“Guess so,” I reply, smirking at the sarcasm lacing his words.
“What about you? Work still crazy?” We tiptoe around the deeper shit. And we fully avoid topics that include Carlos or mymom. I haven’t wholly forgiven my father, but I can’t say I hate him anymore, either. Our relationship is complicated, but he's trying. And that’s more than he’s done before.
“It’s always crazy,” he answers, and I can practically hear him leaning back in his chair, probably rubbing the back of his neck like he does when he’s stressed. “But I’ve been making time. I uh … I went on a date last weekend.”
I blink, not sure if I heard him right. Dad went on a date? Weird, but ... good, weird. Right? Mom went and found someone else already so I mean, why shouldn’t he? “Yeah? How was it?”
“Good,” he says, and I can hear his breath of relief through the phone. “We did dinner and a movie. Your old man’s a little rusty, but I think it went well.”
I laugh—because what else can I do? “Give it time, that rust will fall off real quick.”
We chat a little longer, nothing deep, but casual and easy in a way that feels new between us. He asks me about the upcoming game. How things with Cecilia and me are going. He’s trying, I realize. Really trying to make an effort, and for once, I don’t feel like brushing him off.
“I’ll see you at the game this weekend, right?” I ask, leaning against my bike. The matte black CBR 1000 rests under the sun like a shadow, its sleek lines swallowing the light. He’s mentioned coming before, but I’ve learned not to expect much.
My pops hasn’t been to a single game at PacNorth, and in high school, he barely made it to any of those. But hearing him say, “Wouldn’t miss it,” settles something inside me.
“Cool. I’ll see you, then.”
“Take care, Gabriel,” he says.
“You too.”
I hang up, staring at my phone for a second longer than necessary. That conversation wasn’t earth-shattering, but ... it was good. It was something.
Throwing my leg over my bike, I rev the engine, the familiar rumble vibrating through me. As I pull out of the parking lot, my thoughts drift back to Asher and Adam, the BBQ, and what the hell it’s going to be like having them there. But then I think about Dad, about how he’s trying to patch things up.
Maybe Cecilia’s right—maybe it’s time I stop pushing people away.
cecilia
. . .
Chlorine clingsto the humid air as I step up to the edge of the pool. The familiar sound of splashing and laughter echoes off the walls—my team getting ready for practice. I pull my swim cap down over my hair, adjusting it as I glance around the room.
Willow flashes me a wave from across the pool. I wave back, smiling despite the brief flash of nerves. After that date with her brother Wyatt, I’d been half-expecting things to be awkward between us. I mean, it was fine, but no sparks. And then things got weird when Gabriel found out about it and they had their whole guy confrontation thing that she had a front row seat to. But, so far, she hasn’t brought it up, and neither have I.
One less thing for me to worry about at least.
“Hey,” Adriana’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts, and I turn to see her beside me, a smirk tugging at her lips. “You ready to get your ass kicked today?”
I laugh, tugging my goggles over my eyes. “It won’t be that bad.”
“Freestyle drills. All. Day,” she groans dramatically, shaking her head like it’s the worst thing in the world, but there’s aglimmer of excitement in her dark eyes. Adriana thrives on the challenge.
I groan, but it’s more out of habit than anything. The drills? I can handle them. Hell, I need them today. With everything going on—school, Gabriel, and my crazy schedule—swimming is the only place where I can shut my brain off and justbe.
I was nervous about coming back here at first. I worried the pool would haunt me. That being here would bring all of the awful memories rushing back. But Austin Holt has taken enough from me. I refuse to lethimsteal this, too. Therapy helped with that, as much as I hate admitting it.
My therapist says trauma doesn’t own spaces—we do. She’s taught me how to take it back. To reclaim my peace. Maybe that’s why I don’t freak out anymore when unfamiliar men approach me. I don’t like it, don’t get me wrong. My heart still races. I still get that uncomfortable itch beneath my skin. But there’s no longer this debilitating panic. No suffocating weight.
Coach Cho’s sharp voice cuts through the noise, calling us to attention. “Alright, ladies! Show me clean strokes and focus on your form. No lazy arms today!”
Adriana rolls her eyes as we slip into the water, the cool rush instantly settling something inside of me. The world muffles as I submerge myself, leaving behind all the chaos of these past weeks.
The pool is one of the few places where everything else melts away—the noise, the stress, all the swirling thoughts about Austin’s sentencing. I just got word it’s been scheduled for first thing Monday morning. One week away.
But right now, all I need to think about is me, the water, and the rhythm of my body cutting through it.
