IT’S FOOLPROOF.
Those are the words I said to my therapist before she gave me a long list of reasons why my self-proclaimed foolproof formula is extremely detrimental.
One of the prerequisites for grad school is to attend a counseling session with an on-campus therapist last semester. I was all for it until we got down to the nitty-gritty and unearthed my abandonment issues. Who said therapy isn’t fun?
Sophia, my assigned counselor, had a lot to say about how I treated relationships. Apparently, my plan to abandon people before they abandoned me isn’t healthy. Go figure. She said my only friends since freshman year have been Amara and Cassie, as well as Sampson who doesn’t count since I’ve known him forever, because I don’t create attachments to people in fear I won’t be good enough for people to stick around. Thanks, Dad.
Heavy stuff, but we worked through most of it. I say most because I still haven’t talked to my dad. Sophia suggested that calling him would give me closure without having expectations. That was our last session because after I completed my credits, there really wasn’t any motivation to go back.
A splash from someone diving into the pool sends water to hit the glass of the waiting area. Sitting in the DC Aquatic Center, I watch the doors for Aiden who’s meeting me here for today’s session.
My phone buzzes with a text from my sisters. It’s a picture of the Dalton hockey team at last night’s game.
The Prestons Serena: You go to school with these guys?
Serena: Because holy hotties.
Shreya: I knew your ‘stay away from hockey dudes’ spiel was so you could keep ‘em for yourself.
Shreya: Do any of them have brothers?
Summer: You two are fifteen. Keep it in your pants.
Summer: How did you even get that picture?
Serena: We went to the game with our school. UofT got their asses kicked by your boys.
Summer: Is Dad with you?
Serena: You don’t know? Dad’s in Boston, he’s their Interim Coach.
My heart sinks into my stomach. My dad is here. Well, a few hours away but he’s here. Has he come closer to work on our relationship? Or is he doing it for his career again? It makes sense that my sisters snuck off to a game that I’m sure they weren’t supposed to be at. However, the love for hockey runs deep in Preston blood, so I can’t fault them for it.
“How did you manage this?” Aiden’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts.
The afternoon light surrounds him like he’s some kind of deity, and I don’t know how he looks so put together after traveling for hours after his game. I offered to reschedule but he insisted we don’t waste time. Safe to say we’re both eager to get this project over with.
“You’re not the only one with connections, Crawford.”
The Aquatic Center is empty on very rare afternoons. It took me weeks of memorizing schedules to figure out the best time to sneak in. Today, the divers are gone for competitions, so the pool is pretty much empty.
We head into the respective changing rooms, and I regret my choice of bikini when I see myself in the mirror. I probably should have donned something more conservative. Though this is the only bikini I could find both pieces of. The rest are missing a bottom or strings.
Aiden’s waiting for me by a bench when I step out, and his gaze glides up my legs to fix on my face. He’s in red swim trunks and nothing else, obviously, but I’m stunned. Trying to bring my eyes to his face is challenging because the guy is shredded.
“You know, if you wanted to see me shirtless all you had to do was ask, Sunshine. You didn’t need to plan a whole swim lesson.”
“Don’t call me that.” His voice slices through the my thoughts. “Besides, there are enough shirtless pictures of you circulating Dalton’s gossip page. You’re not exactly a hidden gem.”
“Keeping up to date, eh?” He chuckles, gaze not moving a millimeter away from my face. “So what is this supposed to do?”
“It’s an alternative. Branching out into multiple sports is beneficial for student-athletes. It also eases the rigorous workout routine you put on your body.” If he won’t heed my word on rest, then I’ll give him minimal workouts to sate his hunger for working out seven days a week.
“The last time I swam in a pool, I was fifteen.”
“There’s no lifeguard. If you drown, I’m not saving you.”
He feigns offence. “I’m your research, you can’t let me die.”
“A few casualties along the way won’t hurt my application.” He throws me a dark look that pulls a smile from me. “Last one in the pool has to pay for the other’s dinner,” I say before taking off. Just as I’m about to hop off the edge and dive into the pool, Aiden’s arm hooks around my waist, and we spin into the water, his back hitting it first. I’m engulfed in chlorine- treated water and him. When we break through the surface I’m still trapped against his hard body.
“I don’t lose, Preston,” he whispers against the shell of my ear.
An involuntary shiver ghosts my skin before I disentangle myself from his arms and swim away. It’s a wonder how my skin still burns when I’m submerged in cold water. “I guess that UofT win is getting to your head.”
He swims around me. “And every win before that.”
Wiping that cocky grin off his face has become my sole purpose for the next thirty minutes. We start with slow laps until he speeds through every marker I set. I have an inkling he lied about not being a big swimmer.
