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I can’t even remember when our friendship turned into something more, but one thing never changed. Lane was my best friend. The person I trusted most in the world.

I gulp down a breath, the sweat coating my skin now ice cold. Panic floods my veins as I scan the crowd again. It wasn’t him. It’s impossible.

My eyes find Trey, the sophomore Wolf who DJs their events, and I wave him over.

“Holy shit, Joy!” he exclaims as he bumps my fist. “You’re killing it tonight.”

“Thanks,” I say, my smile feeling heavy on my lips. “Wanna take over for a bit?”

He frowns, glancing over his shoulder at where the crowd is still high on my last mix. “You sure you don’t want to ride this a little longer?”

I shake my head. “Need some air.”

He shrugs and holds out his hands for my headphones.

I take them off in such a hurry that the wire gets caught in my messy ponytail and I forget my shoes as I push through the crowd. I don’t head outside, though. Instead, I head to my room. I need quiet. Space. I need to breathe.

Ironically, it’s times like this I miss Lane the most. He always knew how to ground me. Until he destroyed me.

Pushing open my window to let the cold winter air in, I collapse onto my bed and pull my shark plushie into my arms. It’s my high school mascot and it’s seen me through more tough times than I can count.

After a few minutes, my pulse is steady and the nausea that flooded my gut has retreated. Sliding off my bed, I grimace at my dirty feet and pull on a pair of black ballet flats before heading back downstairs.

It doesn’t take long before I spot Aldo on the edge of the dance floor talking to Parker. His face lights up when he sees me, and he jerks his head in the direction of the dance floor in question. I nod and take his hand, pulling him into the crowd.

As the music floods my system once more, I close my eyes and lose myself. I refuse to let a ghost ruin tonight for me.

Because that’s what Lane Masters is. A fucking ghost.

JOY

Despite everyone clearly being a little hungover after the party last night, the team is pulling together well in practice this morning. It’s not often that Coach insists on weekend practices, but he’s been tough as hell since our loss at the beginning of the month. At least we started at seven instead of our usual weekday time of five.

Pulling myself out of the pool, I snap off my goggles and head to the benches for some water. I’m still breathing hard, my skin heating with sweat now I’m out of the pool, and I gulp down the water as I watch the others complete their laps.

Wes and Aldo are racing each other, and I lean against the railing admiring their form as they slice through the water. It’s close, like it always is between those two, and slowly the others in the team finish up and watch.

Wes is taller and broader, and it’s a testament to Aldo that he beats him frequently. There’s just something about the way Aldo moves through the water so effortlessly. It’s mesmerizing. It’s a shame he doesn’t want to swim professionally because he could.

They finish up and Coach McMann looks down at them, frowning at his stopwatch.

“Point six of a second between you. Neither of you beat your best times. Not good enough. Maybe I need to put a ban on partying during swim season.”

I watch the post-race buzz slide from Aldo’s face, replaced by disappointment, and my grip tightens on my water bottle, my mouth falling open in disbelief. The pool fills with an awkward silence until Wes sighs and turns, starting his cool down lap. I expect Aldo to do the same, but he just stares up at Coach, his jaw clenched.

Snapping the lid of my water bottle closed, I place it down on the bench beside my towel, never taking my eyes off them. Coach has been hard on Aldo this year, but this feels like something more, and I take a step closer.

“I had one drink last night,” Aldo grits out, pulling his goggles off and dropping them onto the side. “That was a decent time.”

Coach sneers. “Decent isn’t good enough.”

I open my mouth to intervene, although I’m not sure how, when Aldo pulls himself out of the pool. His powerful muscles ripple as the water sluices off his skin, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he steps into Coach’s space.

“What is your problem,Coach?”

Only Wes, Jordan and Elsie are still swimming, oblivious to what’s happening poolside. Everyone else is either along the benches or clutching the side of the pool, watching with bated breath. I take another step closer.

“My problem is that you’re not taking this team seriously, Rossi.” Coach sneers at Aldo, right in his face. “Maybe you’re not cut out for the team after all.”

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