Chapter 9
Nine
Maybe this isn’t the brightest idea.
The last time I was about to wade into this ocean, I was under the influence. Too high to actually acknowledge the panic threading itself through my chest like barbed wire.
I’m not saying I shouldn’t be trying at all.
But maybe I should’ve paced this better.
Maybe throwing myself back in is more recklessness than recovery.
Reese reads me like a book. “You’re having second thoughts.”
The waves respond on cue, close enough to taste. A few steps and they’ll be pressing their weight into my ankles.
“You know we don’t gotta do this right now,” he says. “Learning to swim is scary, but learning in the ocean? Even I was scared shitless for a hot second.”
He’s giving me an out. I should take it. Backtrack until the water’s nothing more than white noise in the background again.
But I can’t.
If I run, I fear I’ll never make my way back, and the victory from the other night? It’ll get swallowed by all the times I didn’t follow through. Another attempt that turns into another ghost to find me in my sleep.
I’m here.
Here with a D1 swimmer, confirmed straight from the source, and I’ve got nothing but time and tide in front of me.
If not now… when?
And yeah, maybe this’ll lead to another dead end. After all, I’ve been coached by instructors with glossy certifications and years of experience, so what chance does Reese really have?
But he has one thing they didn’t.
I’m different now. No longer ruled by full-bodied fear. There’s a part of me, a half, that’s gone quiet. Dead.
I anchor myself in that numbness, let it hold some of the fear at bay.
“No. I want to do this.” I squint up at him. “If you’re still a willing participant.”
“Course I’m willing, beautiful. It’s no skin off my nose.” He tilts his head. “C’mon.”
Dry sand crumbles into damp, then damp to cool muck. The ocean creeps closer as I follow him in, trembling lines to his smooth composure.
“Let’s get this fun started.”
And I’m in.
“Let’s,” I whisper.
Calm, clear instructions have muddied countless times under medium-grade panic, but one I understand clear as day.
“Let’s head back to Aspen and Dylan.”
Now the summer heat clings to us, drying salt and effort from our skin.
Reese nudges my shoulder with his.
“Don’t stress. That was only the first run. We’ll try again soon.” He pauses, hand dragging down his neck. “Just… not today. Gotta recover after that.”
Same. Honestly, there’s not a single glowing review I could give that lesson, except I did it.
Nothing went right. I didn’t float. I barely remembered to breathe. Most of the time I was clinging to Reese’s arm like it could anchor me to something steady.
I think he underestimated the depth of my fear.
And I overestimated the strength of my resolve.
But like I said, I did it.
As overwhelmed as I am, the water’s behind me, and the rest of the day stretches ahead. It’s only mid-afternoon, but for the first time in a while, it feels like I’ve made a day count.
As we get closer to where Aspen and Dylan are lounging, I squint. Dylan’s hair is cropped shorter. Darker. Skin more golden than tawny, with shoulders bridged just that little wider.
Carson.
I haven’t seen him since he left during breakfast.
Now he’s stretched back on his elbows, all lazy limbs and showy muscles. That is until his head lifts. His gaze hooks into mine, and suddenly nothing about him looks relaxed.
He doesn’t look away from my face. But somehow, it feels like he’s tracing every part of me, from the sheen of my skin, the drip of my hair, the way my one-piece still clings close. His jaw tightens, a fleeting twitch gone too quickly to decipher.
Aspen follows the unspoken thread between us, and brightens. “How did it go?”
I sink down beside her on the towel, reaching for my throw. “It went.”
“Sure did.” Reese collapses next to Carson with a flop. He scrubs at his arm. “Not quite the smooth sailing I expected, I’ll admit.”
“You know what?” I fish around my tote for a claw clip. “We’re being too critical. First attempts are always messy. We did fine.” Then I hear myself. Hear the wording. My mouth snaps shut. I twist, pointing a warning finger at Reese. Reese, whose eyes twinkle with laughter. “Don’t… say anything.”
Aspen’s cheeks dimple, and I know Reese is about to defy me, but Carson speaks first. No trace of amusement, naturally.
“How did what go?”
“What? Oh.” Reese jerks a thumb my way. “Teaching Miss First-Time here how to swim.”
I don’t so much see Carson’s frown as feel it, a subtle pressure under my skin.
“What do you mean, teaching?” There’s none of the usual bite. If anything, it lands like he’s confused.
Reese opens his mouth, primed with a response, then pauses. His eyes flick to me. Brows lift. A silent your call.
I shrug. It’s a nice gesture, but also pointless. Carson already knows I can’t swim. I literally asked him if he could teach me.
My fingers brush plastic as Reese says, “Exactly that. Teaching. Brielle can’t swim.”
It’s fascinating, the change. All that easy athleticism turning rigid, like a cord yanked mid-motion.
Then, slowly, so slowly, his head turns.
“You can’t swim?”
I nod, slipping off my hair tie and gathering the wet weight of my hair. “I told you that, didn’t I?” I don’t know why he’s dialled his scrutiny to ten like I’ve confessed to something outrageous.
His head shifts in the faintest denial, but his eyes never leave me. They track the curve of my wrist, the twist of my fingers as I knot my bun into place.
