Page 6 of Teach Me To Sin

As I cross the brick walkway engraved with dozens of donor names, the front door pops open and ejects three young boys with swimming trunks and wet hair. They scamper toward the parking lot while a woman with a baby tries to chase them, calling after them to slow down. She gives my tailored suit an odd look as she thanks me for holding the door.

When I step into the strong smell of chlorine, I’m hit with the queasy nostalgia of summer swimming lessons I hated. I can’t see anyone, but distant splashing and laughter echo high up in the ceiling beams. My watch confirms that it’s the correct time for my appointment, so I wait next to the unattended reception desk. After five minutes of nothing happening, I choose a random hallway to explore. The first one just leads to a weight room and some unisex lockers, all of which sit dark and empty.

Halfway down the next hall, where I find a pool full of teenagers taking some kind of class, a young woman’s voice pipes up behind me. “Can I help you, sir?” Turning around, I look down at a petite redhead in a company-branded polo who eyes me cautiously.

I gesture in no particular direction. “I had a meeting scheduled with Alek Simmons, but I can’t seem to find him.”

“Of course he didn’t bother to tell me.” Her eye roll is followed by an impish grin. “Welcome to the Lang Aquatic Center, where the building’s impossible to navigate, the program directors are never where they’re supposed to be, and the fun never stops.”

She startles a laugh out of me. “I’m Colson.”

“Willow.” My palm dwarfs hers, but she pumps it with enthusiasm. “I’m the front desk girl and general assistant around here. I try to keep everything in line, but Alek and Victor are…a handful, to put it lightly.”

“That’s promising,” I mutter as I follow her back through reception and down a third hall, where a cavernous quiet replaces the voices and splashing.

“He’s in there.” Willow gestures to the last door. “Holler if you need anything; I’ll be up front.” Before I can answer, she power-walks away, the sound of her footsteps fading to nothing.

Pausing with my hand against the metal door, I look through the little window at the top. Moody, overcast light pours down from high windows onto an empty pool, shimmering on the surface of the water as it moves. A loud scraping pulls my attention deeper into the room, to a set of open closet doors. A lone figure backs out, using his full body weight to drag a rack hung with life jackets and coiled up lane lines. He wipes his face on the front of his sweat-drenched t-shirt, then disappears inside and emerges with a load of heavy plastic bins.

When I push the door open, it squeaks loudly. “Is that you, Willow?” He spins around and stares at me with striking, raven-black eyes. His expression closes off as he steps toward me, wiping his hands off on his jeans. “Are you picking up your kid? The lessons are on the other side of the building.”

“Alek Simmons?” I’d recognize him anywhere. When I first searched for pictures of him online, I was struck by how similar we look–strong features, dark, slicked back hair, and an eye color to match. But he’s shorter and bulkier than me in person, and clearly ten years younger.

At the sight of a stranger in a suit asking for him by name, his jaw clenches and he takes a step back. “Who are you?”

“Colson Strickland? I am–was–an attorney?” No recognition stirs in his face. I try not to sound as annoyed as I feel while I keep everyone straight in my head. “I’m friends with Gray Freeman. Victor Lang’s partner, Ethan, got a referral from him and told me you had a couple of questions about your nonprofit that you wanted to chat through with a lawyer. I thought you knew, obviously.”

His throat jumps as he swallows, eyeing me like I’m a bomb about to go off in his face. He wrestles a phone out of his pocket, taps the screen, and puts it to his ear. “Ethan? Did you send some lawyer after me?” He listens for a minute, then throws his hand up in frustration. “Mind your own business, man. Or is rescuing puppies not enough for your savior complex?” His eyes accidentally meet mine, so he turns away and stares out over the pool. “You could have at least warned me— No, Iwouldn’thave faked a sick day.” After a few more clipped answers, he hangs up and starts pulling lifejackets off the rack. “You can go home. Tell Willow up front what we owe you, and she’ll sort it out.”

The humidity is coating my skin in a fine layer of sweat, so I unbutton my jacket and loosen my tie until I can breathe. “I don’t understand.” Unfortunately for him, things I don’t understand are my catnip.

“I asked you to leave.” When he grabs another plastic tote, the corner bumps a precarious pile of foam kickboards, scattering them across the floor. Alek lets out a slow breath, his shoulders slumping, then starts gathering them up.

I bend over and snag the one nearest me, turning it over in my hand. “I’m already here. Are you sure–”

He snatches it away roughly and holds it to his chest. “No,” he growls, his eyes smoldering with something dangerous, like a cornered animal. Catching himself, he covers it over with a mask of professional disinterest. “This was a misunderstanding. Everything’s fine.”

“That’s what all my clients say. Their lives are so fucked that they’re begging me to take their case, but they can’t stop insisting that everything’s under control.” I gesture around the gloomy space. “This seems like a great facility. I’m happy to help if there’s a problem.” I want enough words from him to at least make up for getting my ass out of the house and driving all the way down here.

He glances pleadingly at the door, like he’s begging someone to interrupt. When nothing happens, he grabs a bright orange life vest withLACwritten on the back in black marker and starts running his hands over it, checking for damage. “There’s no problem. I want to add a new program, that’s all. Nosy people whose names start withEand end withthanlike to make up issues where none exist.”

Folding my arms, I lean against the closet door. I don’t really give a shit about his problems, but now that I got a wedge in him, I’m too curious to stop. This part of practicing law was always my favorite, digging deeper and deeper through someone’s layers, relentless but careful, until they give up what they’re hiding. “Why would adding a new program require legal advice? Unless it’s a liability nightmare like skydiving.”

“It’s not skydiving,” he clarifies unhelpfully without taking his eyes off the life jacket. This time, I just wait. After a minute of silence, it bursts out of him like he can’t hold it back anymore. “I want to keep the business safe from any, um…negativity. But I’ve got it covered. All I’m doing is considering a small professional coaching program. That’s it.”

My mind digs through everything, searching for connections. When it clicks into place, I have to fight not to bury my face in my hands and groan. “Do you have a coach picked out?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

His chin lifts defiantly, daring me to say a word. “Me. It would be me.”

“There it is.” I spread my arms, encompassing the whole facility. “Since I was invited here behind your back, I assume your staff are trying to tell you that they don’t support you risking your entire organization by following in your father’s footsteps.” I’m being a dick now, but I can’t wrap my mind around the hubris that would make someone believe they’re immune from their family’s despicable reputation. What he has now seems so much more important than the meaningless ego boost of coaching Olympic swimmers.

I expect him to explode, but strangely enough I’m the one who’s angry while he just becomes…nothing for a long moment. Completely blank. “Please leave,” he says softly when he finds his voice. “Now.”

Sighing, I straighten up. “Here’s your legal advice. Don’t do it. That will solve all your problems. Take up painting or something if you’re bored, for Christ’s sake.”

Alek drops the lifejacket and steps into my personal space, glaring up into my face. When he moves to grab the front of my shirt, I push his hand away without breaking eye contact. “Careful.”

“Don’t come back here,” he rumbles, his whole body tense and vibrating with an emotion I can’t decipher, more complicated than rage. “You know nothing. I created this place from the ground up. Tell Gray to mind his own fucking business, too.”

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