Chapter 17 #3
“The summer after my brother, Ollie, was born—he was, I want to say, ten months old then? He’s six years younger than me.
Have I ever told you that? Anyway, I would sit in the waves while my mom held him and pretend they were knocking me over.
He had the cutest little belly laugh. And then the next summer after that, he just wanted to be up and moving all the time, so I would build all these sandcastles for him to crush.
Then when he was a bit older, I treated him like my assistant and made him carry a bucket around while I filled it with specimens.
When I was a teenager, my parents rented a place down in South Carolina for a week.
A hurricane blew in, and we had to shelter in place.
I’m pretty sure they thought it was a horrible trip, but I had the time of my life.
When we went to the beach the next day, there were so many shells and animals washed ashore.
I took so many pictures of everything I found, and when I got home, I spent hours combing through my books trying to catalog every detail, which is probably hugely nerdy of me, but, well—”
I break off with a self-conscious laugh.
This was right about the time when Mabel stopped wanting to swim, opting to tan in a lounger and ogle the lifeguards instead.
Our paths had just started to diverge. I could taste it in the air all summer, a bitterness I wouldn’t be able to place until much later, a wrongness I’d never be able to correct.
“It’s not nerdy to be passionate about something,” Nox says, tone sympathetic.
I glance up at him with arched brows. “That’s much easier to say when the thing you’re passionate about gives you washboard abs and a nomination in PEOPLE magazine for World’s Sexiest Athlete.”
“Touché.” He smirks and looks down at me. “I won that vote, by the way.”
“Of course you did.” I snort and roll my eyes before settling my gaze back on the far shore, dotted with evergreen trees and lake houses. “What about you? What do you love about swimming?”
“I don’t really know.” He sighs, taking a few steps forward, drawing me with him into deeper waters.
The cold brush of liquid across my lower thighs sends my heart racing.
But before the fear takes hold, he starts speaking, pulling me out of my head, back into the world.
“I’ve always done it. It’s just always been there.
My dad got me in the water as soon as he could.
He realized early on I had an affinity for it, just like him.
At first, it was a way to spend time with him, to bond with him.
He was always busy, always out of town, always off doing something, but when I was in the pool, all of his attention was on me.
And then I started winning, and you’re probably not at all surprised to hear I liked that, too.
” He casts me a wicked grin before continuing.
I can’t help the smile that pulls at my own lips.
“Growing up the way we grew up, where we grew up, I don’t know, there were too many bad decisions to make.
Everyone had famous parents. Everyone had money.
Everyone had it too easy, you know? If they wanted alcohol, they got it.
If they wanted drugs, they got that, too.
If they wanted a spot on a TV show or to try to be a model or to get into a school or whatever it was, with a little phone call and a donation they could get it.
There were never any repercussions when things went wrong.
And I knew I could fall into that trap really easily.
So I guess, as I got older, I liked that swimming felt different.
I couldn’t win without putting in the time.
It gave me a reason to make good choices, to stay out of trouble.
And no one could say I didn’t earn everything I got.
I mean, sure, people say it’s good genes.
And yeah, access to training from a young age, and swim clubs, and all of that helped.
But at the end of the day, no one else is in the pool with me. When I win, it’s because I did it. Me.”
There’s an edge to his voice I want to smooth over. “I’m sure your dad is really proud.”
“Yeah.” A soft laugh slips out, holding no humor. “Something like that.”
“Nox—”
“It’s getting late,” he cuts in, rubbing at the back of his head while he turns to glance at the shore. “I’ve got to get to the gym.”
“Yeah, sure. Okay.”
Message received. His dad is a no-fly zone. Still, he doesn’t race from the water the way he could, the way I can tell he’s itching to do. He slows himself down, never going so fast my shorter legs can’t keep up.
“Same time next Saturday?” he asks before he leaves.
“It’s a date,” I say offhandedly, then freeze. My stomach does a somersault. “I mean, not a date, obviously. It’s a— It’s a—a— You know, a—”
“Swim lesson?” he provides with an arched brow.
“Swim lesson. Exactly. Next Saturday. 8 a.m. Done.”
“Great.” He starts to walk away, then thinks better of it. “Hey, Clara?”
I glance up from where I’m bent over with one leg through the hole of my shorts. “Yeah?”
“You can put a little heart next to my name in your calendar if you want to.”
Arrogant son of a— “How about a pitchfork?”
A laugh barrels up from his chest, deep and loud and light. The sound of it stays with me long after he himself is gone.