Seas the Day (Paranormal Dating Agency #103)
Chapter 1
ONE
NAVIRA
The whistle’s sharp blast cut through the humid air of the Notre Dame aquatic center that afternoon during the swim team’s daily training session.
Navira lowered the silver instrument from her lips with methodical precision as her blue eyes tracked her fifteen female students cutting through the chlorinated water.
“Sarah, you’re dropping your elbow again. Feel the water, don’t fight it.” Navira’s voice carried that authority born from years of hard-won knowledge.
She walked along the pool’s edge with fluid grace, each movement deliberate and each observation sharp as the lane lines beneath the water’s surface. Navira suddenly paused beside lane four, crouching down as one of her swimmers approached the wall.
“There—see how Emma’s stroke flows? That’s what we’re after. Power from the core, not just the arms,” Navira explained for what seemed like the thousandth time.
Without hesitation, she slipped out of her Notre Dame hoodie and dove into the pool, her body remembering exactly how to slice through water with minimal splash.
The familiar embrace of chlorine and pressure wrapped around her like an old friend.
Within seconds, she surfaced beside Gretchen and then demonstrated the stroke with effortless precision, her shoulders rolling in perfect rhythm.
“Like this,” Navira shouted out as she swam.
The girls watched with undisguised admiration, their eyes wide with the kind of reverence reserved for legends. Because that’s what Navira was—Olympic gold medalist, record holder, the swimmer whose name still appeared in the program notes five years after her last race.
After Navira completed the lap, she pulled herself out of the pool in one smooth motion, water cascading from her lean frame. Her best friend and assistant coach Jenna appeared beside her with a towel, her blonde ponytail swinging as she shook her head with mock disapproval.
“Show off.” Jenna’s green eyes sparkled with mischief. “You know they’re going to spend the rest of practice trying to replicate that entry.”
“Good. They should.” Navira wrapped the towel around her waist, but her attention remained on the pool. “Muscle memory is important.”
“Speaking of muscle memory...” Jenna leaned against the starting blocks, her voice dropping to that tone that meant she was about to venture into dangerous territory. “How’s the shoulder feeling these days?”
Navira’s hand moved instinctively to her right shoulder, her fingers finding the spot where everything had changed. “It’s fine.”
“Fine enough for a comeback tour?” The question hung between them like a challenge.
“Jen.” The warning in Navira’s voice was gentle but unmistakable.
“What? I’m just saying. Your times from practice last week would still qualify for nationals. And your butterfly stroke looked better than half the current Olympic hopefuls—”
“That was five years ago.” Navira’s laugh carried no humor. “Ancient history in swimming years.”
“Bullshit.” Jenna crossed her arms, settling into her stubborn stance. “You’re thirty-four, not seventy-four. Dara Torres was swimming competitively at forty-one.”
The familiar ache settled in Navira’s chest—not physical but something deeper.
“Besides,” Jenna continued, her voice softening, “I’m not just talking about the Olympics. I’m talking about life. When’s the last time you felt that fire? That rush?”
Navira’s eyes found the pool again, watching her students power through their sets. “I feel it every day. Coaching—”
“That’s not the same and you know it.” Jenna stepped closer, lowering her voice. “Don’t get me wrong, what you do here matters. These girls worship you, and they should. But Navira...” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “Year by year, you’re getting smaller.”
The words hit like ice water. Navira turned to face her best friend, defensive fire sparking in her chest. “I’m not smaller. I’m stable. I’m content.”
“Content.” Jenna repeated the word like it tasted bitter. “When did Navira Amaryllis ever settle for content?”
“Since I was forced to. Since I learned that chasing dreams leads to—” Navira gestured vaguely at her shoulder.
“To what? To Jeremy bailing the second things got complicated?” Jenna’s voice sharpened. “Because that’s what this is really about, isn’t it? Not just the shoulder injury. But the way he looked at you like you were damaged.”
Navira’s jaw tightened. “That’s not—”
“It is, though.” Jenna’s expression gentled, but her words remained unflinching. “Five years, Navira. Five years of safe guys who don’t challenge you, don’t push you, don’t see the fire underneath all that careful control. You’ve dated more accountants than a tax firm.”
Despite herself, Navira’s lips twitched. “David was an engineer.”
“Same energy. Safe, predictable, zero chance of making you feel anything close to what you felt in Rio when you touched that wall first.” Jenna leaned forward. “It’s not that you’re stuck necessarily. You’re just choosing to stay small.”
The accusation landed with surgical precision, finding every doubt Navira had been carefully not thinking about. She pulled the towel tighter around her, armor against truths she wasn’t ready to face.
“This life is enough,” Navira said, but even to her own ears, the words sounded rehearsed. “This team, the routine, my independence. It matters.”
Jenna didn’t argue further, just gave her that look—the one that said she could see straight through the careful construction of Navira’s contentment to the restless energy beneath. And Navira hated that part of her, the part that wanted more out of life but didn’t know how to achieve it now.
Something inside Navira snapped. “That’s it for today,” she called out. “Good work everyone.”
Her students exchanged puzzled glances, treading water in confusion. Navira never cut sessions short. Jenna pushed off from the wall where she’d been leaning, her green eyes sharp with concern.
“Navira, we’ve got another thirty minutes—”
“I know what time it is.” The words came out sharper than intended. “We’ll make up for it tomorrow.”
The girls began filtering out of the pool, their conversations echoing off the tile walls.
Jenna lingered, clearly wanting to say something, but Navira turned away, focusing on the lane ropes with unnecessary intensity.
After what felt like an eternity, the last footsteps faded.
Navira sank into a crouch, the water stretching before her, perfectly still now—a mirror reflecting the harsh fluorescent lights above.
A memory came unbidden. Five years old, standing on the pool deck for the first time after her mother’s death, her father’s gentle hand on her shoulder.
“The water will help you, sweetheart,” her father had whispered, his voice thick with his own grief.
He’d been right, in ways neither of them could have imagined. Swimming had become her sanctuary, her identity, and her escape from the hollow ache where her mother’s laughter used to live. Every stroke had been a prayer, every race a chance to outrun the shadows that followed her.
Until that morning in Tokyo, when her life changed in an instant.
Another memory surfaced—one that played on repeat for the past five years—the snapping sound in her right shoulder during what should have been a routine warm-up at the Summer Olympics in Tokyo.
Not career-ending, the doctors assured her that much.
She could return to competition within eighteen months they’d told her as she was forced to withdraw from the Olympics that year.
But eighteen months had stretched into five years, and the fire that once burned in her chest had dimmed to barely glowing embers. She could have come back—her times in practice proved that. Yet something fundamental had broken that day, something the physical therapy couldn’t touch.
Jeremy had tried to understand, in his own way. “You’re being ridiculous,” he’d said, pacing their shared apartment. “You’re letting fear win. This isn’t the Navira I fell in love with.”
He’d been right about that last part, at least. The Navira he’d fallen in love with wouldn’t have recognized the woman staring at her reflection in the pool’s surface now—cautious where she’d once been fearless, content where she’d once been hungry.