Chapter 6
TALON
Iwas on my way to the Wilson Center for afternoon practice when my phone buzzed in my pocket.
Dad.
For a second, I considered letting it go to voicemail like I usually did. But guilt—or maybe just a spark of defiance—had me answering. I took a breath, shoved down the dread already creeping in, and hit accept.
“Hey, Dad.”
“You finally picked up.” His voice was rough, as if I’d been dodging him for months instead of days.
“I’ve been busy. Training. Conditioning.” My tone came out clipped, the annoyance impossible to hide.
“And looking for a real job, I hope,” he shot back. “Swimming isn’t a career, Talon.”
There it was. The same conversation we’d been having for years, just on repeat.
“I know. You tell me every time we talk.”
“And every time you act like swimming matters more than your future. You’re twenty-five years old. Do you really think this is sustainable?”
I shut my eyes and forced myself to breathe before I said something I couldn’t take back. “Is there a reason you’re calling, or do you just want to run through the usual greatest hits?”
“Heaven forbid I check in on my son,” he muttered, sarcasm dripping through the line.
I pushed through the doors of the Wilson Center, the familiar smell of chlorine and rubber flooring wrapping around me like home. “I’m good. It’s only March. Still time to get my times where they need to be.”
“This isn’t a joke,” he snapped. “You can’t live like a college kid forever. It’s time to get serious. Get a job. Swim on the side, like exercise.”
I almost laughed at the absurdity of it.
A job? Now? Between dryland training, double swim practices, recovery sessions, and trying to feed my body enough to keep up, I barely had time to breathe.
The only sliver of free time I carved out was at night when I wrote—my fantasy romance manuscript waiting patiently for me to shape it into something real.
That was my future. Not spreadsheets. Not the business degree he’d shoved down my throat.
“Dad.” I tried and failed to keep my voice steady. “This is it. My last season. After this, I’m done competing. But until then, I’m going to give everything I have to make it to the Olympics. That’s my dream. Not yours. Not anyone else’s.”
He sighed like I was a disappointment he didn’t know what to do with. “You’re going to regret this one day.”
“Then that’ll be on me,” I said firmly. My throat tightened, but I pushed through it. “I have to go to practice.”
I ended the call before he could say goodbye.
Frustration churned hot through my veins, sharp enough to keep me from focusing on anything else. Fine. I’d use it. Rage was fuel. Doubt was motivation. Nothing made me swim faster than the need to prove someone wrong.
I tossed my bag down, changed, and walked onto the deck. The hum of chatter, the splash of bodies hitting water, the faint echo of whistles—it all blurred into white noise the moment my eyes hit the pool.
Adjusting my goggles, I drew in a deep breath and dove in.
The world above shattered the second I hit the water.
Silence pressed in around me, cool and absolute.
Down here, there was no father telling me to quit, no looming question of what came next, no deadlines or regrets.
Just me, the line on the bottom of the pool, and the rhythm of my body slicing through the water.
Making it to the Olympics wasn’t just about the dream anymore. It was about proving—to my dad, to myself—that these years hadn’t been wasted. That the thing I loved most hadn’t been foolish. That I wasn’t foolish.
This was my choice. My last chance. And I wasn’t letting it slip away.
Silence. Flow. Power.
Every stroke carried me farther down the lane, muscles burning in the best possible way.
Swimming gave me discipline, structure, and a singular focus.
Writing, though? That was different. Writing cracked me open.
It let me take all the emotions I couldn’t say out loud—frustration with my dad, fear of time running out, loneliness—and twist them into something beautiful.
In my book, the hero was fighting to save a kingdom, torn between love and duty.
Maybe it wasn’t all that different from me, fighting against a clock, caught between expectations and the dream I couldn’t let go.
When I broke the surface at the wall, I gulped air like it was life itself, already calculating the next set. Another push, another chance to go faster. But in the back of my mind, the story was still there, characters whispering, begging me not to forget them.
