9
I slept well on a full stomach of organic lamb chopsand leafy green salad and rose early to drive to the Olympic pool for a swim. When I receive the big money from Smiler, I buy from the local organic store, but when I’m in between Smiler pays, I purchase my food from the discount food store. The crappy processed stuff that tastes like rubber.
It’s essential that I keep my head clear and on target and that I never lose sight of why I’m here—seeing Det. Gabrielle could’ve sent me over the edge yesterday, but it didn’t. I didn’t let it. Perhaps it’s because we didn’t speak, or maybe I’ve made progress and am stronger than I thought. I’m writing off the chemical-infused bender of days ago as a glitch in my software and have now moved on.
As usual, I discreetly scan the pool area for the Lion and spot two coaches walking alongside the far lane, closely examining the swimming style of the student in the water. I wonder if Cormac is here, too, but it’s hard to tell when all you see are their swimming caps bobbing up and down.
There’s something about the scent of chlorine that both enthralls me and also turns my stomach. The smell reminds me of summer days lounging by the pool or the many races I won. It’s a reminder of good times and bad, but mostly good. Today, I choose to focus on the good stuff.
I find a bench by the pool, strip down into my lapis-blue bathing suit buried under my sweats, and shove all my golden hair into a little rubber cap. Walking over to the medium pace lane, I do a quick scan of people sitting in chairs watching over the trainers. My gaze gravitates to the viewing box behind darkened glass and detects a figure standing there. I can’t see the definition of his face, so I can’t know if it’s him.
Diving into the turquoise, the coolness of the water is therapy against my bare skin, and as my arms automatically pull into the freestyle stroke, I feel the tug on my arm muscles. It didn’t take long before I reached the end of the pool, and I turn-rolled under the water to stretch out onto my second length.
After several lengths, I pull my goggles off and climb out at the end closest to where I left my towel and bag. As I climb out, I notice a topless man sitting on my bench with wet, messy dark hair, leaning over with his forearms on his knees. Cormac Bernardi – Irish mom, Italian dad. He gives me a little wave as those sky blues watch my bare legs walk toward him.
“Hey,” I chirp. “I wondered if you were here.”
“I’m on a break,” he says, rising to his feet and stretching out his long arms, placing his hands behind his head, puffing out his bare chest, giving me tingles in my nether regions. It’s a superb body, both from an athletic and proportion standpoint. My word, he’s been gifted with some fabulous genes.
There’s a little smile there, just for me, as he stands close, our bare skin peppered in water droplets almost touching. He’s hungry to touch me, eager to run that enormous hand over the small of my back. But he refrains, showing incredible control that I appreciate.
“What are you doing today?” he asks, smiling with those blue eyes as they run over my lips and neck.
“I’ve got a couple of classes in the glasshouse this morning,” I say enthusiastically.
“Killing things?” he asks.
“No, learning to propagate and identify certain constituents within plants. It’s probably boring to you,” I add, although I don’t care if he finds it boring because this is who I am. He can always go elsewhere if he’d rather have a conversation about what he’s interested in.
“No, I don’t mind,” he shrugs. “By the way, you’ve got good form in the pool.”
I fake an expression of gasping horror. “You’ve been watching my strokes?”
“Yeah, I’ve been watching the female mantis work on her strokes,” that gaze softens as I peel my cap off, and my golden ponytail tumbles down my back. “Ever thought about trying out for the team again?”
“Are you flirting with me?” I tease, eager to change the subject.
“Definitely,” he states, glancing over at the other side of the pool, probably checking to see if he’s required to return to training. “I looked you up online.”
My stomach twists into a little knot. “And you discovered I’m not as interesting as I look?”
“No, the opposite.” The little smile is gone, and that frown and narrowed eyes return. “Why did you quit the swim team?”
I had rehearsed the answer to this question for the last two years, which isn’t too short of a lie. “I got sick, and when I finally recovered, I couldn’t climb back to my previous performance level. I kinda lost interest after that.”
He nods in understanding. “What about now? You could enter the tryouts?”
“My interest has waned,” I reply as he glances at the other side of the pool again. This time, his entire body tenses and a shadow casts over his already severe face.
“I have to go,” he states, wondering how he can tell. No one yelled at him or blew a whistle, and it occurred to me that maybe he wanted an excuse to leave.
As he walks away, he places his white cap over his wet hair, and I watch him go as I wrap my towel around my waist. When I look up again, someone catches my eye on the other side of the pool and pulls my shit together so he can’t tell that his piercing stare is affecting me.
Michael Lyons, i.e., The Lion, i.e., the rapist.
