Chapter 18
We make it until the end of September before it’s too cold to swim in the lake, accomplishing in four weeks what it took me almost a year to figure out on my own.
The water is nearly to my shoulders by the last lesson.
And while, yes, standing still with my feet planted firmly on the ground is a far cry from actually swimming, it’s something.
Turns out having someone to talk to makes all the difference.
I do, eventually, mention Mabel. She’s too ingrained in my history to cut out, and it feels sort of nice in a way to remember her with someone who never knew her, without all the heaviness talking about those memories with my family or her family now brings.
I tell him about the time we wore pretend mermaid fins into the pool and the lifeguards had to rescue us because we couldn’t actually kick our feet with them on, about the tea parties we used to host with imaginary friends beneath the water, about that time our entire freshman class snuck in for a midnight swim after hours.
I’m pretty sure I was the only one in an actual bathing suit instead of a bra.
He tells me about the time he and Logan caught Nova skinny-dipping with her friends in the lake and they hid all the girls’ clothes, or how they used to go whale watching off the coast of Malibu, parking atop the cliffs just after dawn for the best action.
When there’s a lull, I ask him about his training or he asks me for some random marine biology fact, and then we’re off again.
But I appreciate it, even when the conversation turns mundane.
It keeps me out of my head, holds the darkness at bay.
It’s enough to make me feel cautiously optimistic.
Until we transition to the pool.
Because in here I can already walk down the steps without issue.
In here I can already let go of the railing.
In here I can already submerge with relative ease.
So the next step is actually swimming. And apparently, even in this crystalline, chlorinated water, I’m nowhere near freaking ready to do that.
The second I lift my feet to even attempt a stroke, it’s all over.
The world spins. I lose focus. It’s as though a vortex swirls underneath me, threatening to pull me under.
Panic strikes, freezing my limbs, racing my heart.
I’m totally stuck and I don’t know how the hell to break free.
Nox’s patience wears thin.
And look, I get it. More than anyone, I get it. Does he think I want to be like this? That I’m not trying everything in my power to move past it? I don’t know how. But I do know one thing—the unwavering, relentless attention of a world-class athlete is not what I need right now.
There are no stories, like in the lake.
There’s no conversation, no camaraderie.
He’s not trying to make me comfortable anymore.
He’s trying to push my limits. Maybe that’s just what he’s used to in this environment—always growing, always working, always challenging himself, never saying enough is enough, never accepting defeat.
I’m sure it’s tough to turn that switch off after a lifetime of training at an elite level.
But if he doesn’t want me to kill him, he better figure it out quickly.
Because I’m done.
“Try again,” he demands, voice hard.
I shake my head. “I need a break.”
“You want to pass your test? You’re going to have to stay underwater and swim for twenty minutes straight.”
“I know,” I growl, grabbing at my pounding head.
We’ve been at it for half an hour nonstop, sinking into the shallow end, pausing only long enough for me to get my heaving breaths under control before he orders me to go again.
I’m trying to hold out for as long as I can, but the second I lift my toes from the tiles, I’m unmoored.
It’s as if I’m right back there in the reservoir, pain and endless water and oblivion.
The more he pushes, the more my walls tremble, threatening to break.
“Whatever it is,” he says, putting his hand to my bicep, “you need to push through it.”
“I’m trying!”
“Not hard enough! It’s been weeks of this, Clara. I want to help you, but I can’t until—” He frowns and purses his lips, decision made. “You need to tell me what happened.”
“No.”
I rip my arm out of his grip and charge for the stairs.
He could catch up to me in a blink if he wanted, but he doesn’t.
He just stares, the judgment rolling off of him in waves.
I ignore it and plop down on the edge of the pool, dropping my face into my hands, giving myself a moment to breathe without the cool press of history over every inch of my skin.
“Just tell me.”
Even if I wanted to, the words won’t come. Every time I open my mouth, they just stick there in my throat, a plug of taffy I’ll choke on if I try too hard to force it out. “I can’t.”
