gliding in, her form and discipline—and then the new me takes over.
I grab water and pull while my legs kick hard, my shoulders rotating in a perfect rhythm with each pound of my palms against the surface. I am a machine, and this is what I’ve been trained to do. I spent a year finding myself again, and nothing could seem to bring back my speed, until I learned to use the weight of everything in my life to my advantage.
My arms dig harder, and my mind forgets that there are nine more laps to go as my body flips and my feet kick against the sidewall. I never even felt her pass, but I know she did because a quick glance shows that she’s once again heading toward me. I dig harder, and I forget it all again—I hold on to nothing but the pain. I hear the hum of the plane, I hear my mother’s screams; I hear my dad telling everyone it’s going to be all right, that he can land us. I hear the explosions, the impact, the sirens, the beeping of hospital machines.
I flip.
My arms move faster.
I feel Maddy pass me to the right. I can tell I’m ahead.
Each time my feet hit the wall, they push harder. Each time my hands punch the water, they pull my body faster. With every stroke she takes, I take two. My lungs work in sync with my heart, my head swivels when I need air, my mind mentally calculates how long it will take until I reach the wall again, and I count—five, four, three, two…spin.