Page 52 of The Sea Witch's Son

I asked Sebastian once, what he thought about during competitions. Whether it was the dive, the flip turn, the stroke count, the number of breaths. He looked at me blankly and said his favourite part about competing was the fact hedidn’tthink. The moment his feet left the block, muscle memory took over and it was simply a fuelled sensation.

Truly, it was a disappointing response.

The air gets pulled back into my lungs as I count down from one hundred. A false start is the risk of the sport, and to diminish the possibility, one must simply occupy the mind so the auditory components can take over.

I’ve often wondered what that would feel like. To give one’s body over to the tumultuous emotions that drive foolish and rash behaviour. The idea is appealing in a fantastical sort of way,similar to Finley’s romanticized notions of his relationship with Melody.

The buzzer sounds and my body responds accordingly, diving off the block and into the frigid water below. An unusual thought spears my mind as I go racing for the other side, a thought that has my breath catching in the most intriguing way.

I hope my little saint is watching.

Chapter 18

MELODY

Sebastian immediately takes the lead.

“He loves to show off those dives.” Tahira shakes her head with a sigh, “That ass is something else.”

Calista nods in agreement, “The man’s got a dump truck.”

I’m too focused on the race to join in on their conversation. Every spectator in attendance is whistling and cheering madly, shouting names and encouragement that the swimmers cannot hear.

“It’s tied.” I say it quietly, watching the swimmers hit the wall with a flip turn.

“Marlin’s just having fun with them.”

Hard bodies break through the surface just before the 15m cut-off. Dolphin kick transitions into flutter as powerful shoulders slice through the water.

“Maybe he’s having a bad day.” Tahira muses, “He’s usually winning by now.”

Calista shakes her head, “He’s doing it on purpose.”

I tear my eyes away from the race to look at her, “How do you know?”

“Because.” Her lips split into a wide smile, “He’s still breathing.”

The statement has my stomach dropping. Gus starts hollering behind us, adding his own excitement to the crowd. The swimmers hit the 25m mark on the long course, and that’s when it happens.

Marlin stops breathing.

“Oh my God.”

I can barely breathe as I watch him pull away from the other swimmers. With every stroke he increases the distance until he’s almost an entire body-length ahead. While all the other swimmers breathe every other stroke, Marlin’s head doesn’t move.

It stays securely under the surface.

“Fuck, that’s hot.”

The girl in front of us flaps her hands like it might cool her down. I bite my tongue to stop myself from agreeing with her.

Marlin hits the wall seconds ahead of the other guys. By the time the rest of them join him, his cap and goggles are already pulled off and he’s studying the scoreboard displaying their times. The black guy in the lane over says something to him and Marlin nods in agreement.

The next event starts and the guys haul themselves out of the water. The slicked back hair should not be a good look on anybody, but of course, almost every guy on the team manages to pull it off.

The same routine happens again, the rookies take up the slow heats and gradually we make it back to the faster heats. Calista was right, butterfly is a lot more exciting to watch, but when you don’t know the swimmers competing, it becomes dull very quickly.

Pulling up the team roster, I do a quick search to find out what events all the guys are competing in. I take note of Finley’s next few events, and when he finally steps up to the blocks, I’m ready.

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