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With just the steady, measured breaths, and the burning of my muscles, I felt free. It was like my shitty future wasn’t mapped out in front of me. It didn’t matter that I could barely read or write, or that numbers were a jumbled fucking mess. It wasn’t an issue that the soles of my too-small school shoes flopped open when I walked, letting the rain soak my hand-me-down socks; that my trousers were too short and too tight.

When I started qualifying for national competitions and bringing medals home, my parents started to take notice. Swimming was no longer a way to keep me out from under their feet. But I didn’t want them to take notice. Not because they started showing up to meets or anything, but because they started to see potential. That I could be worth something.

Which is why, when I got the chance to come to the States and train for the Olympics, I stayed. My family have never seen me as anything other than a cash cow, and quite frankly, fuck them. The only person who has ever seemed to genuinely care for me is my nan. We speak to each other on the phone every now and again, but I haven’t been back to the UK in years.

I’m so lost in my own thoughts, I don’t notice Aldo stepping into my office until he closes the door behind him.

“You’ll make your fingers bleed,” he says. “I thought you were trying to stop.”

I narrow my eyes. “Yeah, well, I’m stressed. And you’re dripping on my carpet.”

“Well, if you’d let me get changed first, I wouldn’t be.” He folds his arms across his broad chest, and I try to convince myself I’m not an asshole.

“Sorry for talking to you like that in front of the team,” I mutter.

Aldo’s shoulders sag a little and he pushes his hand through his still-damp hair, his fingers tangling in the thick, dark strands. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not.” I shake my head. “I acted like a prick. West is going to want answers, but that’s my responsibility to deal with as Coach.”

He gives me the lopsided smile that I’m not allowed to lust after anymore. “As Captain, I think I can shoulder a little bit of that responsibility.”

I blow out a slow breath, my gaze flitting over to the deep, leather couch on the other side of my office. Last May, I brought Aldo in to offer him the position of captain for his senior year. My heart swells at the memory of how proud and happy he’d been. All season, it had been a close call between him and Wes, but he’d pulled it out of the bag that last month.

Usually, when I invite people up to my office, they can’t wait to leave. Apparently, I make people uncomfortable. But once I’d given him the good news, Aldo just settled in on my couch and asked me what my summer plans were. I’d considered chucking him out, but for some reason, I sat down next to him and found myself answering him.

Aldo’s from San Francisco. His parents are both second generation Italians, hence his exquisite Mediterranean coloring, and he has the stereotypically huge Italian family to go with it. I, on the other hand, have no one.

My family is shit. It’s just me, my parents, my big sister, and my nan. My parents still live in the same run-down council house on the outskirts of Manchester I was born in, and they certainly don’t give one single fuck about me. Not since I stopped sending them a cut of my sponsorship money.

So, I’d dodged the question, telling him I’d just hang around the States. Conversation flowed easily, my cheeks aching from smiling more than I had in years, and I ended up offering him a coffee from the nifty machine I had installed last year.

It was weird. I’d coached Aldo for three years, but never spoken to him properly. Not like that afternoon. Maybe because when I got here, he was just a kid. He’s no longer the lithe freshman he was then, though. The Aldo who sat close enough on the couch that our thighs touched was all man.

He'd dated one of the sorority girls, Susie, for most of the year. I only knew because of the way she would scream and throw herself at him at home meets. I also noticed when she stopped coming.

I’ve been out as bisexual since I was a teenager but over the last few years, I’ve gravitated more toward women. Until Aldo.Fuck. Worst idea ever.

My breath catches as I remember the way his gaze had kept hooking on my mouth. The way we’d swayed steadily closer until we were practically cuddling on that sofa. The way he’d hugged me when I mentioned nonchalantly how shite my parents are. The way he’d tasted of coffee and smelled of chlorine in a way that shouldn’t have worked, but really, really did.

Blinking, I look back at Aldo to find his annoyed expression has softened.

“Doug . . .”

I wince. It’s exactly how he said my name the day he left for summer break. After that first tentative kiss, we tried to forget it happened, but the pull was too strong. We ended up fooling around in secret for the last few weeks of school. The day he left to head back to San Francisco, we sat on that same sofa, and he told me that what was between us had to stop. That it wasn’t worth the trouble we could both get in.

What he said made sense, but it still hurt like hell. I might as well have those words tattooed on my forehead:Not worth the trouble.

“You need to get the team together,” I say, leaning forward on my desk. “The spirit was lame as fuck today. Danny did a great job of making sure everyone pulled their weight. All you have to do is keep it going. Can you do that?”

Aldo frowns at the mention of last year’s captain. “Yes, Coach.”

“Good.” I open a folder on my desk and wave my hand in a dismissive gesture I know will have him shooting daggers at me. “Go shower.”

I force myself to look at the words on the page in front of me, but I don’t see a single one. The longest minute in the world passes as Aldo stands, dripping in my doorway. Then he opens the door and leaves, closing it firmly behind him.

Once I’m sure he’s gone, I chuck the folder off my desk and drop my forehead to the gray surface with a thud. We’re only five days into this academic year and I’m already done.

ALDO

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