When he finally speaks, it sounds torn between two poles. “That’s not what you told me.”
There’s some kind of internal war waging behind his eyes, two opposite forces clawing for ground. One I’ve been on the receiving end once: soft, careful, gentle. The other? I’m very familiar with. Anger.
From the way his jaw whitens under strain, I know exactly which side wins.
“What the fuck were you thinking, pulling a stunt like that when you can’t swim?”
Aspen’s affronted. Reese straightens.
And me? I do the exact thing guaranteed to tick him off further. I shrug.
I can’t help it; his words hitting all the wrong places. Sure, his concern’s valid, but that stunt wasn’t a joke. It was me clawing through years of suffocating, throat-closing, chest-caving terror.
He doesn’t know that. How could he? Still, I won’t, can’t, let him reduce it to recklessness.
“Seemed like fun at the time.”
Only he doesn’t take the bait. Doesn’t even blink. Instead his eyes move over my face, fast, fast, fast like he’s hunting for something I’m not ready to give.
I recognise that look; it’s one people get when they’re trying to measure the extent of a truth.
I frown. He doesn’t think… No. I already shut that down.
But the anger’s crumbling and I think he is.
“It’s not what you’re thinking.”
It snaps back in, red-hot. “What am I thinking, Brielle?”
Once again my name slices.
I’m mindful of Aspen and Reese as I say, “What you first thought. I told you, that’s not what I was doing.”
Something wavers, his stance teetering for a moment between reactions. Hard lines loosen, but just as fast they’re back, fiercer than before. Disgust ties it all off, and I can practically hear him think it. Reckless.
“And you.” He rounds on Reese. “Teaching her to swim in the ocean? Have you lost your head and I just don’t know about it?”
Reese is cool to Carson’s hot.
“It’s fine. We’re careful. Not exactly my first pick for a classroom, but she wanted it. Couldn’t bring myself to say no. Plus”—he nods toward the water—“floating’s easier here, so it’s not all bad.”
By the time Carson’s glare swings back to me, I’ve borrowed a page from Reese’s book. “Why don’t you know how to swim?”
“I couldn’t really commit to it.”
Reese and Aspen don’t call me out on the lie, and thank God for that. If Carson knows I’m scared, he’ll circle right back to the thinking it was some kind of suicidal act.
Seconds tick by, each one punctuated by the screech of gulls overhead and Carson’s unrelenting stare.
He knows I’m lying. I can feel it. But he doesn’t know why.
“It’s not a smart idea, Reese.” He’s still looking at me when he says it. “You said it yourself, the waves are unpredictable. The water is too choppy. There’s no walls for her to push off here either so you can’t show her shit like front gliding.” He shakes his head, reiterates, “It’s not smart.”
My pulse stutters, then kicks into overdrive.
I can’t tell if it’s him hammering in how dangerous the ocean is or the fear that his logic is landing exactly the way he probably wants it to. He’s already made it clear he doesn’t want me around Aspen. It’s not a stretch to think that applies to the rest of his friends too.
Reese’s thumb drags along his bicep as he considers Carson. Then he slants a look my way, and I know.
Carson’s pulled this one out from under me.
“Why don’t you teach her?”
Wait, what?
“Yeah,” Reese nods, leaning into it. “You’d be better. You’ve taught others before, and if she’s gonna learn with anyone, I’d put money on you being the best fit.”
Aspen chimes in with her own easy agreement, but I barely register it.
I’m too focused on Carson.
Up until now, I hadn’t thought back to his maybe. Why would I, when he’s made his disdain clear at every turn.
But now?
Now I’m thinking… so what?
Plenty of people harbouring colder, mutual feelings have made dream teams before.
And I’ve seen him swim. Admired him, been inspired by him. So I hold my breath, waiting for his answer.
It comes without hesitation.
“No.” Clipped. Curt. Final. A scowl even seals it.
He doesn’t want it. But I do.
Badly.
I throw it out without thinking.
“I’ll make it worth your time by paying you.”
He doesn’t laugh like Reese did. Doesn’t even crack a smile. Instead, there’s a flash of anger, and a sound of pure ire leaves him.
“I don’t need your money.” The delivery is enough to crank the air five degrees hotter. “I’m sure you’ve got other things you’d rather spend it on.”
“Carson,” Reese grouses. “Chill out, man.”
He’s angry, but me? I’m just confused.
What is that supposed to mean?
I don’t get the chance to ask, because he’s already on his feet.
“I’m going for a swim.”
Then he’s cutting across the sand like he can’t get away faster.
Aspen’s hand finds mine, tugging until I look away from his retreat.
“You were right,” she murmurs. “I’m sorry, Bri.”
“Right about what?” Reese pipes up.
“Carson not liking her. I didn’t believe it, but this is, what, the fourth time he’s been so…”
“Cold?” Reese supplies, a whistle following. “Yeah. Wouldn’t have believed it either, but damn. There’s definitely no love lost between you two. Care to share with the group?”
“It’s a long story.”
It isn’t. But I don’t want to share. That night, its lows and its highs, belongs to us.
“Alright, darling. Don’t worry about him. I’m sure he’ll come around.”