Hold My Breath(92)

“This Swim Club…it has been my life…our lives. Maddy, Susan, me…Will,” he looks up, nodding toward me. “I think people are born competitors. I am one. I married one. Our daughter, Maddy—she’s a lion. There is no one fiercer than her when it comes to those waters outside.”

“Where is he going with this?” I whisper to Maddy.

Her hand squeezes mine harder, and when I look at her, her eyes set on her father, the tears pooling in them, I feel that sense of loss wrap it’s claws around my insides again.

“I wanted you all to know the honor you hold,” Curtis says. “You will be the final group of swimmers to train here…”

Gasps fill the air, and Maddy’s strength falters next to me. I reach around her and hold her against me, my stomach sick.

“Don’t…no…” Curtis shakes his head. “Don’t be sad,” he says, raising his head, a genuine smile on his face as his eyes scan around the room, finally settling on mine. His mouth curves more when our gazes meet. “Don’t you dare be sad,” he says, as if these words are meant for me. “I have had so much joy running this place, working with you all. I have loved helping you compete. And I intend to see it through to the very end, through trials and at the Olympics. My dream lives on with each of you…it’s just the mortgages that need to stop.”

A few people laugh lightly, and Curtis smiles as he looks down at Susan, reaching to hold her hand.

“Let’s raise our glasses to toast,” he says, lifting his champagne, the real stuff for him. “To one more race…to the Shore Club and memories. And to that god-forsaken, bloody-hard-to-get, goddamned eighteen!”

“Here, here,” several people shout, raising their glasses and drinking their liquid down in gulps. I hold my eyes on Curtis’s, each of us looking at one another through the celebration. I need to find the joy, and I need to get that number for him. I need to win if I want to swim for him past the trials.

I need to stop the bleeding.

“Let’s get out of here,” I say to my side before tilting my glass back, draining it and setting it down on the edge of the dining-room table.

I look to Maddy, and she does the same, nodding to me and meeting my stare.

She doesn’t ask where we’re going as I drive back toward the Swim Club, passing it, and continuing on to the only place left that I think might ease the growing hole in my heart.

The sun glints off the rustling leaves as I wind through the country road to Peterson Lake, and it still hasn’t quite set when I shift the car into park and exit, walking around to Maddy’s side in time to take her hand.

She’s wearing a white sundress and sandals, and I’m wearing my dress paints and the button-down shirt I’ve probably worn out by now. As we near the end of the trail, Maddy halts me and pulls her shoes from her feet, her smile hitting my eyes like honey on the tongue. She walks backward, her lip quirked on one side, her fingertips linked with mine as she lures me down to the water, a slight breeze making zigzags along the shallow surface. I kick my shoes off near the edge, and we both stop where the ground becomes wet. I look to the outcropping where our tree still stands.

“They still planning on tearing that down?” I nod toward the rope swing, and Maddy turns to follow my gaze.

She shrugs lightly.

“My mom hasn’t said, but I know they’re looking to put some houses up here,” she says.

I breathe out a short laugh, shaking my head as Maddy turns.

“It all goes away, doesn’t it?” I say.

Her fingertips dance along the tips of mine, and as I look out over the water, I feel her looking at me.

“Not everything,” she says, bending down and picking up a small, flat stone. She opens my palm and sets it inside, wrapping my fingers around it, curling it between us.

My lips tug up at her sweetness. I open my palm and shake the rock down to my fingertips, holding it up and squinting at it with one eye.

“For old time’s sake?” I say.

She holds my gaze, her mouth a smirk.

“You’re on, Hollister,” she says, looking down and holding her hair out of her vision as she scans the water, flipping over rocks with her toes. She finds her perfect stone, then lifts it up for me to inspect.

“Seems heavy to me,” I grimace, baiting her.

Her eyes squint as she rubs her thumb along the rock’s edge, holding it between us.

“That’s you being a chicken,” she says.

“Chickens first, then?” I say.

“Be my guest,” she says, taking a step back, giving me room to throw.

I stretch my arm across my body, still feeling the tightness from racing today, then I glance around the water for the perfect direction. Rocks jut up in some places, so I want the longest runway possible. Cocking my arm back, I look at her one last time.

“What’s the wager?” I ask. “Strip club again?”

She purses her lips and lets her head fall slightly to one side, her eyes narrowing on me.

“Liked it that much, did you?” she teases.

I shrug, laughing hard enough that my chest rumbles. I feel lighter, and I know that’s because of Maddy.

“How about this,” she begins, one eye closing more than the other, her hip shifting her weight to one leg. “You win, I’ll do a swing with you…in my white dress,” she says, one brow quirking up.