By the time practice ended, my arms and legs were jelly, and I dragged myself toward the locker room. Ledger was already there, sprawled on the bench like he owned the place, towel slung over his shoulders.
“Dang, Tal, you looked like a man possessed out there,” he said, grinning. “Who pissed you off this time?”
“My dad,” I muttered, dropping onto the bench across from him. Water still dripped from my hair, but I didn’t bother with a towel.
“Again?” Ledger barked out a laugh. “Let me guess. ‘Get a real job,’ right?”
“Bingo.” I rubbed my face with the towel. “It’s like clockwork with him.”
Before Ledger could answer, Ridge strolled in, goggles still on top of his head. My little brother—though at twenty-three and six foot one, “little” didn’t fit anymore—flopped onto the bench beside me.
“You looked good today,” Ridge said, bumping my shoulder with his. “If you keep swimming like that, you’ll smoke everyone this weekend.”
“Speaking of this weekend,” Ledger smirked, “have you seen Library Girl again? Maybe you can invite her to come watch you swim.” He snapped his towel at me, laughing.
I groaned, but Ridge perked up immediately. “Wait—Library Girl? Did something happen that you didn’t tell me about?”
I hesitated, sitting down on the bench. “I ran into her the other day at the café, after you guys left.”
Ledger leaned in. “And?”
“And … then ran into her again the next day when she was video messaging her friend. About my abs.”
That got the reaction I expected—Ledger nearly choked on his water bottle, and Ridge burst out laughing.
“What?” Ridge managed between laughs.
“It wasn’t like that,” I said quickly, though the tips of my ears burned. “She made some joke about how she didn’t need to go to a swim meet to see my abs when she could just look at my posters. So I offered to show her and her friend the real thing.”
Ledger shook his head, still grinning. “Classic Talon.”
“Like I said, it was all a joke.”
Ridge nudged me with his shoulder. “So what’s your next move? You going back to the library?”
“I don’t exactly have time to wait around for her to appear.”
“Then make time,” Ledger said, dead serious for once. “You’re already at Wilson every day. The library’s across the street. It’s obvious you have a thing for her.”
Ridge snapped his fingers, eyes gleaming. “Better yet—invite her to the meet this weekend. Girls eat up that Olympic-hopeful stuff. Free ticket, loud crowd, you looking like Aquaman. Win-win.”
I shook my head, half exasperated, half amused. They had no clue what Livvi would like. I was pretty sure it wasn’t loud crowds and Aquaman. “You two are ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous?” Ledger repeated. “No, ridiculous would be you not asking her.”
Ridge leaned back on the bench, smug as ever. “Face it, bro. Library Girl deserves at least an invite. If she shows, maybe she’s interested. If not—no harm done. But if you don’t try, you’ll never know.”
I didn’t respond, but the idea lodged itself in the back of my head and refused to move.
Invite her to the meet. Simple. At least in theory.
But in practice? My life wasn’t simple. Between training, my dad breathing down my neck, and the pressure of this being my last shot at making the Olympic team, adding in a woman felt reckless.
I didn’t need anything or anyone distracting me from my goal.
I already felt stretched thin. Swimming consumed almost every hour of my day.
The slivers of time I did have left, I poured into writing—into building the fantasy world that had been clawing at me for years.
And then there was ReadToLiv. Our late-night messages, her sarcastic jokes and surprising honesty—they’d become something I looked forward to more than I should probably admit.
Maybe even something I was starting to crush on.
So the idea of chasing after another woman on top of all that? Insane. It felt disloyal, even if ReadToLiv and I were only words on a screen. And yet …
The thought of Library Girl—of Livvi—sitting in the stands at my meet sent a spark of adrenaline through me that had nothing to do with competition. I could almost picture her leaning forward as the buzzer went off, her eyes tracking me through the water.
Dang it. I didn’t have time for this. Didn’t have room for it. But wanting her there? That was a harder truth to ignore.
I told myself I’d forget about it, brush it off like I always did. But walking out of the locker room, I knew the truth.
I was already picturing her there.