Page 37 of Stroke Rate

Chapter thirty-one

Chris

Four weeks. One month had passed since Laura had shown up, forcing Chris to flay himself open and allow himself to break. One month had passed since Chris had bared his soul and shared his body. One month had passed since River and Chris had come up with a new plan for how to train differently for the Pro Series in Indy, and learn to love swimming again, to learn about each other and grow a relationship from the ground up. They decided it would be easier for River to stay at the house with Chris instead of commuting every day, and River would do remote therapy sessions at the house as needed. They had agreed to take things slowly with one another. But River was a warm, steady comfort at his side every step of the way. He had gently coaxed Chris into believing he could have the life he never thought possible—a life full of quiet moments and laughter, working with a coach who listened and learned along with him, a life where people saw, heard, and cared for him.

They spent their days training, keeping a strict schedule and ensuring his nutrition was on point. But River added new elements which sparked Chris’ love of the water again. Instead of endless hours in the pool, they focused on dry-land training, including a lot of hikes, using the altitude changes to their advantage. Chris would have a leg up on the other competitors while swimming at sea level during the next race. As a result, his legs were now stronger, his stroke rate had improved, and he didn’t get tired as easily—swimming just felt lighter. Chris was able to find ‌joy in the pool again. With River's coaching, swimming felt like reuniting with an old friend.

River enabled Chris to view the pool as a sanctuary once more. Chris didn't have to endure constant yelling from a coach in a pool that felt more like a jail cell. The pool didn’t have to be a place that Laura controlled and held over his head. The water wasn’t something he had to fight anymore; the water once more became a vault for his secrets, much like it had been in his youth, but now his secrets weren’t shameful stories of his abuse. Now the water held Chris’ secret feelings for River. Feelings that he had kept locked up tight in his chest, hoping one day he would get to release them. Get to tell them to River. The pool had once again turned into a haven where he could feel supported, shielded, and reassured, thanks to River’s guidance, understanding, and comforting presence. Chris was so grateful for how this man was changing his life. River’s gentle and careful actions, soft voice, and tender touches revealed to Chris a life he never believed he could have.

Outside of the pool when training was done, their evenings had become Chris’ favorite part of the day. A time they could simply exist in each other’s orbit. River’s presence brought a deep, steady calm that rolled over him like a tide, and the routine they had created together was so intimate it made Chris’ chest ache with the thought of not doing it every night for the rest of his life.

For the past month, after finishing practice and putting dinner away, the two of them had descended to the living room. Their bodies curled together on the couch, Chris’ head nestled in River’s lap as his fingers absentmindedly played with Chris’ hair, while River softly read aloud from his latest book. They had created a sacred place where time had no meaning—hours spent night after night talking and listening, so immersed in each other's presence that it seemed as if they had become one person. As their friendship blossomed with remarkable speed and ease, Chris acutely understood River had become his best friend. The two had stuck to their plan. They hadn’t had sex again, instead focusing on building a sound foundation, working together, and finding joy in the mundane. This was the intimacy Chris had often fantasized about, a feeling he never imagined he'd find. Learning what the inside of a relationship looked like: the knowing glances, the soft brushes of skin that had become second nature, and the muted noises of domesticity that had become the soundtrack of their day to day.

They had created a shelter for each other. River had become Chris’ favorite piece of furniture, cozy and secure, and Chris, the decorative blanket draped over it. I have been scared for so long, but never of you. Chris’ soul felt more settled with every day that passed. His gaze met River's eyes over and over, which were always alive with raw emotion and a smile that Chris could only describe as radiating pure love, and in those constant exchanges, a private language of glances unfolded.

“Hey, on our hike today, you said your mom would have loved it.”

“Mmm.” River hummed as he played with the hair by Chris’ ear.

“Will you tell me about her?”

“I have.”

“You have, but tell me more if you want. I’d love to hear it all.”

"It's just…it's hard," River said, his voice soft and full of sadness. Chris looked up at him, reaching to cup his face. He didn't say more, waiting, knowing that River would tell him in his own time. Whether that was then or months from then, Chris would wait. He would wait a thousand lifetimes if that's what River needed.

“Umm, well, I guess I'll tell you why the hike made me think of her. Mom loved hikes, and she loved the West, and before she passed, she told me to sprinkle her on one of her favorite trails—one she hadn't been to in years. Today's hike reminded me of that place, the place where I finally freed her.” A strangled choke left River’s throat as he leaned his face into Chris’ palm, as if his touch was a talisman keeping him tied to the present. “So, my whole life it was just me and Mom. I’ve told you that before.” River shrugged, grabbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t have anyone else. It was just Mom. Dad wasn’t in the picture. And yeah, friends were nonexistent because, well, I was the weird kid with speech issues. I was either too quiet or too loud. I had trouble speaking, stuttering, never quite getting it right. I was anxious and timid, and then, well, I realized I was gay, and it was a whole thing…" he said, waving his hand around in the air. "You know?"

