Chapter 54
Fifty-Four
Swimming.
The whiff of chlorine used to drag nightmares with it. I’d flinch at the smell, wake up convinced I was drowning.
Now I’m here, cutting through rippling blue.
No mastery, no grace, just motion and a lightness that’s hard to believe I’ve achieved.
I didn’t think I’d ever make it here.
Here…
Water laps gently at my shoulders as I blink up at the skylight above. Why am I here?
When Carson handed me the access card with a casual mention of empty slot times and a “just in case,” I doubt this is what he had in mind. Me, showing up, even without him.
There are other pools in Grove. Bigger, better, closer.
But none hold memory like this one.
The hush of his hand pulling me through water. The reassurance of his watchful gaze as I tried, failed, and tried again. The flash of his rare grin breaking wide when I’d succeed.
There’s only one pool in Grove that has his name woven into the lane tiles.
And there’s only one pool that holds it. That last real moment. Us, stripped to nothing but breath and honesty, our whispered truths floating above the water until they sank inside me. Even now, it buzzes alive behind my ribs.
I push off the wall, legs kicking in tandem to my arms. Breathe in, breathe out. My body remembers now. At the turn, I flip, just like he taught me. It’s a little clumsy, but cleaner than the first—
“Form’s not bad.”
My heart skips, stupidly. For a split second, every nerve braces, reaches. I listed all the reasons for coming here… but left out one.
The chance. The small, unlikely chance that I might see him.
Only it’s not Carson.
The voice that carries across the water is gruffer, belonging to the broad-shouldered man watching from the edge. He watches with the kind of authority that comes from years of doing this.
“Thank you,” I manage, swiping water from my lashes.
He inclines his head. “Coach Jake.” I figured. I open my mouth to say something, maybe some half-formed excuse for using his facilities, but he saves me the trouble. “You must be Brielle.”
Oh. Surprise laces with something warmer, something dangerously close to hope. There’s only one reason he’d know who I am.
“Yeah.”
Distant chatter drifts from the corridor, doors clicking shut. He tracks the sound for a moment before returning to me.
“Like I said, your form’s solid. Just keep your hips up and engage your core. Makes all the difference in control.”
I nod, filing it away like treasure. “Thank you.” Tips from anyone help, but tips from him, the coach the guys talk about with near-reverence, mean more. Especially now that I’m winging this whole thing solo.
He nods once, shifting like he’s about to go—but his fingers clamp tighter around the clipboard. One beat passes, then another, before his eyes find me again.
“I have to say it. Carson is like a son to me.”
The whir of pool filters fades beneath the thud in my chest.
“I’ve seen that boy grow up. Been there at every chapter.
His first lap in this pool, losing his dad, Hannah…
Through all of it, he’s never stopped showing up.
Never once gave less than everything.” His voice drops, roughened by memory.
“I remember when his college trials were coming up. Kid was deep in his own head, caught in the worst kind of mind-game. I could see it all over him—he didn’t wanna go through with it.
I thought I’d have to step in, give him the hard talk, remind him he was the best damn swimmer I’ve ever coached.
” A faint shake of his head, more admiration than frustration.
“I didn’t even need to say a word. He beat me to it.
Still remember exactly how he put it: ‘There’s never a world where I don’t do this. It’s not just me in the picture.’”
There’s a pause.
He levels me with a look that feels heavier than the words themselves. “Thats Carson. Always carrying more than his share. He’ll give and give until he has nothing left and it kills him.”
My throat is tight, the heaviness of what he’s told me pressing at the base of it. He still has the mind-game with swimming, doesn’t he? Still gives and gives.
How much does he have left?
Coach must see it, the turmoil I can’t hide.
“I can tell you care about him. Don’t know exactly what it is you feel, but I know this— something changed in him this summer.
Not in a bad way, but in the way you hope for when someone’s been running on empty too long.
He’s always given a hundred percent but this time…
it wasn’t mechanical. He laughed more. Stayed longer after practice.
Not because I made him, but because he wanted to.
That drive was back. Real, this time.” He lets it settle, then adds quieter, “Something tells me you had a role in that.”
Even if I wasn’t floating in water right now, it’d still feel like there was no solid ground beneath me.
“Lately…” Coach continues, knuckles blanching, “it’s gone quiet in him again. Like something’s snuffed out completely. I’ve seen him grieve his father. Seen him crumble and get right back up. But this? This feels different. Worse. Like it’s something he might never come back from.”