Page 70 of Depths of Desire
He studied my face for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Well, whatever you’re doing, keep doing it. You look sharp. Sharper than I’ve seen you in months.”
I nodded and pushed off the wall again.
Discipline.
Perfect strokes. Breath on every third. Flip turns like razors.
The rest of the team filtered in over the next hour. I heard them talking, laughing, complaining about the early start time. Marcus tried to get my attention as he passed my lane, waving his hand under the water until I had to surface.
“Jesus, Oliver, you trying to set a world record at practice?”
I shrugged and kept swimming.
He made a joke about me being possessed by the ghost of Mark Spitz. A few guys laughed. I didn’t react. I just put my head back down and resumed my stroke count.
They stopped trying to include me after that.
The days blurred together.
Early mornings before the sun touched the horizon. Empty locker rooms that smelled like disinfectant and old towels. Protein shakes I choked down without tasting. I ate meals standing up, staring at my phone, opening Lennox’s contact and closing it again without typing anything.
Me:Hey.
Delete.
Me:I miss you.
Delete.
Me:I’m sorry.
Delete.
I went to classes but didn’t speak unless called on. I sat in the back row of every lecture hall, took notes by hand, and left as soon as the professor dismissed us. I avoided the student center, the main quad, anywhere I might run into hockey players.
Lena called twice. I let it go to voicemail both times, then texted her back hours later with some excuse about training. She replied with a string of question marks and a GIF of a concerned-looking cat. I didn’t respond.
I couldn’t tell her. Couldn’t explain that I’d fallen for someone and messed it up.
The nightmares started on Thursday.
I dreamed of the cabin. Of snow falling outside the windows and firelight dancing on wood-paneled walls. Of his hands in my hair and his mouth against my throat. Of waking up next to him and feeling, for the first time in my life, like I belonged somewhere other than the swimming pool.
I woke up drenched in sweat, hard and aching and furious with myself for wanting something I couldn’t have. Something I didn’tneed.
I got dressed in the dark and went for a run.
Three miles became five. Five became eight. I ran until my lungs burned and my legs shook and the cold air stripped the dream from my skin. I ran until the only thing I could think about was putting one foot in front of the other.
I can’t afford to break down. Not now.
Coach called me into his office on Friday afternoon.
“Nationals,” he said, sliding a manila folder across his desk. “Final logistics.”
I opened it. Plane tickets, hotel confirmations, practice schedules. My event lineup. The 100 and 200 freestyle. The relay anchor. Everything I’d been working toward for the past eight months.
“Departure is Wednesday morning,” he continued. “We’ll have two days to acclimate before the competition starts. Media obligations are Thursday afternoon. You good with that?”