“Do you really not trust me? Still?”
“Oh my god.” I laugh darkly, rolling my eyes as I snap my head up. “Do you really not see this isn’t about you?”
“Then what’s it about?”
“Me!” The word echoes off the rafters. We’re drawing attention from the handful of other students in here for open swim, but I don’t have it in me to care.
Something in his face shifts, softens. I feel my tightly knitted resolve crack.
My voice is softer than a whisper when I finally speak again.
“My entire life is divided into before and after. Every single person who knows what happened has never looked at me the same. Once I speak it, there’s no going back.
And I’m not ready for that, not here, not when I finally feel like I have friends who see the real me. ”
“I won’t tell anyone,” he offers, an olive branch.
But he doesn’t get it. I don’t want him to see me differently either. “It’s not that easy.”
“Make it that easy.”
“Why don’t you go first?”
He knits his brow as he wades closer, then stops a few inches away. He’s so tall, we’re at eye level, him in the pool, me out. I grab the stone edges on either side of my thighs and lean closer with challenge.
“Think of your deepest, darkest secret, Nox. The one you’ve never told anyone. Not even Nova. The one that would make your world tilt on its axis if it ever got out.” I wait for a spark to light his eyes before I shift closer. “Now tell it to me.”
He grits his teeth.
“Exactly.”
“We’re not talking about me.” Irritation twists his features. “I’m not the one with the problem, Clara.”
“Oh, really?” I can’t help but laugh, loud and aggressive, an attack covered with a smile.
“You don’t think you have a problem? I’ve got a news flash for you, Nox.
Normal people, who don’t have problems, don’t spend an hour every week teaching some girl they can barely tolerate how to swim.
You’ve got problems, buddy. Just like me.
But at least I’m woman enough to admit it. ”
“You know what? You’re right. I do have a problem.” He narrows his eyes, crosses his arms. “And I’m looking right at her.”
“I don’t have to sit here and take this.”
“Then don’t.”
“Fine. I won’t.”
I walk out without a backward glance. We don’t speak for four days, and even then, it’s not by choice.
Logan’s birthday arrives on Wednesday, and in typical over-the-top Logan fashion, a simple party would never be enough.
Nope. Instead, I’m standing with Nova, Willa, and thirty of Logan’s closest friends waiting to be paired off for a round of open-air, campus-wide laser tag.
He worked with some party planner to set the whole thing up, complete with tactical gear.
All of us are in fully black outfits with goggles, guns, vests, and knee and elbow pads, waiting to receive our color-coordinated team bands.
Nox stands opposite me with Grant and some of the guys from the hockey team.
We’ve both been studiously avoiding eye contact, so I’m not really that worried about it, until the moment Logan gestures between Nova and Willa.
“You two are a team.”
My brow immediately knits. I sort of assumed Logan would take Nova so I could pair up with Willa. But as he turns to me with a naughty little gleam in his eyes, I know I’ve been bamboozled.
“Clara, you’re with…” He turns his face to the opposite side of the circle, pointing to the man glaring at me with accusation, as if I’m the one responsible for the fiendish whims of his best friend. And probably his sister too, because this plan has Nova’s grubby little paws all over it. “Nox.”
“Wait—”
Nova squeezes my arm with a soft, “Please.”
Yup. Her sorry eyes scream traitor.
“What the hell?” I hiss.
“You guys have been getting along so well,” she whispers. “We didn’t want you to be on opposite teams. It’s bad juju.”
I growl under my breath but keep my mouth shut. It’s Logan’s birthday. I’m not going to cause a scene, so I tug my neon-blue armband up to my bicep with gritted teeth and march across the circle to take the open spot next to Nox.
We don’t speak until the referee blows the whistle, and even then, it’s just a haughty demand from Nox to, “Follow me.”
