Chapter 65 Quitter
Quitter
Connor
Dad called again this morning right before I got to Maisie’s room with her breakfast treat.
I was worried she’d sense my tension, but she answered the door and instantly wrapped me in a hug, melting all my stress away with that one gesture.
It seems more and more like she’s warming to the idea of being together.
I couldn’t wait to support her today, and after this invitational, I get to support the team in my new capacity as student coach. Only my roommates and Maisie—and I’m assuming Angie—know. We’re announcing it to everyone at practice on Monday. It feels like the new start I need. The one I want, too.
I get to the natatorium early. Not so early that it’s weird, but earlier than your average spectator. Peeking into the locker room, I find it packed to the brim with visiting athletes.
Awkwardly making my way through, I find the guys. “Ready for today? Gonna do me proud?”
“Hell yeah we are!” Brock all but shouts. Then he whispers, “These sorry sacks are going down.”
Hunter rolls his eyes. “Might wanna quiet down. Voices carry in here.”
“Why would I care about that?” Brock counters. “I’m speakin’ facts, nothing less.” He cackles and brushes at each shoulder like he’s king of the world.
Tyler continues silently stretching, then says, “I’m gonna head out on deck, start listening to my playlist. Anyone else?” He eyes each of us briefly. When none of us move, he saunters toward the door that leads to the pool deck.
“Too bad you can’t come on deck, buddy.” Hunter playfully punches my arm. “What’re we gonna do without your old-man music and jokes?”
“Yeah, it’s not gonna slap without you, my guy,” Brock adds, but gets distracted by a dude walking by holding a pizza box. I hear him ask, “Got any extra?”
The guy has no shame.
“I’ll see you guys after. I think I’ll grab something to eat before Maisie’s due to start. Pretty sure none of you compete until later anyway, right?”
Hunter, ever the optimist, chimes in, “Yeah, it’s gonna be a long day, but at least there’s new people to meet.”
“Ha, only you would be shacking up with the competition, bro. But hey, kick some serious butt for me, all right?”
“I’ll do my best.” He salutes and grabs a pizza-less Brock on his way through the swinging doors.
I mosey out to the concession stand and pay for a hot dog.
It’s nostalgic, and I could use the small bit of comfort.
I hate to admit it, but I’m still a bit on edge about my dad calling again this morning.
Something feels off. Why would he keep calling when I don’t answer?
His persistence doesn’t make sense when he doesn’t care about my life—not really, anyway.
I finish eating and realize I’m cutting it close to Maize’s start time.
Hopefully I didn’t worry her by not being out there already.
I quickly find my seat in the stands. Maisie spots me and blows me a kiss, and I send one right back.
Some of our teammates are watching, and I’m glad she doesn’t care about the public display because I sure as hell want everyone to know how much I care about her.
I’ve wanted to shout to the rooftops how much I love her for so long, but this is a good start for now.
Maisie’s up first, and I’m in awe of her strength and grace. She does something few people in the world do, and I hope she knows what a badass that makes her. I’ll be sure to remind her every chance I get.
She’s about to start her approach when my phone buzzes again.
Dad.
What the hell? I shift in my seat but keep my eyes on her. Eventually, he’ll give up, right?
She executes her dive beautifully, and I stand to cheer.
I’m at the edge of my seat the whole competition.
I should have brought my foam finger for how loud I’ve been cheering for Maize.
Angie is the only one of our little group who has had a swimming event so far, which she placed second in.
Maize is climbing the tower for her last dive when a man steps into my line of sight.
“Excuse me.” I shift to look around him.
“Son.”
My blood runs cold. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard that voice in person.
“Dad? What are you doing here?”
“You weren’t answering my calls, so I didn’t know how else to get ahold of you.”
I look around frantically, like someone will notice my distress and tell him to leave. When I realize that isn’t going to happen, I take a deep breath and meet his hazel eyes, the mirrors of my own.
“Please leave, Dad. I don’t have anything to say to you.”
“Well, I have things to say to you!” he bellows.
I stand and grab his arm to shift us to the lobby, worrying the scene could distract Maisie.
He yanks his arm back but follows quietly.
Once we’re in the lobby, I turn to face him.
His arms are crossed, eyes wide, nostrils flared.
He’s pissed, and honestly, that pisses me off a bit.
What does he have to be mad about? That I didn’t call him back?
Well, he ruined our family. I think we’re more than even.
Crossing my arms, I stand as tall as I can and say, “What? What are you doing here? What do you need? In case you didn’t get the message from me not picking up your calls, I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Why the hell aren’t you swimming?” He swings an arm toward the door we just came through like he’s pointing at the pool that isn’t currently visible.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m done swimming. Today was the last competition to sit out for my suspension, but I’m not going back after.”
“The hell you aren’t!” His face is flushed now, fists and jaw clenched. Is this what I look like when I’m angry? I don’t want to be anything like this man. Thank god Dr. Fitz mandated therapy. I refuse to turn out like this.
“Lower your voice,” I command.
“I’ll speak in any tone I so choose. You don’t boss me around. I’m the parent here!”
“Not from where I’m standing. Parents are there for their kids beyond a few phone calls that only revolve around swimming. Well, I’m not swimming anymore, Dad, so what will you say?”
A crack sounds, and it takes a moment for me to realize what happened. He slapped me. Not overly hard, but he did it. There are two or three other people in here, but it was so quick, I don’t think anyone saw it happen.
Anger flares in my chest, so I shut my eyes. I rub my hand along my jeans, letting the texture ground me as I breathe.
“The hell are you doing?” Dad asks.
“Not hitting you back. Even though you fucking deserve it,” I grind out.
He pays no mind to the herculean self-control I’m exhibiting and continues to taunt me. “I didn’t raise you to be like this. A quitter.”
“You quit raising me. If you taught me anything, it was to be a quitter, Dad.”
He grits his teeth but doesn’t say anything for a moment. “If you quit, you won’t have an apartment.”
It feels like a last-ditch effort for control, but I’m realizing he doesn’t truly have any power over me. Not anymore. I’m about to tell him I don’t want or need his fucking apartment when a silhouette I would recognize anywhere pops into the corner of my vision.
Maisie.
No, I don’t want her to see this.