Hold My Breath(75)

“Whatever,” I shrug, shifting in my seat enough to put my feet on the ledge below and folding my hands in my lap. Future—how does that sound? I glance back to Maddy and think the word in my head, my mouth following my thoughts, curving up as my chest warms. I haven’t looked forward to a future in quite some time, but I do now.

I catch a glimpse of my uncle near the far back just beyond Maddy, and he holds up a hand. I nod to him, glad to see where he is—just in case I need to look someone in the eye that I know, without doubt, is in my corner.

The lights adjust, and Donna runs through a few sound checks. I lift my hand to loosen my tie, but catch myself, knowing I can’t touch a thing now that I’m miked up. Prison begins in three, two, one…

“America loves swimming dynasties. The Hollister brothers were well on their way to becoming one, until tragedy struck. Four years ago, on Christmas Eve, the Hollister family—made up of father Robert, his wife Nan, and their two college-aged boys, Will and Evan—boarded a plane to make a trip up north to a cabin in Wisconsin. It was an annual tradition, a flight Robert had made dozens, if not hundreds, of times over his life as a pilot. This trip…would be their last. Weather, a glitch in the mechanics, and the slightest shift in direction were all blamed in the FAA report, and for months, the sporting world mourned the loss of one of its most promising swimmers.”

My eyes shift to Maddy, her body curled tighter in the chair. I can’t see her face, but for a small glimpse of her profile. She shouldn’t be hearing this, no matter how badly she wants to be here for me. No one should hear this story, yet people keep telling it.

“Will Hollister, the oldest brother—and while often not as flashy as his younger brother Evan, certainly just as talented in the pool—survived. He endured months of rehab, and when his physical road to recovery seemed to straighten out, his mental one took a turn. Rumors of drug use, evidence of alcohol abuse, a car totaled when it ran into a tree just outside of his hometown, between Knox, Indiana and the nightlife of Indianapolis. The headlines told the story of a lone survivor busting at the seams. Survivor…perhaps that’s the key word, though, when talking about Will Hollister.”

“What a difference a year makes. Tonight, the last Hollister will take to the water again in a match-up against some of the best swimmers in the Midwest. The meet is just a friendly arranged among some of swimming’s legends, recently anointed as the lineup of coaches charged with leading the US Men’s and Women’s Swimming Teams to the top of the podium later this summer. It’s a practice-run, of sorts, before the real trials happen the following week. But for Will Hollister, the trials begin with this race…they began when he started training again, living in Michigan with his uncle, his only living relative. They began…when that plane took off from an icy runway on a journey that would forever change one of the greatest swimmers in Indiana State University history.”

I feel it coming before she asks. It’s like I’ve rehearsed, though I haven’t—I’ve just been asked these questions enough.

“Will, how have you been coping with the attention? I’m sure you feel the pressure—even here,” Donna says, turning to look me in the eyes. I know the cameras are on me now. I smile, mouth closed, hands clasped in my lap. I am the epitome of calm on the surface. Inside, I am numb.

“This place has always been home. The Shore Club is where I started, it’s where Evan and I trained, where we first met Maddy and Coach Woodsen. It just seemed right to train here—if I was going to really give this a shot,” I say, exhaling when I feel the focus shift back to Donna. She winks at me, a sign that my answer was good. I know it was—it’s what they all want to hear.

“And how do you feel about your shot? It’s been a while since you’ve competed, other than a few small meets leading up to your time at training camp. Do you think you can still find that fire that once drove you?”

I run my palm over my cheek, thinking about her question. I’ve answered this before, but she’s asked it differently. And the time—it’s not the same. Before, I wasn’t sure I’d ever find the water again, and now that I have, I need to find the fire to win. My mouth ticks up on one side at that thought, and my eyes shift to her.

“I think when you’re a competitor, that drive is always there. I just had to wake it up again, remember what it felt like and use it. It kind of comes back to training here, too. Coach Woodsen…Maddy…they push me. They always have. And maybe that need to win carries a little more weight than it once did, too,” I say.

“Uh huh,” she hums, leaning forward on one arm, closer to me. Her eyes move from one of mine to the other, and I can tell she’s legitimately interested in my story. It’s probably because she’s a former swimmer, but it sets me at ease a little, and I feel the weight on my chest lift enough that I no longer feel the need to rip my tie from my neck.

We settle in to a pattern, and the questions come as I expect. We talk about Evan; we talk about how hard it was for me to grieve, the guilt I felt, and the pillar of strength Duncan has been for me over the last four years. And then she mentions Maddy.

“You two…you’re close,” she says, her lip curling as she delves into uncharted waters for me and interviews.

“We’re friends,” I correct, my eyes warning hers.