“Yeah, I know.”

“I told Mom, and she didn’t care, but it was just another thing in my life that made me feel different. Just one new thing I felt like I had to explain to people. So I just didn’t; I was content enough just staying at home with Mom. I went to school and I swam, and it was fine. A bit lonely, but fine. Then, in my senior year, Mom got sick. It was closer to the end of the school year, and CU Boulder had already accepted me. But it was cancer and it…um, it took her really quickly. She died before graduation, and then I was alone.” Chris swept the tears dripping down River’s chin, pulling him down for a chaste kiss.

“You don’t have to go on.”

River exhaled a deep sigh, “No, I do. I was eighteen, ‌so I dealt with everything on my own. Mom didn’t have family that I knew of. I, um, I didn’t have a service or anything. She wanted to be cremated, so I did that, and then I sprinkled her in the mountains on a trail she loved when I got to Colorado. I spent the summer before college alone. Alone to sell the house. Alone, getting myself ready for college, just alone. I took nothing with me; I just sold the house as it was, and I left.” He shrugged, giving Chris a look that said, "That's it."

The deep sadness seeping from him felt like a weighted blanket on Chris' chest. Despite knowing he was crossing some of the weird boundaries they had created, he couldn't stop himself from crawling into River's lap and straddling his thighs. Framing the face that meant everything to him in his palms, Chris lifted River's face, meeting his eyes. He kissed River's nose and pulled back, getting to see a soft pink blush creep over his damp cheeks. River looked exhausted, his eyes reflecting a lifetime of loneliness, as though his soul had clutched onto everything for ages. And now that he had shared some of his pain, Chris could finally see all of River. Not the stoic, strong, balanced man he always portrayed—but River, the tired, lonely little boy who missed his mom.

“Your mom, no matter where she is, knows what a good man you have become. I hope she can see how well you care for me. I hope she can see how you have healed me. I hope she knows how safe you make me feel and that you have changed my life in the most amazing ways. Fuck, River, you have helped me to love swimming again. Made me believe in the kindness of people again.” Tears streamed down Chris’ face as River curled into him and sobbed—years of sadness being released, an endless waterfall of emotions flowing from his eyes. “Let it all out, baby,” Chris cooed as he cradled River’s shaking body, rubbing circles on his back, kissing his temple. “I’m here.” I’ll always be here.

Chapter thirty-two

River

Training was progressing well. With each passing day, Chris grew noticeably stronger. His shoulders bulged with more dense muscle, and his legs, now sturdier, moved with ‌newfound speed and coordination. The pair worked together with such ease it felt as if they had been doing this for years and not a handful of weeks.

What Chris had said the first day they talked was true. He didn't like criticism—often running his mouth and whispering under his breath when River gave critiques. When River said something too harsh or something that Chris misinterpreted as negative, Chris became quiet or responded defensively. However, River came to find that what he witnessed wasn't the real Chris, but a mask he had habitually worn, one that he would sometimes slip back on.

On those days, the days when Chris seemed extra sensitive, River apologized and made sure he sandwiched a critique between compliments and praise. And oh, how his boy shone with the praise. Chris’ eyes would brighten, his shoulders would square, and his damn dimple popped. At times, that dimple would cinch so hard it looked like a tiny cave on Chris' perfect, lovely face, causing River to fight the urge to kiss it every time.

I am such a goner. As he stood in the kitchen, “Helplessly Hoping” by CSN playing through the speakers, River watched and admired the fluid way Chris prepared their dinner. Like every night for the past month, Chris showed River how he felt through the ways he cared for him. He made meals, left notes strewn about the house—reminders, jokes, and grocery lists scattered all over, just like Coop had done all those years ago. River couldn't believe the first time he found one of the little sticky notes attached to his pillow one morning after his shower. Chris’ precise, bubbly penmanship scrolled on the bright square of paper, "I'm in the pool" adorned with a smiley face; it was trivial, yet symbolic, piecing together another fragment of River's fractured self. It almost felt as if Coop had left him a note, a message, maybe his approval.

Thinking that way was foolish, but River sometimes longed for the gentle confidence he always felt with Coop. His strength, somehow rubbing off on River. He just needed a sign. Something that said it was okay to move on, that building a new life was what Coop would have wanted for him, and that maybe, just maybe, Coop was still with River, letting him know that what he was doing was okay. River doubted he would ever get it, but a spark of hope kept him going.

Every little piece that River learned about Chris along the way cemented this feeling even more; this was right. He's your home now, the little voice tickling at the back of his brain said, and River knew it was the truth. He couldn't fight it anymore, and even more, he didn't want to. Every snarky comment, every secret smile, every piece of his history Chris shared with River made him fall deeper and deeper…

I'm in love with him.