Chapter 45
forty-five
. . .
RORY
I miss your face
Summer
I miss your cock
Fuck, Wildflower. I’m going to have a boner for the press conference
Summer
Oops
Are you painting?
Summer
Yes! I’m working on my swimmer today. I might be able to finish it.
I snap a selfie and send it to her.
In case you need it for inspiration.
Summer
Gee, thanks
I’ve got to get in there.
Summer
Good luck, Flipper!
It’s four days.
It’s temporary , I remind myself.
Not being with Summer, but leaving her to travel. The swim pro series national meet in Fort Lauderdale.
It’s been a week since we ended up soaked and freezing in my Jeep. Since she climbed into my lap and completely ruined me.
The way she looked with rain dripping down her hair, shirt clinging to her like a second skin, and her cheeks flushed from the cold rain. It was nothing compared to the way she looked when she took me inside her.
We didn’t talk about what it meant. But the way she looked at me afterward told me what I needed to know. Summer was trying not to fall, but the fact she was trying so hard meant she already was.
The urge to ask her to change shifts at the café and cancel her dog walking clients was strong. But then it occurred to me, she doesn’t need to rearrange her life just because I want her with me.
“Retirement. It’s inevitable and with the toll training takes on an athlete’s body, it’s unlikely we’ll see you back in another four years. Are you thinking coaching? Broadcasting? More commercial work? What’s the dream?”
The press room is too cold, too bright, and too far from the girl I can’t stop thinking about.
I adjust the mic in front of me and force a smile. “Right now, the dream is a good night’s sleep and a solid meet.”
A few chuckles ripple through the room. I glance at the reporters, all waiting for the polished soundbite, the headline-worthy quote.
“But seriously…” I run a hand through my hair. “I’ve spent most of my life chasing hundredths of a second. I’m still proud to be here. Still love competing. But for the first time, I’m starting to wonder what life looks like beyond the pool.”
The words are out before I can second guess them. I haven’t said them aloud before. Not to my coach. Not to my teammates. Not even to Summer.
Another reporter chimes in. “Does that mean this could be your last meet?”
“I’ve got more in the tank. I’m not done.” My thoughts drift to Summer. To the version of myself I see in her eyes. “But, if I stay in the sport, I want it to be on my terms.”
They write that down, of course.
But the real story isn’t something I’m ready to share in a press room.
The real story is a girl with paint under her fingernails and a dog that snores louder than a human. It’s late-night grocery runs and beach days and the jars of pickles she keeps stocked in our fridge.
The real story is that, for the first time in my life, I’m not just swimming toward the wall.
I’m swimming toward someone.
I’m adjusting my goggles when the sharp whistle cuts through the chatter of the warm-up pool.
“Shields!” Coach Owens’s voice carries across the deck. “Get over here.”
I jog over to where Coach is standing and my eyes go wide when I find Charlie on the bench, grimacing and clutching his shoulder while Winnie kneels beside him.
“What happened?” I ask.
“I felt a snap on the catch,” Charlie says, his face contorting in pain.
“Rotator cuff, maybe,” Coach says. “He’s out.”
Fuck.
His words hit like a punch. Not because our medley relay final is in thirty minutes but because I’m devastated for Charlie.
I hate seeing my friend in pain and more than the physical discomfort, I know first-hand that an injury brings mental and emotional stress. While the extent of his injury is unknown, not having a healthy body is demoralizing for any athlete. It fucking sucks and I wish I could tell him it’s going to be okay, but I can’t promise that.
“Hey, Charlie.”
He turns around; expression somber.
“We got you,” I tell him firmly. “No matter what.”
He nods, then I watch as Winnie leads him to the medical facility to get him checked out.
As a team, all we can do right now is finish the meet while Charlie gets evaluated.
After we fill them in, Eli and Logan emerge from the warmup pool and the three of us huddle around Coach Owens to see how he wants to handle Charlie’s withdrawal. Who he wants to put on the freestyle leg of our world record medley relay team.
“Who are you thinking? Xio?” I ask, taking in Coach’s cross-armed thinking stance.
“His split is fast, but he’s recovering from his fifty-meter win a few hours ago.”
Movement over Logan’s shoulder catches my eye.
It’s Connor.
“I can do it.” He nods at Coach.
Logan chuckles. “Yeah, right. I’m not swimming my ass off just to get a DQ because you can’t handle the exchange.”
Connor doesn’t even flinch at Logan’s insult. “I’ve been practicing takeovers.”
Realizing Connor is being serious, Logan shakes his head. “Not with any of us.”
Coach shakes his head. “You’ve got the individual medley prelims in an hour. It’s not enough time to recover.”
“I’ll be fine. It’s important. Please.”
Coach looks at me.
My instinct is to say no. To put Xio on the leg even if he fades out on the final stretch. At least I can trust the kid.
But then I remember what Summer said about giving Connor another chance. Letting his current actions speak louder than his words from the past. And, if I don’t give him a chance to prove he’s changed, then I’m not the captain I want to be.
Slowly, I nod my head. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”
Coach nods in approval before walking off to make the change with the meet organizers.
