Dive

Fourteen

I thought using all of Sunday to relive the memory of Sophie coming on my tongue in the pool would have gotten it out of my system. However, as I arrive at the Canham Natatorium Monday morning a little before six am, I'm immediately assaulted with images of her wet, purple hair hanging down her back as her bare chest heaved with each ragged breath.

Fuck, man, I've already jerked off to that too many times to count.

As I push the door open, entering the quiet building, I'm hit with another memory. The one of me using my keycard to gain us access after hours.

There are a few rules when it comes to being on the swim team. Generally, we aren't allowed to use the facilities outside of practice unless we have permission for it. But it's an unspoken agreement that seniors have coach's blessing to train a little extra, as long as there are always two or more team members present at all times. First rule of swimming: Never go in the water alone.

You can be the world's best swimmer, but if something happens while you're in the middle of the pool and no one is around... People don't typically walk away from those kinds of things.

I didn't technically break this rule. But if our coaches somehow found out I spent my Saturday night in that water, I don't think Sophie's presence would exactly appease them.

I'm very, very fucked, if they find out.

My head is bowed as I make my way towards the back of the locker room, ignoring the rookies complaining about the early hours. Instead, I'm playing out every single scenario in my head of what might happen if Matthews and Lewis knew about my weekend activities. Would they just kick me off the medley team, or would they ban me from swimming here altogether? And if they did that, I can say bye-bye to my scholarship and, by extension, my enrolment at U-M. That would mean no apartment, no income, no chance in hell I would ever get custody of Ollie.

Holy fucking hell, I'm going to be homeless.

"Dude?" A voice cuts through my chaos thoughts, and I realize I'm on the verge of hyperventilating.

I lift my head, eyes zoning in on my best friend standing in front of me with a mildly worried expression on his face. "You good?"

I run a hand down my face, shaking my head. "Yeah, fine. Just tired."

Davis doesn't look convinced, but before he can pressure me more about it, Mitch and Saltz make their loud approaches. "Yo, guys!" Mitch hollers as he slides onto the bench beside me.

His long, dirty blond hair is styled, and he's wearing a white short-sleeved button-down and a pair of slacks.

At six in the morning. Why?

"Hey," Davis and I greet them at the same time.

"What did you guys do this weekend?" Saltz asks as we head into the shower.