He stands on the far edge of the pool, tanned arms folded across his chest, wearing a cobalt blue polo-neck, and those fucking eyes drilling me like the piss of shit that he is. This is an attempt to intimidate me, and my natural reaction is to drop my head down and scurry away like a frightened vole.
But I must remind myself now that I’m a different girl than I was two years ago. I was on my knees in front of a man who could vastly change my swimming career with the click of his fingers. It was he who chose who was good enough to go to the Nationals and who should be cut.
Sincerely, from the bottom of my heart, he can take his credentials and status and shove them up his ass.
Dragging my eyes from the resin floor, I tip my head back slightly and lock my eyes on his. Internally, I’m terrified, but externally, I’m calm and cool and readying myself for revenge.
A revolting smirk worms across his tanned dial, and vomit rises into my throat. But I kept the expression on my face set hard and unaffected, and my feet froze onto one spot.
Cormac approaches him, and he turns away from our locked stare. I exhale in a gush after holding onto my breath. Snatching my bag, I turn my back and walk to the locker room to shower and change into my clothes.
Once inside, I land on a bench and breathe, even though the stench of chlorine and disinfectant overwhelms me. This is the first time I’ve seen him in the flesh for two years, and suddenly, everything becomes real again.
Repulsiveness surges as I shudder when my skin crawls, and I drop my face into my cold hands. Rocking slightly on the bench to steady my heart and even my breath, I become aware that other women are nearby and hope they don’t think I’m mad.
“Who are you with today?” the voice of one of the women asks softly as if she wants to keep the conversation to themselves.
“Ol’ octopus,” the second woman answers as I grab my bag and head to the shower cubicle.
“Oh my god, he’s so gross,” the first woman says, and I freeze. Pretending I’ve misplaced something, I return to where I was sitting to search the floor.
“You know he told Lu that she had to do one-on-one with him,” the other woman says, “like late in the evening. So, she made up an excuse that she was on her period or something.”
They laugh awkwardly at this, and I know this so well. We pretend that’s not a big deal. We appease, laugh when it’s not funny, and keep our mouths shut for fear of destroying his career and ours. No one will believe us, even if we speak up about it.
The women leave, and I turn the shower water on, strip my bathing suit off, and step inside the cubicle. My closest friend on the swim team, Izzie, left shortly after we started intense training, and she said it was because it was too much for her. I remember Lyons stating that some people are not cut out for the long hours in the pool, and I left it at that. Izzie grew distant towards me, and our friendship didn’t last.
When The Four ruined my life, and after I recovered physically, Izzie was the first person I thought of contacting to see if it happened to her, too. I didn’t go with it because I wanted to pretend it didn’t happen.
I think now is an excellent time to contact her again to see if something happened to her. Did Lyons touch her, too? Until this moment, I thought I was alone; now, I have a greater reason to eliminate him from the face of this earth. But I have to be careful because once he’s dead, I don’t want to leave a trail for the police to follow back to me.
Once out of the shower, I quickly dry myself and slip on faded blue shorts, pink sneakers, and a black Californication - Red Hot Chili Peppers tee.
My anxiety rises as I step out of the exit into the large pool area and glance over in Lyons”s direction. He has his back turned deep in conversation with another coach. I searched for the two girls in the locker room, but they must be in the pool. My heart goes out to Lu, whoever she may be, and I hope she looks after herself.
I want to tell them to stay away from him. I want to say to them to avoid circumstances where they’re alone with that man. He will not touch them if other people are around. Stay close to other people. Stay safe.
Once back in my car, I enter Isabelle Nelson into my phone’s search engine and await results for the Torres Island area. Two options come up, and one is the girl I’m looking for. She was really smart in high school, a straight-A student, but it looks like her education stopped when she graduated high school. I hoped she might be here at Keele, but she decided to pursue a career as an influencer on TikTok and Instagram rather than going to college.
How long can a career like this last? Especially when her bikini pics blend in with all the thousands of other women there. I go onto her Instagram page, which has over a million followers, and I send her a direct message asking if she’d like to catch up over a coffee.
There’s a ball of nerves tangled up inside me as I hesitate over what I need to do, but I am apprehensive about doing it.
“Fuck it.”
Me: Fancy giving me lessons today or tomorrow?
I start the Corolla up, expecting him not to reply immediately, and back out of the park with a scouring in my gut from seeing Lyons. I hope he got the message by me staring him down that I’m not afraid of him anymore. Who am I kidding? A man like that is supremely confident because the college and his buddies protect him, the other three to The Four. He’ll assume I wouldn’t dare challenge him or go to the police this long after the incident. And he’s right. I won’t be going to the police. Why bother the police when I can solve the problem myself?
After all, there’s nothing more dangerous than a woman who wants to inflict hell on a man.