Hold My Breath(20)

“I thought you saw me, sorry,” he says.

I shake my head no, my heart still pounding too hard for me to talk.

“I…” he stops, his eyes locked on mine while he sucks in his top lip. He shifts his weight and looks down, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. When the wet strands of his hair fall forward into his eyes, he pushes them back, leaving his hand on his head for a few seconds while his focus remains on his feet.

“It’s okay, Will,” I step in for him.

His head lifts and his eyes meet mine, his smile crooked. He nods slightly, then looks down again, a sad laugh escaping his throat.

“You know it’s not,” he says, only glancing up to me for a beat before looking down again.

I watch him wrestle with himself, with the demons in his own heart and mind. He shakes his head and draws his mouth in tight again before pulling his hands from his pockets and resting them on the edge of my window.

“I’m just sorry, Maddy. Last night…I wanted to tell you that,” he says, his fingers sliding from their grip and falling back to his sides as he takes a step backward.

This time, I’m the one who can’t look up all the way. My mouth works independent of my best judgment.

“I’m meeting Amber here at nine. In the lobby. I’m taking her to the Mill. You…” I swallow once, fast. “You should come.”

I peer up, somehow not surprised when my eyes meet the perfect blue of his. A second or two passes before he smiles faintly.

“Probably not a good idea,” he says, turning his wrist over and tapping along a small tattoo. From here it looks like a series of lines, almost like a sketch-drawn barcode. I don’t know what it means, but I understand enough from his tone that it’s probably a symbol that reminds him of his worst self, avoiding that self.

“Right,” I say. “Bars probably aren’t a great idea.”

His lip ticks up in a silent laugh.

“Like a sparkler at a gas station,” he says.

I laugh quietly with him, nothing about any of it really funny. It’s the sad kind of truthful laugh that fades away with regrets and weakness.

“I’ve got some things I need to do, anyway. I’m not sure I’d make it back in time,” he says.

“More estate things?” I ask.

My question is innocuous but there’s something about the way his eyes snap to mine. His mouth parts, but he doesn’t speak right away. When he finally does, it’s strange, like he’s repeating some line he knows will work and not beg for questions. He sounds like he’s lying.

“Just more papers.”

He shrugs, his mouth shut tight. His eyes dare mine for a few seconds, a half smile plays out on his lips, and I feel questions swirling around my head. This estate should have been settled four years ago. Even things that could come up—the unexpected, like debts—would be dealt with by now. Four tax cycles have passed. Either something else has gone wrong with it, like maybe Will drained it all in a few short years, partying hard and driving fast, or he’s not dealing with his family’s estate at all. He’s dealing with—or doing—something else. And if his recent past is any indication, those other things aren’t going to be good for his swimming, and the risk is also there for my father and this club.

“Papers,” I repeat the word, “or…whatever.”

His eyes flair a touch, so I hold his stare long enough to force him to respond. He takes a deep breath and backs away a step from my car, a slight shake to his head, like he’s warning me not to dig too deep.

“You always shot straight with me, Will,” I say, a tightness taking over in my chest.

“I did,” he says, his eyes blinking twice, his mouth closed tight. I note the careful choice in words, the past tense.

“You shooting straight with me now?” I ask, my pulse now constant.

Will sucks in his top lip, his hands finding his pockets while he puffs air from his nose, his head down as he laughs silently. He cocks his head to one side, his eyes leveling me. I’m sick because I want to know, and I’m praying for him not to say anything.

“I’ll see you Monday then, I guess,” he says.

We stare at each other for a few more seconds, my hand poised on the button for my window. Will nods one more time before I push it, and I watch him in my rearview mirror as I drive away. I look at him for as long as I can. He never moves. He never tells me a thing.

Straight shot my ass.





Will




It’s a little over a two-hour drive to Indianapolis. Without Uncle Duncan in the car, I make it just under two. It’s noon when I roll up to her house, right in time for lunch. The van is out front, and I’m glad to see it there. At least one thing I’ve helped Tanya with has gone right.

I sit at the edge of the driveway for a few minutes thinking about Maddy, but looking at the doorway to my real responsibilities. I’m taking on too much; I know I am. But Tanya’s the one who convinced me to compete again. She said I needed to do one thing for me. And at least while I’m training in Knox, I’ll be able to drive to her house to help with things rather than having her save them up for whenever I can get myself to make the trip. Flights…they’re still hard for me.

I kill the engine, and the front door opens. She’s wearing sweat pants and a large State T-shirt, her blonde hair twisted in a knot on top of her head. She looks exhausted. I’m not helping enough.