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It is good to see him, especially after the disorienting past twenty-four hours sharing a room and trying to figure out how the hell I am supposed to coach Aleks. A part of me wishes I was still Zephyr’s coach. My life was easier, before. He is a great swimmer, and I have no doubt he and Sylvan, his duet partner, will do well. Hell, after watching Aleks swim today, they will probably beat us.

My dinner, a steak with some balsamic-glazed carrots, and a side of pasta with pesto and diced tomato, is slightly above average. I am in the habit of cooking for myself, and mourning the loss of my normal routine, especially getting to eat my food exactly the way I like it.

Zephyr eats a raw swordfish filet with some sort of seaweed salad on the side. How the Clash of Creatures manages to meet such a wide array of dietary needs for the varying contestants is beyond me.

He chews, his thick red beard bouncing with every bob of his jaw. “You’re stalling, Coach.”

I scowl. “He is stubborn.”

“So are you,” Zephyr parries, and I resist the temptation to shove his face into his plate. “Who is his partner?”

“He does not have one. He has appealed for an exemption to perform a solo, and so far the IASA committee is stringing him along, delaying their decision.”

Zephyr whistles, matching red brows shooting up his forehead. “Bold move,” he says, shaking his head. “And when the committee denies him? What then?”

What then? It is the question that has been echoing in my own head all day. In the five days between now and the preliminary round, they can decide Aleks has to perform a duet, and all of his preparation will have been for nothing.

I tried to bring it up to him again as we broke for lunch, but, again, he brushed me off. “There is no backup plan. If they deny him, he is out.” I let out a heavy breath. “He says he tried to find a partner. Says he reached out to others, but everyone said no.”

“Fuck,” Zephyr mutters. “I’d offer, but—”

“You already have your duet,” I quickly cut him off. I appreciate the thought, but I care about Zephyr too much to ask him to jeopardize his own medal dreams.

Whatever happens, it is going to be up to Aleks to find his way through this. And, if he will let me, I plan to be right there beside him.

We finish our meal, catching up on what I have missed from the Mazarine Coast. When I ask, Zephyr tells me he has seen Jordie down at the beach, sitting alone.

For a moment I am angry, so, so angry. My life was good, coaching the merpeople, living in my small, simple house with my flowers, loving a man who fit easily into my life.

I want to be angry with Aleks, even though none of this is his fault.

By the end of the meal, I leave Zephyr with a promise to catch up at the beach where the merpeople are staying. As I wind my way through the crowded tables, I catch a glimpse of a shaved head along the far wall. Something makes me hesitate, and I slow, letting myself watch him for a moment.

Aleks sits alone, hunched over the table, a bowl tucked within the confines of his arms like he is guarding his food—and himself— from the world. From where I stand I can see his face clearly, and it hits me like a punch to the gut.

He is hurting.

There is an aura of anger over him I now recognize. It is there in his tightened jaw and narrowed eyes, glaring at the world around him. It is there in the hunch of his shoulders, like he is bracing himself for a fight.

Corded ear buds hang from his ears, and I wonder what he is listening to.

I can feel it the moment he notices me watching. His eyes widen, his lips part, and there, for a brief moment, the anger slips, and what is left behind is a frightened man sitting alone in a room full of people who do not see him.

Beautiful, sweet, and scared.

Longing rises in my throat. I want to go to him. There is so much I could do for him, if only he let me. If only I let myself.

I am here to be his coach. I am going to give him every chance at the dream he is reaching for, every advantage I can possibly share, because more than anything, I want to see him happy.

I want to see the fear replaced with confidence.

It is why I am subjecting myself to this, to him, even if it hurts me.

I watch his mask slide back into place. Any glimmer of softness is quickly replaced by cold, hard indifference.

I give him a nod and turn away.

I wonder, then, like I have wondered for years, what Aleks would say if he knew why I left eight years ago. If he knew why I abandoned my responsibility to the athletes I had coached for years.