Page 50 of Freestyle
I finish my set, hauling myself out of the pool, feeling the rush of cool air against damp skin. Gray is already near the benches, toweling off, laughing at something Remy said. I watch them for a second longer than I should, my pulse still uneven.
Coach Morris claps his hands. “Time for weights.” I shake off my thoughts, grabbing a towel.
“Huntington, a word, please?” Coach calls out. Fuck, this isn’t going to be good.
“Yes, Coach?”
“Get your head out of your ass and focus on swimming. You’re one of the best swimmers we have, and you’re sitting in your lane daydreaming all practice. We’re depending on you for the next meet, so do whatever the hell you need to do to get your mind back on the water,” he huffs. He’s right. I’m screwing everything up, and I can only blame myself.
I nod as Coach walks off to lecture someone else.
Gray catches my eye as I walk over, smirking like he’s catching onto something I haven’t even admitted yet.
“You sure you’re not gonna drown out there?” he teases.
I roll my eyes, shoving him lightly as I drop onto the bench next to him. “You wish.”
He chuckles, deep and easy and I force myself to focus on practice, on the team, on the drills, on the water.
But the shift lingers, quiet and undeniable.
I scrape my hand through my hair, forcing the towel over my face, letting the heat and humidity of the locker room settle around me. The pool is behind me now, but I can still feel it; the weight of the water, the pull of every stroke, the reminder that I should be better.
The last meet was a mess. I wasn’t in it, wasn’t locked in the way I should’ve been. The team noticed. They always do.
Remy shoves my shoulder as he passes by, his towel slung around his neck, smirking. “Think you’re actually gonna try this time?”
I roll my eyes, dragging my towel over my damp hair. “Oh, please. I was off one meet. You act like I’ve forgotten how to swim.”
Gray, ever the realist, raises a brow as he pulls his shirt over his head. “You barely kicked off the wall on your turns, man. You looked half-asleep out there.”
I chuckle, tossing my towel onto the bench. “Maybe I was. Maybe I’m just so good that I can swim half-asleep.”
The team laughs, but there’s an edge to it, something that lingers beneath the teasing.
They need me at full power.
And I know that.
Gray leans against the lockers beside me, arms crossed. “Seriously, though. You gonna bring it this time? Or are we just carrying your ass again?”
I exhale, rolling my shoulders. It’s easy to joke, to brush it off, but the pressure is thick, woven into every damn expectation they have of me.
“Relax,” I say, throwing on my usual grin. “I’ll show up when it counts.”
Gray shakes his head. “You better. No excuses this time.”
I flash a smirk, shouldering my bag. “You worry too much.”
But as I step out of the locker room, away from the teasing, the laughter, the weight of it all, I feel it settle deep in my chest.
I have to prove it.
To them.
To myself.
No more interruptions.
