Page 26 of Beyond the Stroke

Rory turns to Winnie. “Can you make sure she gets home?”

“Of course.”

“Thanks.” Rory drops a quick kiss to her cheek, before turning for the door.

For a second, I watch him go, broad shoulders and muscular back rippling against his t-shirt, but the fact that he kissed Winnie on the cheek and didn’t even say goodbye has me quickly dropping my gaze, pretending the brace suddenly needs adjusting. I feel silly for wanting his attention and even more stupid for making myself feel bad that I didn’t get it.

Nothing about this situation should matter because Rory and I are barely acquaintances, but my chest is doing that pinching thing again. It’s bringing unwelcome awareness that despite my brain’s attempt to override it, the content of my left ribcage is having a strong reaction to Rory.

A moment later, there’s a squeak on the tile floor.

“Oh, and Summer?”

I look up to find Rory abruptly stopping at the door before turning and walking back toward me. I swear he looks like he’s going to wrap me up in his arms and keep me forever.

“Yeah?” I say so casually, even I’m impressed by my cool indifference. He takes my sprained wrist in his hand, and kisses my fingers, the only thing exposed by the brace. Warm, soft lips tickle my fingertips.

“I’m sorry I hurt you.”

It’s annoyingly sweet. I want to melt into a puddle, then scream at him for making me weak. But there’s no point in any of that because he’s already rushing out the door.

After Winnie finishes up the paperwork for my visit, like she had assured Rory, she offers to drive me home.

Leaving the aquatic center with Winnie, we don’t go out the main entrance I came in before, but instead, she navigates me down a long hallway past one of the indoor pools, then out a side door that opens to the largest outdoor pool I’ve ever seen.

The lanes are occupied by swimmers. The sound of water splashing is almost rhythmic.

It’s impossible to pick out which swimmer is Rory. They all look the same in white swim caps and dark goggles, moving steadily down the lane, their strong, muscular arms angling out of the water. It’s hypnotizing.

“There’s Rory.” Winnie points. “Lane four.”

When my eyes land on him, I discover I was wrong. They don’t all look alike. Now that I’ve got eyes on him, Rory standsout. He’s a masterpiece. A human work of art as he slices through the water. When he turns his head to breathe, the corner of his mouth reaches upward, seeking out oxygen. It’s like watching a machine operate. Every stroke is effortless.

“My brother, Eli, is next to him.” Winnie keeps talking to me about the other swimmers in the water but it’s impossible to take my eyes off Rory. I saw Rory’s chest and abs on the beach, the strength and chiseled definition of them. It’s clear every muscle has its task and is trained for peak performance.

I wish I had my sketchbook. I could spend all day sketching his movements. The human form in movement is something I’ve been working on. Beachscapes and still life come naturally to me, but capturing movement like this is where I want to improve in my art.

“—so that’s how they became the Carolina Current swim club.”

I realize Winnie has been talking to me the entire time I’ve been watching Rory swim.

“Cool.” I shrug, trying to slip back into my mask of indifference, but it doesn’t fit the way it did earlier. It feels too tight now, putting pressure against my temples.

“How long will they swim for?” I ask.

“This practice is typically two hours. And that’s just time in the water. There’s dryland, too. And their weight training program.”

“What’s dryland?” I ask.

“Mobility exercises, stretching, core work.”

It makes sense that a swimmer would be building muscles with weight training and working on flexibility as well, but I’d never thought about a swimmer training by doing anything but swimming.

“My car’s this way.” She motions toward a gate on the far side and I follow her through it. “Where am I taking you?”

“The Salty Pirate Café.”

She nods, backing the car out of the parking spot.

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