I begrudgingly do because I have never played laser tag in my life and it’s annoyingly obvious that Nox knows what he’s doing.
Because of course he does. Everyone gets about five minutes to scramble before the targets on our shoulders activate.
When they buzz to life, I see another team across the way.
Nox hits them before the vibrations even stop.
Then he grabs me around the waist and tugs me behind a stone wall before they have time to counter. I practically fall into his chest.
“Stay close,” he orders before tucking me protectively behind him. “We’ve got to find a place to hide.”
I’m not sure if I should be annoyed or impressed that he can pick me up and plop me down as if I’m a freaking rag doll.
A little quiver deep in my belly suggests another emotion entirely, but I squash it as I follow him down the length of the building and across another quad.
We get in three more shooting matches before he finds a spot he likes behind some dense bushes.
We’re near the pathways, but not easy to spot, with the woods at our backs.
If anyone runs by, we’ll be able to hit them before they see us, but we’re not penned in.
He takes my hand and pulls me down next to him.
We sit back-to-back, using one another as a shield, keeping our eyes peeled for approaching opponents.
As our rapid breathing slows, the silence sharpens, shifting from necessary to deliberate.
I clench my jaw and look up at the sky, determined not to speak first. Stars twinkle through shifting evergreens.
A bright silver cloud covers the moon. The lamplight from the walkway doesn’t quite reach us here.
We’re shadowed, set apart, but not entirely alone.
Leaves rustle as critters dart among the roots.
Twigs snap. The world moves around us while we sit in a standstill, then—
“I hate my father.”
He says it so softly, I almost think it’s the wind. “What?”
“I hate my father,” he repeats, louder this time, ending on a heavy sigh.
I try to turn, but he shifts his back to stop me, as though he doesn’t want to look at me while he says this.
“Everyone thinks we’re this strong team, and I let them because it’s easier than dealing with the fallout.
I don’t want to answer questions about our history.
I don’t want my accomplishments to be overshadowed by stupid family drama.
And most of all, I don’t want him to stop coming to my meets.
Because seeing him up there in the stands is all the motivation I need.
He’s a weak man with no control who blames all his mistakes on everyone around him instead of looking in the mirror.
He should’ve had fourteen gold medals. If he’d kept his eye on the prize, instead of on money and fame and women, he would’ve.
I won’t be like that. I won’t let myself get sidetracked.
Nova thinks he’s my hero but nothing could be further from the truth.
I only spend so much time with him because it strengthens my resolve to never end up like him.
Hating him keeps me focused. Sometimes, I think hating him might be the only reason I even like to swim. ”
A heavy silence follows his confession.
I’m not sure what to think, let alone what to say.
I don’t think that’s the point anyway. Warm fingers slide under my jaw and turn my head.
He’s right there, sitting behind me. His hand glides back.
His fingers delve into my hair. With a soft tug, he arches my face toward his, forcing me to meet his gaze.
Those green eyes are bright with challenge, with promise.
As if they’ve pierced me in some tangible way, goose bumps ripple beneath my clothes, along my neck, across my shoulders, all the way down my spine.
“That’s my deep, dark secret, Clara,” he murmurs, so close his breath brushes against my lips, making them tingle.
Now, yours.
He doesn’t need to say the words aloud. They wrap around me like restraints. Fear instantly clogs my throat. The tension in the air snaps taut and he tightens his grip, as though he knows I’m about to run.
I don’t have to.
The targets on our shoulders flash and beep.
Someone found us. We’re under attack. He releases me to start firing, then grabs me by the elbow and tucks me under his arm as he leads me away.
My legs are like jelly. I stumble and trip, held aloft only by his strength as the ground seems to give out beneath me.
He doesn’t let me fall.
He doesn’t mention it again either, but he doesn’t have to. It’s sitting there under the surface the whole rest of the night, of the week. A countdown. When I step onto the pool deck on Saturday morning, the clock hits zero.
My time is up.