Hold My Breath(19)

Will’s group swims next, and as much as I tell myself not to watch, my eyes can’t seem to move away from his body. This time, I block out the sounds, and I focus only on his form. He’s loose, but somehow, even from far away, I can tell that every muscle in his body is prepared for war. He grips the blocks and his head rises, eyes forward and looking ahead to the next several seconds, like he’s traveling through time. My dad’s whistle startles me, I’m so buried in the visual, and I miss most of Will’s entry into the water, his body gone under the surface in a blink. When he rises, just like last night, his movements are smooth but urgent—every stroke more like an attack. Hands pound and fight through every stroke, almost as if he’s more machine than man.

He wins easily, and as I step up to the blocks again, I watch the swimmers near him offer congratulations. Will stands there expressionless, swinging his hand in their direction to tap knuckles only to be polite. His eyes remain on the water, like he’s searching for something underneath. I should be doing the same thing, only I can’t stop looking at him.

We sprint for nearly an hour, and I lose my first three heats, each race getting tighter, until fatigue takes down my opponents and nobody can keep up. I have them in stamina at least. It doesn’t make me feel any better, and it doesn’t erase the crease between my father’s eyes—the ones that tell me he thinks something’s wrong, too.

Something is wrong. My head is all f*cked up because of Will Hollister, just like I knew it would be. Yet, every time I pull myself from the water, he is the first place every ounce of my attention goes. I study him. I look so hard that for the first time since that day on the rope swing, when he was on his way to being a man and I was still a child, I notice all of the little differences between Will and Evan Hollister. Where Evan was polished, Will is rough. One brother quiet but always in control, the other loud as he pounds and kicks, absolutely nothing about the way he moves in the water in control at all.

My dad doesn’t say a word when I exit the pool. He talks to a few of the other guys, but Will and I are left alone, as much physical distance between us as we can both put there. I can tell he’s actively trying to stay away just like I am. Something happened last night—we got too close to the center of both of our pain.

That can’t happen again.

I slip into the locker room and change, glad to have driven myself here this morning. My T-shirt and shorts are on in minutes, my hair clipped in a wet twist on the back of my head, and my phone is held in my hand to text my best friend so I can avoid talking to anyone on my way to my car. Amber manages to catch me before I sneak away unnoticed, though, and I feel her hand brush along my arm, stopping me mid-step through the front door. I turn to look into her anxious eyes.

“You…you said nine, right?” Her brow is pinched slightly, and I know it’s because she beat me, so she assumes I must hate her now.

Part of me does, but not really. Just the immature, ego-driven part that doesn’t feel like admitting that nobody beat me today but myself.

I give Amber a closed-mouth grin as I nod.

“Nine,” I repeat, leaning forward. “And…wear something nice, with comfortable shoes.”

“Right. Okay, great…I’ll…I’ll be here,” she says, adjusting the straps of her bag on her shoulder. I wait for her to take a few steps backward before I continue through the lobby door, my phone gripped in my palm.

Please say tonight is your night off.

By the time I get in my car, my phone dings with Holly’s response.

Define night off. I’m not working, but I have a paper due Monday, and I haven’t even started.

I turn the engine and push the volume control on my stereo down to zero. My head is noisy enough on its own; I can’t handle music right now.

I’ll write your paper.

This is a lie. Holly knows it, but I need to work my way up to begging her to drive two hours to help me sneak an underage swimmer—I wish I had never talked to now—into the club that led to the loss of my virginity.

You hate papers. You’ll just put it off until I’m desperate. This is a trick.

I laugh for a second, then lean back in my seat, my phone propped in my hand against the steering wheel. I need to get her here.

I sort of invited one of the new girls out for “initiation.”

She writes back quickly.

Well that was dumb.

I wait for more, but she ends it there. I need something that will make this irresistible for her. I need to up the stakes.

And Will is coming.

Lie, lie, lie! My words send before I’m able to think about what they really mean, and when I look at them, I gulp out loud.

What time?

My head falls to the side against my window and my eyes glance out to see everyone finding their way to their own vehicles. He won’t show up, and we’ll be gone from here before he sees us. I’ll just tell her he changed his mind.

I text her nine and tell her to meet me at the club, then toss my phone in the center console before clicking my belt and staring long and hard at the back of the black sedan parked in front of me. My stomach hurts like I’m guilty of something, and the more seconds that tick by, the more symptoms I seem to come down with—my head hurts, my eyelid twitches, palms are sweating.

I pull my phone out to confess, to tell Holly never mind before I chase after Amber and make up a different lie for why I have to cancel, when the tapping on my window makes me jump in my seat, clutching my phone and both palms against my chest. Will winces, squinting one eye in apology as I slowly roll down my window.