Page 3 of Depths of Desire
There were days I lingered longer than I needed to, pretending I was still drying off or searching for a towel that didn’t exist, just so I could sneak one more glance as he hit the wall and turned. I don’t think he ever noticed me. Not then. Maybe once, our eyes met briefly, hazily. And I remembered blinking away the contact so fast it stung. I hadn’t come out to myself yet, much less anyone else.
We were eighteen. It was that hot, sticky summer before college. He was already committed to swim for Westmont. I was headed here, too, for hockey, but we’d never spoken about it. We didn’t speak at all.
And I sure as hell didn’t flirt. I didn’t even breathe when he was around.
Two and a half years later, we’d shared a campus, and it was like he lived on a different planet.
I saw him a handful of times. At the dining hall, walking out of the recreational center, once coming out of the aquatic center with water still dripping from his hair, earbuds in, jaw tight, eyes locked on the pavement like he was at war with it. He never looked around, and he never noticed me. Or if he did, he gave no indication.
Not that I expected anything else.
I mean, the guy had been on TV. Freaking TV. Silver medalist at the Olympics last summer, standing there with the flag draped around his shoulders and no expression on his face.
I’d watched the race live on the common room couch with a bunch of guys from the hockey team, acting like I didn’t care, like I barely remembered him. They teased me about the fact we were from the same small town, but I’d only shrugged. “It’s small, alright, but I don’t know everyone.”
But I remembered everything. I remembered the way his back flexed when he dove off the block. I remembered the little tilt of his head when they played the national anthem and the camera zoomed in. I remembered the fact that, even when they placed the medal around his neck, he didn’t smile.
Not once.
Lena had messaged me out of the blue last week. Just a short text: “Hey. April said it was cool to text you. Are you driving back for break? My brother’s plans are still in the air—think you could give him a lift if the storm hits?”
She didn’t even say his name. She didn’t have to. Lena went to school with my sister, April, which somehow never translated into a friendship between all the siblings. We’d never gone to each other’s birthday parties. We’d never even met a mutual friend on the same occasion. We’d only been aware of each other.
At the time, I said maybe. I told her I wasn’t sure of my schedule, that I’d let her know. But the truth was, the second I read the message, my heart did a weird somersault and my thumb was already hovering over yes.
I hadn’t seen Oliver up close in over a year. I hadn’t spoken to him in longer than that. And it wasn’t like we’d ever had anything between us. No hookup. No missed moment. Just a quiet, one-sided crush that had never dared to cross into the real world.
Still, the idea of spending an entire day in a car with him? Just us, trapped in a moving metal box with nowhere to hide? That lit something in me. Not lust, exactly, and definitely not hope. Just a nervous, buzzing curiosity about who he’d become and whether the guy with the perfect freestyle and the frostbite stare was still human underneath all that Olympic glory.
I wasn’t expecting anything. That would’ve been stupid.
But maybe I could make him laugh. Or at least talk.
Maybe we’d drive through a snowstorm and find something resembling common ground between Hastings and here. Maybe I could stop seeing him as the boy I was too scared to want back then. Maybe I could start seeing him as just a guy.
A hot, complicated, emotionally walled-up guy.
But just a guy nonetheless.
I saved the essay again, just in case, then shut my laptop and stood up. Rhett was snoring softly, one arm dangling off the edge of his bed like it had given up on life. I grabbed my towel and headed for the shower, the image of Oliver Hayworth already playing behind my eyes.
And despite everything I told myself, I couldn’t help but feel like there was something important in my near future.
TWO
OLIVER
The water wasthe only thing that ever shut the noise off.
It didn’t matter what time it was or how much sleep I’d gotten or whether my legs were aching from dryland the day before. Once I hit the water, it all stopped.
I pushed off the wall, body long, tight, and efficient. The world dulled to a low hum. No clocks. No thoughts. No questions. Just the lane ahead of me, slicing forward with every pull of my arms, every flick of my legs.
My breath rationed itself on autopilot.One, two, three, turn. One, two, three, breathe.The burn in my shoulders was familiar and welcome. My heartbeat wasn’t panic; it was rhythm. My skin didn’t prickle with cold; it adapted.
It always did.
I kept going. Flip turns, tight streamlines. The coach’s voice barking muffled commands from the side of the pool. I didn’t process them. I didn’t need to. My body understood before my brain had the chance to argue.
