My purse is loaded down with ones—stacks and stacks of them. Tonight will be the best sixty bucks I’ve ever spent, and Will doesn’t see it coming.
He beat me when we raced. I have to admit there was a small piece of me—the tiger living within—that thought for most of the distance I had a shot. But Will’s just too big. His arms dwarf mine; his body length is dominating even to other men, and the power he brings with every stroke sounds like thunder in the water. I lost by a little more than two seconds, and two seconds in the water, in a fifty-meter sprint for your life, is a really long time.
I thought about those two seconds all night, and I brought them with me to workouts on Monday. I held onto them when we took the blocks again for more sprints. I obsessed on them every single time we raced this week. And today…today I clocked in just under twenty-four seconds in my fifty. More than a personal best, if I can swim that time in competition, better it by one less stroke, I’ll take the world record.
When I saw the time, the first person I turned to wasn’t my dad—it was Will. It’s been Will all week. It’s been Will since the moment I first saw him again. Wrong or not, he makes me faster. He makes me happy. And this rekindled friendship that has grown by leaps and bounds this week, just because of some stupid bet, has made me happier than anything has in years.
The routine isn’t very old, which I guess doesn’t make it much of a routine, but for the last four days, Will has invited me out for lunch or coffee after our morning training, and he’s always waiting for me to show up before he puts in his laps at night. Not once have I told him I was coming, and not once has he asked if I was. It’s this weird understood agreement we never discussed that I’d be here when the sun sets, and he’d be here. I’m not sure how long he waited the first time, but the smile that stretched across his face when I showed up to join him took me back to the old us, and I think that’s why I keep coming. I like making the trip back in time.
I like making Will Hollister smile.
I find my favorite old chair in the club lobby—the one with the chenille arms that I can draw doodles on with my fingers—and pull my legs in, my hands wringing the dripping water from my hair while Will changes upstairs. My father walks in from the pool with two men wearing dress shirts and pants, with sunglasses on their heads, but ties left out of the wardrobe. It’s clear they’re here on business, probably sponsorships, so I sit up tall and prepare myself to help my dad close the deal.
“Here she is,” he says, walking the two men who look more Wall Street than Indiana swimming hole over to me. I stand, wiping the excess water from my palms along my dry shorts before I reach out to shake their hands.
“Maddy, I’d like you to meet Craig and Allan Cumberland.
I swallow, recognizing their names instantly. Their name—Cumberland—is printed on the label of every swimsuit I own.
“Nice to meet you,” I say, careful to give each of them the perfect handshake. My eyes glance to my dad, and we communicate silently. This visit, it means dollars.
“That was some sprint out there. Your dad tells me it was on world-record pace,” the taller one says. I’m not sure if he’s Craig or Allan, but I do know that this is not the time to ask. I’ll pretend I know and plan to consult Google images later.
“Oh, uhm…thanks. I’m sorta trying not to think about that part,” I blush.
“She’s lying,” my dad says, leaning into the shorter one and covering his mouth while still talking loudly. “It’s all she’s thinking about.”
My eyes rush to my dad’s, and I smile on one side, shrugging.
“He’s right,” I admit.
“Hard not to think about something when it might actually be within reach,” the shorter brother says. “I get it.”
I give him a tightlipped smile and nod.
“The Cumberlands were actually talking to me about maybe having you and Will sit down for an interview or two under their sponsorship umbrella?” my dad says. I arch a brow and look from the brothers to my dad and back.
“Why Will and me?” I ask, knowing. It’s Will’s story, and then how I fit in with it all.
“Only if you’re comfortable,” the brother nearest to me says, his hands falling into the pockets of his expensive pants and his smile shaded by the stubble around his cheeks and chin. I don’t answer, because I’m finding it hard to evade, to not be honest on this one. I don’t mind being interviewed when it’s about me, my training, my wins and losses, but this will be about Will. And Will won’t want to dig up any of this. My eyes meet my dad’s and he takes over.
“We’ll work on setting something up, here at the pool,” my dad smiles.