When my phone rings by my towel, I pull out of the pool to reach it. If a lifeguard saw me, they’d chuck the thing in the water. Dalton has a strict no cell phones by the pool policy, after one rang during a competition and one of the swimmers actually stopped to check their notification. They hammered us with announcements about phone addictions and how our brains are rotting.
I quickly answer the phone. “Hello?”
“I hope you’re not avoiding me, Sunshine.”
His voice drops a lead weight in my stomach. “I’ve been busy, Dad.” “Too busy for your family?”
My chest heaves as my grip on my phone tightens. “Guess I learned from the best.”
He’s silent for a minute, but he ignores the pointed jab. “I’m in Boston for a few months. I’d like to see you.”
A hot tide of resentment coasts up my spine. Aiden swims closer with questioning eyes. He must notice how rapidly I’m blinking. “Can’t. I’m not free.” I say hanging up just as Aiden approaches.
I drop my phone on the towel when he stops by my legs. I’d be stupid to think he doesn’t see that my eyes are red, and not from the chlorine. Before he can speak, I sink into the water and start swimming. The burning sensation in my lungs helps me subdue my thoughts. My dad was busy for twenty years, and now he’s trying to pry open the door I nailed shut long ago. It isn’t fair.
A large hand encircles my arm and stops my rapid movements. Aiden pulls me in so we’re only a few inches apart. Concern is etched on his features. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head. “Nothing.” “Summer.”
“I said it’s nothing,” I snap, yanking my arm away. When I reach the edge of the pool, he follows, stopping me from leaving with a grip on my ankle. Damn, he’s persistent.
Aiden pulls out of the water, wet droplets gliding off the smooth planes of his body like we’re shooting a Sports Illustrated ad. Meanwhile, my eyes are bloodshot and my hair messily sticks to my face.
From the windows that surround the pool, the orange rays warm our skin as we sit on the edge, legs dangling in the water, shoulder to shoulder. The smell of chlorine and my awkward outburst curl around us like twine. My breaths come out harsh as I focus on the water droplets falling from my nose to my wet thigh. Aiden sits in silence, but his presence is massive.
“Sorry.” It slips out so suddenly I almost try to catch it in my hands and shove it back down my throat. The vulnerability in the one word is so raw it terrifies me that he would want to dissect the meaning of it. I grip the edge of the pool on either side of me and stare at the water, unwilling to make eye contact. Then his large hand covers mine, forcing me to release the tight hold I have on the pool wall.
“Don’t apologize for your feelings. Especially not to me,” he says, meeting my eyes. The sunlight makes his green ones shine like emeralds and his wet hair glistens. He doesn’t say or ask me anything else. But he relieves the tightness in my chest with a gentle squeeze to my hand, and I let him.
 |
“WOW.” DONNY DROPS my paper and leans back in his chair. It isn’t a positive wow, that much is clear from his caustic tone. “Your methodology is bland.”
My shoulders slump. I emailed Langston my draft, and she made notes on every sentence. The feedback would be helpful if there were actual words and not a bunch of question marks. When I reluctantly texted Donny for help, he came by the student lounge.
“Bland how?”
“It’s boring. You need more tests.”
“I’m doing bi-weekly assessments and ending with an ACSI-28 test. That’s more than the criteria asks for.” The self-assessments are questions Aiden had to answer, and the athlete coping skills inventory will be led by Dr. Toor, our campus sports psychologist. It’s basic methodology, but it easily showcases everything I know and that’s what admissions are looking for.
“Just trying to give you my expertise.”
Frustration tunnels through my skin. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“It’s not totally miserable. Just remember you’re applying to one of the most competitive programs on the East Coast.”
Rocks of stress jostle in my stomach. “Thanks,” I mutter when he collects his things, taking his stressful presence with him. When I let out a breath, the chair is pulled out again, and I startle.
“Hey, Summer.”
Blond hair and brown eyes greet me. If the letterman jacket isn’t enough, just the outline of his body would tell me he plays football. Connor Atwood is the quarterback of our football team and Sampsons friend, so I’ve known him since freshman year. Other than that, we’ve never talked.
“Hi, Connor.”
He exhales a breath of relief. “I totally expected you to forget my name.” His smile is sweet when he runs a nervous hand through his hair. “You don’t mind if I sit here, do you? Unless you’re waiting for someone.”
I’m not sure if that’s his way of asking if I have a boyfriend. But athlete or not, I need a distraction.
After the weird pool moment between Aiden and me, things got awkward, on my end at least. When I insisted on paying for his dinner after
losing the bet, he stopped me. His pitiful look irritated me enough that I shoved a bill in his hand and walked off. I’m hoping delaying our next meeting will help with the lingering unease.
Bringing my attention back to Connor, I shake my head. “Nope. Just me.”
