Chapter 21
twenty-one
. . .
RORY
With a signed marriage certificate and the satisfaction of Summer moved into my house, I breeze into the aquatic center like a man ready to take on the world. I toss my stuff in my locker, then get dressed for the team’s pool workout.
Eli appears beside me, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “Owens is looking for you.”
I nod, throwing on a t-shirt before making my way to Coach’s office.
“Eli said you needed to talk to me?” I ask, my hand braced on the door frame.
“Sit down.” He motions to the chair across from his desk.
“If this is about Summer—” I start, but Coach shakes his head, cutting me off.
“Connor Fisk is joining the team.”
The name alone kicks up my pulse. It’s not a full adrenaline surge, but a steady drumbeat of tension followed by a hollow drop in my chest.
Coach Owens isn’t known for being a jokester, but he has his moments. Maybe this is one of them?
“You’re kidding.” I blink; certain I’ve misheard him.
“I know there’s history between you two,” Coach continues. “Some bad blood.”
I mentored Connor through a program at UC-Berkeley when he was training with the Bay City Barracudas. He was a lonely teenager; reeling from his parents’ divorce. I thought he was a good kid who needed guidance navigating sponsorships and the business side of swimming.
My jaw tightens remembering Connor’s betrayal. It’s been seven years, and we’ve crossed paths at every major meet, but showing up here to train with the Current is fucking ballsy.
“You could say that.” I stretch my jaw, trying to loosen it from the tension settled there. “Why does he want to train here?”
Owens’ brows lift in question.
Not every coach-athlete combo works, but Owens is known for bringing out the best in everyone.
“Point taken.”
Owens nods, arms crossed. “He cut ties with Ryland Jenkins a few weeks ago and came to me looking for a supportive team dynamic.”
A scoff escapes my throat. “That’s interesting. Fisk has been a loner for years. He hasn’t been part of a training team since college and seems perfectly content in his glass tower.”
Owens’ gaze softens. “He’s had a rough couple of years since his mom passed.”
I sigh, pushing a hand through my hair before leaning back into the chair. I’m not an asshole, so of course I feel bad to hear about Connor’s mom. My mom is a lot to deal with, but I couldn’t imagine her being gone.
“This isn’t about you and Connor. It’s about the team.”
I get it. I do. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel like a betrayal.
Owens isn’t only my coach, he’s like family, so I’m surprised he’s made an official decision without discussing it with me first. I can’t help but feel like the decision was made without my input because I might not be here in the next year. Out with the old, in with the new.
“I know what you’re thinking. Connor isn’t a replacement. He’s an addition.”
“As my coach of twelve years, I respect your decisions, but this isn’t going to be easy.”
“I’m not expecting you two to be best friends, but you are the team’s captain and with that comes a responsibility to be an inclusive leader.”
“When’s he coming?” I ask.
“He’s already here.” Coach nods toward the hallway, an indication that Connor is somewhere in the aquatic center.
I’m even more blindsided.
“Seriously? Why didn’t you tell me this yesterday?”
“I didn’t want to ruin your wedding.”
“How thoughtful of you.” A tight smile strains against my lips.
He motions to the wedding band on my left hand. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you.” I fidget with the wedding band, twisting it around my finger. It’s foreign, yet comforting.
“Now go get your warmup in.”
I stand and exit Owens’ office.
My close friends on the team know about my issue with Connor. The media thinks we’re rivals because he snagged a sponsorship deal that had originally been offered to me. Some say I’m bitter because Connor is younger and will likely eclipse my record for all-time most Olympic medals, but my issue with Connor has nothing to do with hardware, and everything to do with honesty and integrity.
Out on the pool deck, I walk over to lane four. My lane.
At the other end of the pool, I can make out the swim cap of another swimmer warming up in it. I yank off my shirt, pull on my cap and goggles, then dive off the blocks.
The water is a cool balm to my heated skin. I slip through it easily, fine-tuned muscle-memory easing me into the warmup. After a few strokes, I can sense the other swimmer’s approach. With both of us plowing forward through the water, we create two opposing high-pressure zones. When we meet in the middle of the pool, the pressure waves collide. The water flow between us is unpredictable as our bodies move through the turbulence of each other’s wake.
Breathing to my left, I catch a glimpse of the swimmer’s face breaking the surface beside me.
Familiar, but unwelcome.
Connor.
Even before our eyes connected, I knew it was him by the sun glinting off his inky sleeve rising out of the water.
Connor is known as the bad boy of swimming. He’s not into drugs or partying, those wouldn’t mesh with our rigorous training, but he’s known for going through women like swim caps.
The upsurge of water his body creates as we move in opposite directions has my body responding with a rush of adrenaline.
We’re warming up, yet when I make the turn, I clock my time well above a casual warmup pace. I shoot off the wall, and a handful of strokes later, we meet again. This time I’m prepared for him and right before we pass, I tilt my chest and angle myself downward, seeking out the small pocket of calmer water underneath Connor’s wave.
On the next lap, my pace increases again. I know it’s fucking stupid and I’m going to regret every second of this when I’m drained before the main set, but I can’t help it. I push on, picking up speed with every turn, keeping my momentum with every pass until I find myself directly behind Connor.
The next turn, I’m right on his heels as he pushes off the wall.
This isn’t the inclusive leadership that Coach talked about but it’s what I need in this moment.
As we ease into the final stretch of the warmup, I glide past Connor and into the wall.
At the pool edge, we surface, each of our arms draping over the opposing lane ropes to rest. Connor lifts his goggles to his forehead.
Connor smirks. “Didn’t know you still had it in you, old man.”
“You shouldn’t have come here, kid.” I wipe the water from my mouth, every muscle in my body heated from our fast-paced warmup.
Charlie appears on the deck. “Hey, did you hear—” He stops short when his eyes find Connor.
“Yeah, I did,” I finish for Charlie, whose brows are lifted in shock.
Connor looks from me to Charlie, then back.
There’s a waiver of uncertainty before his self-assured grin returns.
“Why so serious, Shields? I’m just here to swim, man. Let’s not make this more complicated than it has to be.”
Connor wants to make this easy on himself and brush over our past? Well, I’m not going to give him that.
Grasping the backstroke wedge, I pull myself up to tower over Connor.
“You can act like we’re good all you want, but the fact is, I haven’t forgotten what you did. You crossed a line, and just because you’re here doesn’t mean I’m going to ignore that fact.
“You’re here to swim,” I say, keeping my tone calm but firm. “And that’s all I need from you. Keep your head down, and don’t get in my way.”
At my words, Connor’s jaw clenches. I expect him to argue with me, but instead he gives a terse nod.
“Gentlemen, I’d say you’re warm now.” Coach Owens appears at the top of our lane. “Four hundred freestyle at eighty percent effort. We’re going at the top.”
I pull my goggles down and when the clock hits the zero, I push off the wall.
With every stroke, I feel Connor on my heels, but I refuse to let him distract me. Instead, I use his presence to solidify my goals.
Push harder.
Be better.
Win.