Page 78 of Depths of Desire
The thought hit me like a sucker punch, and I had to grip the edge of the bar to steady myself. Even here, hundreds of miles away from campus and responsibility and the pool where he spent his life pursuing perfection, I couldn’t escape him. He’d gotten under my skin so completely that I was starting to think like him, to see the world through his lens of discipline and single-minded focus.
Maybe that was the real problem. Maybe I’d fallen for someone so deeply that I’d lost track of who I was without him.
I drained the third mojito and set the glass down harder than necessary. The bartender glanced over, probably wondering if he should cut me off, but I was already walking away from the bar, away from Tyler and his uncomplicated friends, away from the swimmer with the confident smile.
Away from all the people who weren’t Oliver.
The path back to my cabin wound through a grove of pine trees, their shadows cool and welcoming after the bright heat of the afternoon. I walked slowly, letting the alcohol buzz settle into my bones, trying to figure out what the hell I was doing here.
Moving on, I reminded myself.That’s what this is supposed to be.
But moving on implied motion, progress, or some kind of forward momentum. What I was doing felt more like running inplace. Or worse, running backward, trying to retrace steps that would lead me back to him.
I’d thought that geographic distance would help. That being in a different place, surrounded by different people, would somehow reset whatever Oliver had rewired in my brain. But it wasn’t working. If anything, being here made it worse.
Every corner of this resort held memories. The main lodge where we’d eaten breakfast, him grumpy and gorgeous in the morning light. The hiking trail we’d pointed out through the window when it was buried in snow. And the cabin. God, the cabin.
I could see it now, tucked between two massive pines, exactly the way it had looked that snowy December night.
I climbed the steps and let myself inside, the familiar scent of cedar and old wood hitting me like a physical blow.
I paced to the window, stared out at the lake where speedboats carved white wakes through the blue. Families on vacation, couples on romantic getaways, groups of friends making memories they’d laugh about for years. All of them moving forward with their lives while I stood here, paralyzed by the ghost of something that was never supposed to matter this much.
Maybe I should go swimming.
The thought swelled in me, desperate and slightly manic. Physical activity had always been my go-to solution for emotional chaos. Exhaust the body, quiet the mind. It worked for hockey, worked for stress, worked for everything except this.
But I grabbed my swim trunks anyway, changed in the bathroom where Oliver had showered six months ago, where I’d watched him emerge in nothing but those black briefs that made my brain short-circuit. I could still see him there if I closed my eyes, skin flushed from heat, water droplets on his collarbone,that unconscious confidence that came from living in a body built for performance.
Stop it.
I practically ran to the lake, dove in without testing the temperature, and immediately regretted it. The water was fucking freezing, mountain runoff that shocked every nerve ending into hyperawareness. I surfaced gasping, treading water in the middle of the lake, surrounded by pristine wilderness that should have felt like freedom.
Instead, I felt trapped.
The cold was supposed to numb me, was supposed to wash away the constant ache in my chest. But it just made everything sharper, more present. I could feel every part of my body, every sensation amplified, and all I could think about was how Oliver would have loved this. How he would have powered through the shock of cold water like he powered through everything else, sleek and efficient and beautiful.
I swam hard toward the far shore, trying to outrun my own thoughts. Freestyle, the way he’d taught me that one afternoon when I’d complained about my terrible technique. His hands on my hips, adjusting my body position. His voice in my ear, patient and encouraging, like he actually wanted me to get better.
“You’re fighting the water. Stop fighting it. Let it carry you.”
But the water wasn’t carrying me now. It was just cold and vast and empty, like everything else in my life since I’d walked out of his apartment.
I made it maybe a quarter mile before I gave up, floating on my back and staring at the cloudless sky. The sun was starting to sink lower, painting everything in shades of gold that should have been beautiful. It would have been beautiful if I’d had someone to share it with.
If I’d had him to share it with.
The thought hit me like a fresh wave of grief. We should have been here together. Should have been skinny-dipping in this exact spot, probably, laughing about how fucking cold it was and warming each other up afterward. We should have been hiking those trails, taking ridiculous photos, making new memories to add to our collection.
I swam back to shore with mechanical strokes, each one carrying me further from any hope of feeling normal again. By the time I reached the dock, my lips were blue, and my entire body was shaking. I wrapped myself in the towel I’d brought and trudged back to the cabin, leaving wet footprints on the wooden deck.
The shower was scalding, exactly what I needed to chase away the cold. But even the heat couldn’t reach the ice that had settled in my chest, the frozen weight of everything I’d lost.
I should go running.
The idea formed as I dried off, desperate and manic. If swimming hadn’t worked, maybe I could exhaust myself on the hiking trails. Run until my lungs burned and my legs gave out and I was too tired to think about Oliver’s hands in my hair, Oliver’s mouth on my throat, Oliver’s body moving against mine in the exact bed I was going to sleep in tonight.
I pulled on running shorts and trail shoes, laced them tight enough to cut off circulation. The sun was lower now, casting long shadows through the forest, but I didn’t care. I had a headlamp if it got dark. I had water. I had nothing but time and the desperate need to move.
