Page 32 of Backstroke

“Remy, I’m tired. Okay? Playtime is over.” He takes a step forward, closing the distance I just created.

“You think I’m just going to let you run away?” His laugh rings out in the air. I shake my head, tears welling up in my eyes. He cups my face hard, forcing me to gasp in surprise.

“Look at me, Fallon,” his voice is low and dangerous. My heart races as his eyes bore into mine.

“You’re mine.” The possessiveness in his tone sends chills down my spine.

“I don’t belong to anyone, and especially not you,” I seethe, pushing against his chest. I feel like I’m suffocating with him so close. He laughs at my futile attempts to get away, stoking the anger that’s rising. He hesitates, his eyes searching mine for a long moment before he finally releases me. I step back, my legs feeling like jelly.

“This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.” I turn and start walking, each step feeling heavier than the last. The forest is both a refuge and a prison, the trees closing in around me. I can still feel his eyes on me, even though I know he’s not following. The cool breeze of the night is a stark contrast to the heat of his body still lingering on my skin.

I don’t know what time I fall into my bed. I didn’t change or shower. I just collapsed over my blankets. I close my eyes, trying to calm my racing thoughts. The events of the day replay in my mind, each moment with Remy more vivid than the last. I turn onto my side, pulling the blanket up to my chin. I close my eyes tighter, willing sleep to come. But the possessiveness in his voice, the intensity in his eyes keeps replaying in my mind. I shiver, not from the cold, but from the memory of his touch.

“I need to stay strong, before I’m in too deep.” With a final shuddering breath, I let the exhaustion take over, my thoughts slowly fading into the darkness as sleep finally claims me.

Thirteen

Remington

Today’s swim meet isgoing to be epic. Adrenaline is coursing through the house as I walk downstairs. The hum of excitement is in the air as the guys gear up for our battle against the Du Pont Piranhas. They aren’t our largest rival, but they are still fierce competitors. Since I booted Emerson from the team after initiation night, I had to take his place in the backstroke relay. I have faster times than he did anyways.

“Ready to beat these fuckers?” Gray comes up behind me, slapping me on the back.

“Hell yes!” I reply, my competitive spirit igniting. I love swim meets, letting me unleash my drive and determination. This is my domain, and I’m ready to dominate.

I sent a package with Jake to be delivered to Fallon’s dorm. I’m sure she knows about the meet since Gray’s sister is her roommate, but I wanted to make sure she would be there. The package includes a special invite and a swim team shirt with my name embroidered on the back. As I picture Fallon walking in wearing my shirt, a surge of pride and excitement courses through me. It’s not just about winning the meet; it’s about showing the world that she’s mine. If the night of the party hadn’t cinched that thought then initiation night carved it into stone.

“Alright, time to head out,” I roar through the room. The guys jump up with their bags, the air crackling with excitement as they head toward the door.

Phoenix claps me on the shoulder, a determined look in his eyes. “Let’s show them what we’re made of.” The three of us pile into my Jeep while the others take their own rides. This is a home meet, and everyone will be there since we are the leading sport for the school.

As we drive, the tension and excitement build. The Jeep hums with anticipation, the air electric with the promise of competition. Pulling into the parking lot, we’re greeted by a sea of familiar faces—all here to support us. The energy is contagious, and my adrenaline spikes.

We make our way inside, the noise level rising with every step. The pool is a kaleidoscope of color and movement, teams gearing up, coaches shouting last-minute instructions, and spectators filling the stands. Then I spot her. My pulse races as my eyes fix on Fallon. Not in the shirt I sent. Anger surges like a beast clawing its way to the surface when I see herfriend chatting animatedly, the fabric of gray and navy proudly showcasing “Ford” across her back.

“What the hell?” I mutter, fists clenching at my sides.

“What’s up?” Phoenix asks, noticing my change in demeanor. He sees Fallon through my line of sight and winces.

“Dude, coach wants a meeting,” he yells over the roar of the crowd but I don’t turn back.

I stomp toward her, my frustration boiling over, the voices of those around us fading into background noise. As I approach, Fallon’s posture stiffens. Good. It means she senses my rage.

“Fallon!” I shout, finally reaching the bleachers. People begin to turn their heads, chatting spreading like wildfire. Her face reddens, not just from the attention but from the confrontation. She stands from her seat and stomps down the stairs.

“What the hell is your problem?” she snaps.

“If you don’t get Gray’s name off of your skin, I’ll tear it to pieces in front of everyone.” Each word drips with barely-contained fury, my composure shattering like thin ice beneath the crushing weight of impending chaos.

Fallon narrows her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest in defiance. It is a signature move, one that makes her look fierce and impetuously beautiful.

“Don’t test me, little fox,” I warn. “Change now!” I command, though the urgency is tinged with a desperate plea, and I hate how much I care.

She pauses, a glittering smile dancing on her lips as she counters, “What if I left it in my room?”

“You didn’t. I know you brought it, because you wouldn’t risk it,” I reply smugly, watching the aggravated demeanor melt into something more vulnerable—if only for a moment.

“Fine,” she spits, the bite of frustration beneath her words mingling with an undeniable intrigue. With a swift pivot, sheturns on her heels, marching toward the bathroom with a flick of her blue hair—a storm cloud retreating only to gather strength.

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