Page 6 of Stroke Rate

“So what you’re telling me is…that Rick is just a turd of a c-c-coach.”

“Correct, but Chris is good. He’s had some shitty coaches, but Chris...is sensitive. He hasn’t ever really explained why he hates shouting, but I have always assumed it has to do with his shitty family.”

“What do you mean by shitty family?”

“They’re just a lot, Riv. It’s not my story to tell, but over the years I’ve seen enough; heard enough. When I can, I've tried to protect him, but…I just don’t know. I don’t think they have laid hands on him, but you know there are a lot of other ways to hurt a person.”

What Brooke was insinuating made the hair on River’s arms stand on end. Brooke wasn't someone to mince words, and she had seen her share of shitty parenting growing up. So if she was saying they were bad, River knew it must be awful.

“Okay, well, I-I-I don’t know what to say to that,” River replied, the conversation making him feel some apprehension about working for the family. “Brooke, do I need to worry about working with them? Any of them? Will Chris listen to me?”

“He will, and I don't think so? Just keep your guard up around his family,” she said, sounding as if she wanted to express more but wasn't sure how much she should share.

“Do you think his parents are here?”

“Ha, that’s hilarious. No, his parents definitely aren’t there. They want all the glory that comes from being the parents of a semi-pro swimmer, but they don’t actually care enough to support him in person,” she said bitterly before taking a deep breath. “He’ll be great. Things will be fine. You’ll see. You guys will be so good together. I just know it.”

River blushed, thinking about what he had done this morning, how he had visualized her friend as he came. “Lordy Brooke, I swear to god you need to drop it. He’s your age, your friend, your person, and I’m going to be his coach.”

She squeaked. “Yes, you are! He’s going to love you. You’re going to be so dang good!” Her voice was bubbly and tinkling, River could hear her smile through the phone. He felt the curve of his own lips, a sensation so rare it was almost strange. River inhaled, seeking to savor the state of lightness in his chest. God, he wanted more of this feeling. He needed it.

“Okay, Brooke, I’m heading into the arena. I’ll call you tonight and let you know how the meeting went.”

“Ok Riv, call me when it’s a done deal, and River…”

“Don’t say it, you little beast.”

“You. Will. Be. So. Good. Together!”

“Monster, you're a monster,” he laughed. “Talk soon. Bye Brooke.”

“Bye, old man.” He could imagine her winking at him through the phone. Taking a few deep, cleansing breaths, and letting the smile settle into his chest, River walked into the arena.

Chapter five

Chris

Chris noticed Rick’s smug face the instant he stepped through the entrance to the locker room. Seeing the disgust smeared across his coach's face first thing in the morning was exhausting, and if Chris was being honest with himself, he was already tired. It had been a little over three years of the same attitude from Rick. Ever since his dismal performance at the last Olympic trials, all Chris saw were disappointed looks and all he heard were demeaning comments from his coach. They had trained without pause, but nothing seemed to change or improve in Chris’ performance. He was a good swimmer, and he could be a great swimmer, but the coaching he had been receiving was lackluster.

Rick was mean, arrogant, and unwilling to listen to Chris when he spoke up and shared what he thought his training needed. He was everything Chris loathed, and yet he had stuck with Rick because his parents had told him to. The last thing he wanted was to have more of his mother’s attention on him. So Chris tried, but whenever he complained or tried to change what they were doing, pointing out how Rick was training wasn’t working, the man never listened. Because you are worthless, the voice screamed in his head, making Chris scrunch his eyes closed, making him want to pull his hair to see if he could make the voice in his head stop.

He just wanted it all to stop; more so, he wanted to quit. But he couldn’t. They had trained too hard, and his parents would never let him. So he was here. He was in Indy at the World Aquatic Championships, and he was going to try his damnedest to get a spot in the trials. He was going to swim his heart out so he could breathe a bit before the insanity his life would become if he made it to the Olympics.

“You're late,” Rick barked, pacing back and forth across the room, hands clenched, his face flushed with rage. Chris sighed but kept his head down at the theatrics, aware he was late but not wanting to rile Rick up more than he already had.

“Yeah, well, forgot my cap, had to turn around and grab it. I’m five minutes late, Rick.”

“Cut the shit and get in the pool. You need your usual warm up, a slow fifty meters free, twenty-five fly, twenty-five back, fifty breast.”

Chris kept his voice low, and his eyes even lower. “I know, I know, I have done this warm-up a million times.” He just wanted to get through the races and not get yelled at. It wasn't even Rick’s message; it's the way he said it, condescending and mean, reminding Chris too much of the way his mother, Laura, spoke to him.

As he swam, the rhythmic sounds of his warm-up routine echoed around him, and a sense of calm washed over him. But as he emerged from the pool, Rick's disappointed mutterings broke the serenity he had found while swimming. A non-stop outpouring of utterances spilled from his mouth, each one of them chipping away at Chris’ resolve. Taking a towel and heading to the showers, Chris kept his head down. Rick trailed behind, his heavy steps seeming to align with Chris’ hammering pulse.

A raging storm swirled in Chris with every word spilled from Rick’s lips. He felt each one viscerally. Horrible. Lazy. Worthless. The words burned in his chest, flaming balls of shame and anger beating against his ribcage, wanting release. He wouldn't let that happen, would never let himself lash out. As much as Chris hated Rick, he didn’t want to hurt him. He didn't want to fight. He just wanted it all to stop. Instead of spitting responses back at Rick, Chris fortified himself and regulated his emotions. His internal count reached ten, then he repeated his mantra to himself, “You are fine, you are enough, you are worthy of respect.” But the fiery anger was still there and while it felt more like a simmer under Chris' skin instead of a pressure cooker ready to erupt, he couldn’t help muttering to himself.

“Shut up?” Chris gave a brief, guttural sound into his towel. “Jesus fucking Christ, dude.” His voice was a whisper, but the words echoed quietly in the empty void of the locker room.

“Dude? Dude? It’s Coach. I’m your fucking coach, Chris!” Rick seethed as Chris turned around. He hadn't realized Rick had moved so close; his finger nearly pushing into Chris’ chest. The proximity made him take a step back and curl in on himself, worried Rick may actually hit him.. “I’m just trying to help. I’m trying to get you to the goddamn games; you just don’t listen.” Rick’s booming voice was shrill, causing Chris to flinch and fight the urge to cover his ears and hide. The scared little boy inside him longed to take over and keep him safe.