“That’s enough,” my dad says, moving to the pool’s edge. We both swim over to him and remove the weights.
Will folds his arms on the pool deck and rests his chin on top of his hands while I grip the side and hold on below. My father kneels down and scratches above his right brow, his lips twisted in thought. When he raises his chin, his eyes settle on Will.
“I know you just got back into town, but that interview deal…it’s gotta happen this afternoon. It’s the only slot they have open before they travel to Omaha,” he says.
“Who’s it with?” Will asks, and I notice his hands ball into fists. He doesn’t want to do this.
“The network. It’ll be one of those packages they use between races, kind of with that moody documentary feel. The Cumberlands are pretty excited about it, and they’ve named you and Maddy as their team for trials.” My dad smiles when he mentions this.
“How much did they give you?” I ask, knowing the real reason he’s smiling. He doesn’t care that Will is getting attention. He told me himself that Will won’t see the water after Omaha.
My dad shrugs his shoulders around his neck, his head wavering from side to side.
“They donated a decent package to the program. It’ll go a long way in covering the next camp,” he says.
“Next camp,” I repeat. My dad meets my eyes and his closed-mouth smile grows fast as his eyes light up.
“Wow,” I say, knowing without asking what all of this means. My dad’s made the staff for the Olympics. “Distance? Sprints?”
His mouth grows tighter, but the smirk is still there.
“Head?” My eyes widen.
My dad chuckles, then rubs his hand along his chin.
“If we do well at trials, it’s looking pretty good,” he says.
“Wow,” I say again, turning to look at the smooth, still water next to me. I also understand without asking what the we part means. It’s me. If I do well, my dad pretty much gets the gig.
“Congrats, Coach,” Will says, holding his weight on one arm and reaching to grip my father’s hand. There’s a pause before my dad reciprocates, and my stomach twists. I know what that’s for, too. Will—he’s not part of the deal.
I push back from the wall a little, laying back to float in the water, letting water spill over my cap and ears, drowning out some of the noise. I can’t cut off the sound in my own head, though. When Will lifts himself from the pool, I let my feet fall and right myself to listen.
“I should probably shower and squeeze in a nap if we’re really doing this,” Will says. His jaw is working, but he looks at my father with nothing but calmness behind his eyes. He’s doing this to help my dad—as a favor because he let him miss out on a few practices—because he invited him here in the first place. I can feel my brow pinching, the wrinkle forming just above the bridge of my nose because none of this is fair. If my dad only knew why Will was missing, exactly the lengths he’s gone to for everyone other than himself. I have to get Will to tell him.
“We’ll set up out here. They want to have the pool in the background, sort of put you in the element I guess,” my dad says. “Be here around three, okay son?”
Son. The inside of my mouth becomes sour hearing him say that because I know he doesn’t mean it. He’s using Will, and I’m heartbroken for two reasons—because Will is going to get hurt, and because my dad is doing something I never thought he would.
Will nods and pulls the end of his towel over his shoulder, rubbing it in his hair, his cap held in his other hand. His gaze lingers on me for a second, and his lip ticks up on the left just a hint, his eyes lowering as he turns and heads inside. I feel warm and adored from just a simple glance.
It only takes my dad six seconds to ruin it.
“You cannot get mixed up with him, Maddy,” he says.
My head tilts to the side, and I swim close to the wall again, gripping the sides while my eyes narrow on my father.
“I’m not getting mixed up with anything, dad,” I say, and he cuts me off before I finish, saying “good.”
My eyebrows pull in tight, and my chest burns angry.
“No, not good,” I huff, lifting myself from the pool. I step close to him, taking the towel from his hands and wrapping it around my arms while my eyes bore into him. “I’m not getting mixed up because it’s Will, Dad—Will. The same guy you and Mom both told me to give a break to, the guy who you used to always throw in to swim anchor—no matter what the stroke. Will was always your man, and Dad…he has…”
I look down and bring my thumb and forefinger to the bridge of my nose. I’m in such a weird paradox, and I have no idea how I got here. I breathe out a laugh and shake my head.
“Will has brought me back from the dead, Dad,” I say, glancing up to meet his scowl. His mouth is pulled tight and his forehead is wrinkled—he’s looking at me like I’m crazy.
“You weren’t dead, Maddy. You’re being dramatic, but what exactly are you and Will?”