Quickly I strip down to my boxers. I leave my clothes in a heap on a chair as I step to the edge. At its deepest the water is only seven feet. I can’t dive so instead I turn around, spread my arms, and fall back onto the perfectly smooth surface.
It stings when the water slaps my back. When it connects with my hand still inside its massive, plastic splint. I let myself sink without fighting while the water fills my ears. It covers my eyes, invades my nose until it’s everywhere. Until it has me entirely and the outside world is only present in my lungs. In the air I release in a rush of bubbles up over my face. I let it all go. Everything I have in me as I fall deeper and deeper into the pool.
I’m an island kid. I’ve been in the water my entire life. I can hold my breath longer than should be natural, and when the burn starts in my lungs I don’t listen to it. I control it. I push myself to the edge, to the point where my chest is aching and my heart is screaming.
It’s screaming my name.
A splash erupts to my right. It sends a current crashing toward me, jostling me out of my stupor. I kick for the surface just as hands reach for me, taking hold of my arm and tugging hard. I open my eyes in surprise to find a small, blurry body attached to me.
We break the surface together. I gasp and sputter, blinking to clear my blurry vision. To find Sloane glaring at me.
“What are you doing?!” she screams angrily.
I run my hand over my eyes to clear them. “I’m swimming.”
“You were drowning.”
“I was a long way from drowning,” I laugh breathlessly.
“It’s not funny, you asshole! I thought you were dead.”
I pause to look at her, really look at her, and I’m stunned by the anger and hurt on her face. Her eyes are tight at the edges, her soft mouth drawn in a hard line, her blond hair plastered wet and heavy over her skin. Over her shoulders still covered by her black blouse. She jumped in the pool in her clothes. She honestly thought she’d found me dead.
“Sloane, I’m sorry,” I apologize earnestly. I reach for her to comfort her, but she jerks away. “I mean it. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“What the hell were you doing?”
“Just chilling.”
“Chilling?” she parrots incredulously.
“I needed a break from everyone.”
“So you tried to drown yourself?”
“I told you, I wasn’t drowning,” I remind her bitingly. “I grew up in the ocean. I can handle myself in this kiddie pool.”
Sloane watches me for a long time. I stare back patiently as I wait for her to sort out whatever it is she needs to figure out here. We tread water as we assess each other, gently kicking and swirling with our hands. Slowly the anger, the fear, leaches out of her eyes until they’re the shining brown orbs I remember from the airport, full of intelligence and warmth.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” she asks gently.
I nod my head decisively. “I’m solid. I promise.”
“Because you can talk to me if you need to.”
“About what?”
“Whatever is eating at you.”
“It’s the same shit as before. I’m handling it.”
“That powerless feeling?”
“It’s the waiting game,” I confirm. I briskly run my hand over my hair, down my face, swiping the dripping water away. “I get like this when I have to sit back and wait for life to happen. I like being in the driver’s seat. I don’t passenger very well.”
“I told you I have it under control. You can trust me to take care of it.”
“I don’t passenger well,” I reiterate clearly.
She nods her head, accepting that truth. “How do you usually deal with it? What can I do to help?”
My head goes where it shouldn’t; both of them do. She’s inches away from me, wet to the bone. She’s hot as hell and the content of every fleeting fantasy I’ve had for the last three days. I know how I want to get right. I know exactly what would calm my nerves, but it’s the easy way out and this time it wouldn’t be just a quick fix. I can’t fuck her and walk away to go on with my day. She’s here with me to work and who knows how much we’ll be working together in the future. Not to mention she has my career in her hands, and I can’t mess with that. I can’t let myself get that stupid.
“Music,” I tell her evasively but honestly. “I listen to music to get in the right headspace before a game.”
“Where’s your music?” She peers down into the undulating water between us. “Please tell me it’s not on the bottom of the pool.”
“It’s in my room in my bag.”
“Why aren’t you listening to it instead of swimming in… are you in your underwear?”
“I didn’t pack my trunks. My headphones either.”
“Oh my God,” she groans.
“’Oh my God’ the headphones or the underwear?”
“The underwear, Trey! Of course the underwear.”
“You’re really getting squeamish about this?” I chuckle.
“No, I’m really thinking of the mess I’ll have to clean up when one of the many members of the media in this hotel finds you in this family establishment swimming in your underwear. Do you want me to see if I can find a kid to bring down here? Make it really scandalous?”