Page 1 of Jump on Three

Chapter One

Evelyn

Jump. Just jump.

My toes curled over the edge.

I had to do this. If I didn’t on my own terms, the issue might be forced, and I didn’t want that. All I had to do was take one step. Just one. Gravity would take care of the rest.

My mind knew this. I understood, on almost every level, this jump would not kill me. I would hit the water, breach the surface, then swim to the side. Those steps were as familiar to me as breathing. It was the height that made the difference.

Five meters might as well have been a hundred. This wasn’t even the highest diving platform, but I had to conquer this one before I contemplated the ten.

Jump. Just jump.

My fist opened and closed at my sides, fingertips pressing against my outer thighs. Over and over, I repeated this.

One step. That was all it would take. If I did this once, my overactive survival instincts would accept it wasn’t a death drop. Of course, my brain already knew the human tolerance to impact velocity to water was around thirty meters per second, which I wouldn’t approach from a five-meter jump. The pool water would have time to move out of my way and not act as a brick wall.

One second of falling.

One second. Five meters.

I took a step back.

Today wasn’t a good day for this.

But I had to. The alternative was being pushed. If I were pushed, I’d forget how to swim and sink like a stone.

Sink or swim.

Sink or swim.

I shuffled back to the edge.

The pool was calm. One swimmer cut through the water on the opposite side. I wished he wasn’t here. Even if he wasn’t paying any attention to my existential crisis, his presence distracted me, and I needed every ounce of focus.

Jump. Just Jump.

I wouldn’t attempt a real dive. I would step off this platform, point my toes, and in less than a second, my body would plunge beneath the surface.

The mechanics were simple. Science was fact-based. It was indisputable that when an object entered water, it pushed out a volume equal to its own. In this case, I was the object. I wasn’t particularly science-minded, but this wasn’t hard to comprehend. I go in, water goes out.

Knowing this did nothing to convince me. My muscles said, “No thank you,” refusing to listen to logic.

If only a strong gust of wind would come by. It wouldn’t be the same as a shove from someone who hated me for no reason but a gentle push from nature. That I could have handled.

Maybe.

Doubtful.

I’d definitely drown.

In the distance, a shift in movement caught my attention. The swimmer had climbed out and was drying his face off with a white towel. My fingertips dug into my outer thighs as I watched him. The tattoos scaling his long, lean torso made him easily identifiable, even with his face covered.

Not that he could have been anyone else.

I’d been sharing this pool with Ivan Sokolov during early morning hours for months now. I swam my laps, he swam his. If he wanted to chat, I had no idea since I never gave him the chance. I was here for one thing.

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