Chapter 27
Twenty-Seven
“You’re tense,” Carson observes, throwing me a glance as he palms the wheel.
I try to melt into the passenger seat but only half-succeed. “Am I that obvious?”
He doesn’t answer, letting silence fill the truck like an invitation.
I let my eyes wander. I’ve been in here once before, on our grocery run. It was spotless then, and it’s spotless now. No dust on the console, no clutter tucked into compartments. But it’s worn where it matters. The seat edges are frayed, the console is scratched. Well-kept, but well-loved.
It’s so him. Layered, controlled, precise. Methodical. Purposeful. The rare times I’ve seen him shed that finely-honed restraint is in the water and… oddly enough, with me.
More than once, I’ve drawn something out of him. Why, I can’t say. The truth is, we’re still strangers in most ways.
Maybe it’s time to change that. To turn the current and wade into deeper water.
I let my head fall against the seat. “The last time I was in a pool was five years ago. Same time I gave up on learning to swim.” The confession drops into the quiet of the car as the memory rises, uninvited.
I fix on Carson’s profile, trying to fend off the sting it still carries.
“I’d been taking private lessons for months, but they weren’t helping, and the nightmares were only getting worse.
My mother thought group lessons might’ve been the answer.
Camaraderie and all that jazz.” My laugh is brittle, barely hitting air.
Carson’s steely eyes flash to mine, coaxing more.
“I’d just started high school and I was scared I wouldn’t make friends.”
Yeah, I had Bryce, and she was all I needed but I wanted to prove I could exist outside of her orbit.
She was the social butterfly, the one people naturally gravitated to.
I loved that for her, I did, but it came hand in hand with trouble for me; my parents started expressing concerns I was too withdrawn.
They thought the night terrors had stunted me, I thought they were overreacting.
Still do. I’d just been introverted and content with what—who—I had.
A lump swells. “Well, I made a friend. All on my own, and I was happy. We clicked, real well.”
Anna. Quiet. Shy. Kind. Or so I thought.
“She couldn’t swim either. Not because she was scared.
She’d just never learned.” I trace the moon’s arc through the windshield.
“My mother thought it was fate and signed us both up together. The first lessons weren’t too bad.
We stuck to basics I’d already gotten the hang of.
Then they had us doing backstroke. Me, Anna, and another person, all in the same lane. ”
“Backstroke as a beginner in a lane with others?” Carson’s head jerks slightly. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Yeah.” My agreement is thin. “I should’ve trusted my gut.
But I didn’t. The water turned rough, spray hitting my face, and then—” A wave.
Sudden, heavy. Submerged. Trapped. “I panicked. It felt like drowning all over again. And it was worse than the night terrors, because this time it was actually real.”
We hit a stoplight, and Carson’s hand finds mine. One I didn’t even realise I was clenching. He pries it open, then traces away half-moon imprints. Other than that he’s quiet, giving me time to move through it all.
I remember the chlorine burning as it went down, but that wasn’t what stung most.
“I didn’t drown. Obviously. But the mortification is something I’ll never forget.
Everyone stared like I was some freak. Someone even caught it on video.
It went viral at school within hours and—” Bitter.
How is it still so, so bitter? The taunts, the teasing, the elaborate little stunts.
“Let’s just say teenagers can be cruel.”
Carson steers one-handed, his grip tightening on mine. “Anna?”
“Anna.”
Quiet. Shy. Kind. And desperate to belong. Part of me still struggles to blame her. She had it rough, the poor kid in a school full of privileged classmates. My world was country clubs and yacht parties. Hers was a broken home, scraping to make ends meet. She only wanted to fit in.
But… it was at my expense. And by default, Bryce’s. We had to switch schools when the bullying got out of hand. After that, I let my twin lead the way, too burned to trust my judgement, so every friend I had was really hers.
Carson’s hand in mine demands acknowledgment.
Until now.
Then it comes. The thought I didn’t ask for. She would’ve loved them. Aspen. Dylan. Reese.
Him.
The numbness tries to drag me under but Carson anchors me to the here and now. “Have you eaten today?”
“No. But I’m not—” hungry. It doesn’t matter. His jaw flexes as he swings the wheel hard, pulling us into an In-N-Out line.
“You need food. I don’t know what your lessons with Reese were like, but you’re going to need energy for how hard I’m going to push you.” He almost sounds angry, but I know none of that heat is for me. “What’s it going to be, Jameson?”
“Fries.”
He throws me a look but doesn’t argue. The speaker crackles.
“Hi, can I take your order please?”
“Yeah. Cheeseburger combo. Large fries.” His eyes flick to me. “Drink?”
“Coke.”
“Add a coke to that.”
A pause, the buzz of static. “Anything else?”
“That’s it, thanks.”
The truck inches forward. Wind breezes in through the window and teases my hair. It’s not long before a bag drops onto my lap, followed by a firm, “Eat.”
I decide to play nice, unwrapping the burger and taking mechanical bites. Slowly, my stomach begins to catch up, stretching a little.
The crinkle of the wrapper is the only sound until he speaks again. “We’re going to my club’s facilities.”
“Oh?”
“There won’t be anyone else there, Brielle.”
Something inside me loosens. “No one?” I whisper.
“No one.” His hand seizes briefly on the wheel. “Private facilities. You don’t need to worry about anyone judging you. Not them. Not me. Never again.”
The intensity makes my chest clench, so I reach for the safer part. “Will you be allowed?”
He nods too quickly, but the shadow of something across his face doesn’t slip past me. “Known the coach since I was a kid. He’s a good man. Was close with my dad.”
Was. My gaze dips and I trace a seam in my jeans.
“And Brielle?”
I look back up, only because his voice comes rougher than ever. His whole frame coils, like he’s holding everything back, and choosing this instead.
“Fuck ‘em for making you feel that way. You should never have been made to feel ashamed for a reaction that was one hundred fucking percent valid.”