ᴛᴏᴏ ʏᴏᴜɴɢ » ᴢᴀᴄʜ ʜᴇʀʀᴏɴ

Chapter Twelve

"Where'd she go?" Zach asked, popping his head through the doorway. Corbyn didn't respond, instead pulling up the text Maeve had sent him an hour before and walking over to show it to him.
   
Corbyn: Are you alright? Everything okay?
   
Maeve: Yeah. Headed down to the pool for laps.
   
Corbyn had watched her slide off the window sill and check her phone. He didn't think anything of it, figuring it was her best friend, Jess, but watched as her features froze. Not long after that, she left the room without a word. He'd known her for years, and he knew she swam laps as a stress outlet. Though he'd been worried, he needed to give her space for awhile before checking in.
   
The boys had just started moving to their own rooms for the night and Zach stopped by Maeve's room to say goodnight. When she didn't answer to his knock, he went to Corbyn.
   
"Swimming laps isn't what she does when she's particularly okay," Corbyn told Zach, who glanced up at the taller boy with a serious expression.
   
Corbyn was not oblivious. He could see the concern in his friend's eyes, and already knew that he cared about her.

"Why don't you go down and make sure she's okay," he said.

Zach just looked at him, quickly wondering why he wanted to send him instead of going himself. He didn't dwell on it for too long.

"Just be aware that you still need to sleep tonight," Corbyn added.

"Yeah, okay," Zach muttered, already turning on his heel to leave the room.

***

Water stung Maeve's eyes and splashed into her mouth as she pulled her arm up next to her head and gasped in a breath on the opposite side.
   
Stroke, stroke, stoke, breath.
   
Anger coursed through her veins, motivating her to push herself harder, move faster, strike her hands through the water at a sharper angle.
   
She neared the wall of the outdoor hotel pool, flipped underwater, and kicked off of the concrete to propel herself in the other direction.
   
Stroke, stroke, stroke, breath.
   
How dare he. He didn't bother to show up when she left home, he didn't care about their past, he didn't care what she felt or how she was doing. All he wanted was to feel wanted and desired by any girl at every moment of his life, and when all of his options ran out, he finally turned to her.
   
She was sick of it.
   
Stroke, stroke, stroke, breath.
   
She swam laps for what seemed like an eternity. She swam until her eyes were stinging from the chlorine and her chest was heaving for deep breaths and her shoulders and thighs were burning from the constant exercise.

Finally, even her frustration couldn't sustain her anymore, her body exhausted from the exertion. At the end of that lap, she hoisted herself up on the ledge of the pool by her arms.

She stayed there awhile as water lapped in tiny waves against the small of her back, taking shaky breaths and forcing tears away. She never cried while she was working out, but afterward was no guarantee.
   
When she felt she'd finally composed herself, she lowered down in the water. She didn't want to go back up to her room, knowing she wouldn't sleep; she'd rather stay awake under the dark sky than stay awake in an empty room.
   
Glancing up at the line of plastic chairs near the pool steps, she nearly screamed. Zach was sitting there, his elbows resting on his knees as he leaned forward, looking at her.
   
She let out a breath, recovering, though she didn't say anything to him. She felt vulnerable, unaware of how long he'd been there, but when she finally met his eyes again, she saw how worried he was and understood he wasn't judging.
   
The water formed gentle currents around her waist as she wade to the steps, ascending them without looking at the boy sitting a few feet away.
   
He handed her the towel she had set down in the chair beside him.