“It’s on, sistah,” I say, splashing water over my face and head before stretching my arms one at a time.
“Like Donkey Kong,” she yells back through her own splashing and stretching. I chuckle at her because she’s cute. This whole scene is such a bad idea, and if I were half the man I’m pretending to be, maybe trying to be, I’d call this whole thing off now and tell her to just head home, that I have work to do. I’d be cold and avoid her just like she did the minute I arrived. But she let me in—and then, there’s the rush.
God, I love the rush.
“You call it,” I shout, lifting myself to the deck and shaking out my arms in front of my body, searching for more blood flow—any edge I can get.
I can barely see Maddy climb out on her side, the shadows of her arms and legs mimicking mine. She’s not going to make this easy, but I also know that she doesn’t have a shot.
“You ready?” she yells.
“Born ready, Woodsen. Bring it!” I chuckle.
“Take your marks,” she yells.
I breathe through my nose, my heart starting to race faster while I blink once at the water below me. I’m coiled and ready, like a runner waiting for the gun, and when Maddy shouts, “Go!” I hear her hit the water just as I do. For exactly two strokes, I think about her body gliding in, her form and discipline—and then the new me takes over.
I grab water and pull while my legs kick hard, my shoulders rotating in a perfect rhythm with each pound of my palms against the surface. I am a machine, and this is what I’ve been trained to do. I spent a year finding myself again, and nothing could seem to bring back my speed, until I learned to use the weight of everything in my life to my advantage.
My arms dig harder, and my mind forgets that there are nine more laps to go as my body flips and my feet kick against the sidewall. I never even felt her pass, but I know she did because a quick glance shows that she’s once again heading toward me. I dig harder, and I forget it all again—I hold on to nothing but the pain. I hear the hum of the plane, I hear my mother’s screams; I hear my dad telling everyone it’s going to be all right, that he can land us. I hear the explosions, the impact, the sirens, the beeping of hospital machines.
I flip.
My arms move faster.
I feel Maddy pass me to the right. I can tell I’m ahead.
Each time my feet hit the wall, they push harder. Each time my hands punch the water, they pull my body faster. With every stroke she takes, I take two. My lungs work in sync with my heart, my head swivels when I need air, my mind mentally calculates how long it will take until I reach the wall again, and I count—five, four, three, two…spin.
My body moves so fast and my mind focuses on what fuels me so intently that I don’t realize what’s happened until I feel Maddy’s hand brush my leg as I push off the wall and spin. I twist and startle in the water, the wave of my wake washing over me while I grab at the rope and push water from my eyes.
“What’s wrong. You okay?” I say, breathless.
“You went a hundred too far, Will. You beat me already,” she says.
My chest rises and falls, my lungs trying to claw their way back to normal from the ragged abuse I put them through. I stare at her, and her expression looks like pity.
“Don’t,” I finally say, swimming to the edge next to her. I move to lift myself from the water, but her hand finds me again, her touch on my bicep soft, but arresting.
I look at her touch and then into her eyes. She pulls her hand away, reaching instead for the rope behind her. She doesn’t speak for several seconds. She doesn’t have to.
She and I—we never really needed words. That’s why we stayed away from each other. You can’t hide how fucked up you’re feeling when the other person can read it all over your face.
“Thanks for the race, Maddy,” I say. I lift from the water and pick up my clothes, shaking away enough of the water to step inside without leaving a slippery trail. I leave the door opened a tick behind me, but I don’t wait for Maddy to get out and leave. We’re done here.
We probably should have never started.
Chapter Five
Maddy
He doesn’t even look tired.
Will was early to training, most of his warm-up laps done before my fingertips hit the water. I’m dragging today, and I know it. My dad knows it, too. He just doesn’t know the reason why.
I left here last night early enough to get a decent night’s sleep, if only my eyes and mind would have cooperated. I laid awake until almost three, and I honestly think sheer exhaustion was the only thing to knock me out. Without it, my mind would have kept working to make sense of Will’s behavior…of my own.
“Do it again,” my dad says the second I lift my body from the pool. His mouth is flat, and he’s painted with disappointment. My chest hurts because I don’t like it when I make him act like this—like a real coach.