Page 66 of Depths of Desire
But then the screen cut to the final card.
NATIONALS— June 10–13 — Denver Aquatic Arena
My smile diedin my throat.
I blinked. Paused. Rewound.
June 10.
My thumb hoveredover the screen like it might change if I stared hard enough. Like I’d misread it. Like the video would blink and laugh and sayGotcha!and revert back to the dates I thought I knew.
But it didn’t. It just sat there. Clear as day.
The second weekend of June.
Our weekend. The weekend I’d been planning for months. The weekend I’d circled on my calendar in red ink and counted down to like Christmas morning. The weekend that was supposed to be ours—just ours—away from pools and pressureand everything else that pulled him in directions I couldn’t follow.
I dropped the phone on the blanket and stared at the ceiling.
He hadn’t said anything.
Not once.
Not during our walk last week when I’d pulled up the lodge photos again, pointing out the hiking trails and the lake. Not when I’d made that joke about packing extra sunscreen because I planned to keep him naked most of the weekend. Not when I’d kissed him goodbye yesterday and whispered how much I was looking forward to finally having him all to myself.
No mention. No warning. No “Hey, just so you know, there’s been a change.”
Just the usual sweetness. The usual quiet heat. The usual “I miss you’s” and “come over soon’s” and lingering kisses that made me feel like I was the only thing that mattered in his world.
But apparently, I wasn’t.
Or maybe I was, and that was the problem.
My chest grew tight now. My heart, confused and loud, was hammering against my ribs like it was trying to break free. I sat up, pushing my hair back from my forehead, trying to breathe through the sudden rush of panic.
This wasn’t usual.
This was a choice.
A choice he was making without me. Without telling me. Without even giving me the chance to understand.
I fumbled for my laptop, nearly knocking over the water glass on my nightstand. My fingers shook as I typed USA Swimming Nationals 2025 into Google. The results loaded instantly, a dozen articles about the venue change, about scheduling conflicts, about how this was the earliest Nationals had ever been held.
“Due to unforeseen circumstances at the originally planned venue, USA Swimming has moved the 2025 National Championships to June 10-13 at the Denver Aquatic Center…”
June 10. The same day we were supposed to drive up to the mountains. The same day I was supposed to wake up next to him in that cabin I’d spent three months’ savings to book because I wanted to give him something perfect. Something that was just ours.
I kept scrolling, looking for more details, more dates, something that might give me hope. But every article said the same thing. June 10-13. No flexibility. No alternatives.
Now, he had to choose.
And the fact that he hadn’t told me meant either he was still choosing, or he’d already chosen and didn’t know how to tell me.
Both options felt like drowning.
I closed the laptop and lay back down, staring atThe Officewithout seeing it. Michael was doing something ridiculous.
My phone was warm in my hand. I could text him. Call him. Demand answers. Demand honesty. Demand the truth I deserved after six months of falling so hard I’d forgotten what solid ground felt like.