“You’re kidding, right?” Logan scoffs, ignoring the fact that Connor is still standing there.
Eli claps Logan on the shoulder. “Come on, we’ve got to finish our warm up.”
Maybe I think Connor can’t do it or maybe I want him to prove me wrong. Either way, this meet, this relay, feels like a hinge. A chance to shift things back into place and start fresh.
Connor joins us in the warmup pool, but we’ve already used up most of the time we had when Charlie hurt his shoulder, so we get a few laps in, then throw on our parka jackets and move to the ready room to await our announcement.
Connor sitting next to me feels off, but I know I can’t let it affect me so I pull on my headphones, start my pre-race playlist, then close my eyes to visualize every stroke of my race.
Ten minutes later, the meet official signals for our event to line up, and one by one, the teams are announced to be escorted out to the pool deck.
In the lane next to ours the team from the Savannah Sharks stops to gawk. “Connor Fisk is on a relay team. Damn, did we just enter an alternate timeline?”
“Hey, Connor,” Dorian Wells from the Milwaukee Marlins calls. “Didn’t think you played well with others.”
“Forget about them,” I say. “They’re just trying to get to you.”
His jaw clenches. “Yeah, I know.”
“Hey, Dorian, you worried about our lineup, or just pissed that we’re still going to beat you?” I flash him a cocky grin.
Dorian lifts his brows. “Didn’t think he was relay material.”
I shrug. “Maybe you should spend more time training and less time running your mouth.”
I feel Connor’s eyes on me but I don’t look at him. I focus on unsnapping my parka and dropping my slides in the bin behind our lane.
Eli drops into the water and grabs the backstroke ledge to start us off.
Logan, Connor, and I watch from the block as Eli struggles to hold off the Savannah Sharks swimmer.
This isn’t the World Championship or Olympic team trials, but it’s still an important meet that will start to shape the national team roster.
We should be winning this race but there’s no ignoring that Charlie’s injury and the aftermath of changing up our roster has shaken up our team, myself included.
I feel it the moment I hit the water. Something’s off but it has nothing to do with my knee. It’s mental.
Pulling through the water, with each stroke, I lean into my physical training and let my body do the work. It’s enough to keep pace with our lane neighbors, but barely. Both the Savannah Sharks and the Milwaukee Marlins teams are giving us a challenge.
As I make contact with the wall, I hear the splash of Logan diving in behind me to begin his leg. With shaky limbs, I climb out of the water, and brace my hands on my knees. Eli and I share a look. There’s no point in saying anything out loud. We don’t want to add more pressure onto Connor when the pressure is already palpable.
By the time Logan finishes, it’s still a tight race between us, Savannah, and Milwaukee.
I hold my breath as Connor hits the water, then slowly exhale when I see that he’s made a clean exchange. When he resurfaces, he’s nearly a foot in front of the other teams. His expertly executed take-off has given us a slight advantage over the other swimmers.
Eli and I give Logan a hand to help him out of the water, before our eyes return to our lane to trail Connor.
At the far end of the pool, Connor’s strokes are crisp and efficient as he flips underwater to touch the wall just over a second ahead of the rest of the field.
My heart pounds in my chest, not just from the adrenaline of the race, but from watching Connor slice through that first fifty meters like a man possessed. No panic. No wasted motion. Just power and precision.
Something tugs in my chest, an ache I can’t name at first.
But then, I realize while my relationship with Summer has me looking to the future, it has me recognizing there are things from the past I don’t want to hold onto anymore, especially my feud with Connor.
I still remember how it felt when Connor took the deal behind my back. The sting of it. The disbelief. I’d trusted him, mentored him, and then was blindsided.
But watching him give everything to this relay when I know he’s got individual events to make the finals for is softening my frustration with him. It’s helping me see that the version of Connor that took that deal isn’t the guy in front of me anymore. And while the betrayal still hurt, it doesn’t have to define us.
Now, I look on as Connor approaches the finish line with the poise of a veteran swimmer. Sometimes I forget that’s what he is now. He’s no longer the lanky kid that I mentored. The quiet teenager with something to prove and nowhere to belong.
He’s not reckless and desperate. He’s confident and ready. And while I didn’t see it in the beginning, Connor showing up to train with the Current was his first step in wanting to make things right.
The crowd is deafening as our team cheers Connor on to the finish.
He glides into the wall and the results board lights up with our time.
Not only did we win, but we managed to pull a team best for time.
Logan and Eli drag Connor out of the pool then wrap their arms around his shoulders to celebrate the win. Connor’s out of breath but smiling while Logan grabs his face and kisses him on the cheek.
“Not going to happen.” Eli laughs. “Sorry, Fisk, I draw the line at kissing.”
Finally, Logan moves to grab his warmups out of the bin, giving Connor space to breathe. With his hands on his knees, he looks up to meet my eyes.
I clap a hand to his wet shoulder. “You did good, kid.”
“Thanks, old man.” He grins through a pant.
I smirk, but let it slide. There’s more to say between us, but that will come later.
For now, we head over to the mix zone where the media is waiting to interview us, and celebrate our victory.