Page 7 of Poolside

Fifteen minutes later they sat on either end of Chuck’s deep, navy couch, each with a bowl of Tommy’s pasta salad and some sliced grilled chicken on top. Tommy’d put about three times as many olives in Chuck’s as the recipe called for, but hey, he knew how to make his friend happy.

Chuck flicked the lamp off as the familiar theme music started. Tommy turned to glance at Chuck, suddenly feeling a little overwhelmed by how grateful he was to have a guy like Chuck in his life. “Thanks, man,” he said quietly. “For having me.”

Chuck looked over at him and offered him one of his quieter smiles, one that made him look younger. “Always, T,” he replied.

* * *

“Damn it.”

Tommy squinted, a hand shielding his eyes as he tried to track the white speck against the vibrant blue sky.

“Right into the trap.” Beside him, Keaton shook his head as he tugged the glove from his hand. “You’re still coming a little out-to-in on your swing, bud. Try keeping your chest more square through impact.”

“I still don’t know how you managed to birdie number five. That approach shot was insane.”

They walked back to their cart, and Tommy slid his seven iron back into his bag. It was unspoken that Keaton drove the golf cart, what with him being the name on the prestigious club membership and that one time eight years ago when Tommy had gotten a little too wild and crashed into the scrub oaks on the edge of the course.

“How are you feeling about that promotion?” Keaton asked as they drove down the fairway.

“Good. All of my numbers are where they need to be. My team is doing great. If I can make it through the Fourth of July retreat my boss hosts at his lake house, then I think I’ve got it in the bag.”

Keaton frowned, his clean-shaven face smooth and unblemished. His dirty blonde hair was styled as always, with a cleanswoopin the front. “His place is on the eastern side of Lake Murray, right?”

Ever since their senior year of college, Tommy, Keaton, and the rest of their Southeastern buddies had stayed at a house on the other side of Lake Murray for spring break. It was owned by a friend of Keaton’s family, and even now that they were all in their thirties and many of them had coupled off, they still made it a priority to go every year.

Tommy nodded. “It’s a huge place. He does it every year, and brings out all of upper management and anyone up for a promotion. He’s a competitive guy—played tight-end at Clemson back in the day—and he has everyone compete in a series of games. He acts like it’s a casual thing, but how you perform matters.”

“You should be fine, then,” Keaton drawled, shaking his head as he rolled his eyes. “All that Crossfit you do can be put to some use.”

Tommy laughed, but quickly sobered. “I’ll be fine except for the open water swim. That’s going to kick my ass.” A thought dawned on him, and he looked over at Keaton. “You were a swimmer. You should help me.”

Keaton snorted, an amused smile on his face. “You don’t want that. I’ve been told that I’m a terrible teacher.”

“Didn’t you used to do private training?”

“Yes, and I was terrible at it.” Keaton eased the cart to a stop just short of the sand trap that Tommy’s ball had found. “Why don’t you ask Chuck? He swims almost every day in the off season and, unlike me, he’s actually a good teacher.”

Tommy felt a smile tug at his mouth. Training for an open water swim on its own sounded like a miserable time. But swimming with Chuck? That was an idea he could get behind.

“You’re a smart man, Keaton,” he said, climbing out of the cart and pulling his wedge and putter from his bag.

Deb wasn’t going to see him coming.

CHAPTER2

I WISH IT WASN’T A THING

CHUCK

It was a real fucking tragedy that humans couldn’t breathe underwater.

Chuck pushed off the wall, his body long and taut as he flutter kicked once, twice, three times before breaking the surface. Tiny bubbles tickled as they trailed over the surface of his skin. Even then he waited until his lungs burned before tilting his head to breathe as his body rocked in an easy freestyle across the 25 meter pool.

Because the swim season was over, Chuck had replaced early morning practices with his own workout, preferring the campus outdoor pool to the indoor natatorium that smelled of concentrated chlorine and echoed even the quietest sounds. As the head coach of Southeastern University’s swim team, Chuck was responsible for training a roster of forty-eight college athletes, each of whom competed in a different set of events. It was a huge amount of planning and evaluating, and it took all of his focus and attention to make sure that each athlete was progressing while also keeping in mind the team as a whole.

The team had finished the season strong, with ten of their swimmers medaling at Nationals. He’d gotten exuberant praise from Connie, their athletic director, and all indicators were that he was doing good work and his job was secure.

But now it was the off-season, and there was suddenly time and space in his life for all of the other things he put on hold during the season.

---