Chapter 4 - Poolside Words
I stepped forward onto the wet deck and my shoes made a flat sound that echoed off the tile. The air smelled like chlorine and cold metal. I stopped three feet from him. Close enough to see the water still beaded on his forearms, close enough to see his whistle swinging a little on its lanyard every time he breathed.
Tamsin moved between us without thinking about it. She put one hand out toward me and the other back toward him, like she could hold both sides still.
"What are you two doing in here alone after hours?" I asked. My voice came out low. I could hear the echo of it come back off the bleachers.
Rourke lifted his right hand, palm open. He kept his left down at his side. The gesture looked practiced, the way young coaches do when a parent gets loud in the stands.
"Hey. It's not what it looks like," he said. "We were just finishing paperwork. Tam stayed to talk about Ivy's times. That's all this was."
The pool filter hummed behind his words. A lane rope ticked softly against the gutter. Ivy shifted near the lane edge to my left. I didn't look at her yet. I could feel her there, bare feet on the deck, the goggles still hanging around her neck.
I kept my eyes on him. "Paperwork," I said. "At this hour. With the lights half down and the doors locked."
"We lost track," he said, and his open hand moved a little wider. "Practice ran late. I was closing up. She asked about the winter schedule and—"
"You don't hold a parent like that to talk schedule," I said.
Tamsin’s fingers found the sleeve of my jacket. Her grip was light but fast. "We were just talking," she said.
Four words. Flat. She didn't look at Ivy when she said it.
I glanced down at her hand on my arm, then back up at her face. Her makeup had smudged a little at the corner of one eye. Her sweater was damp at the shoulder where he'd held her. I breathed in once through my nose and let it out slow so I wouldn't raise my voice.
"Don't," I said quietly.
She blinked. "Don't what?"
"Don't lie to me in front of Ivy."
Nobody moved after that. The scoreboard buzzed faintly above the empty bleachers. Behind us the glass doors showed black night and our own reflections doubled in the panes — me in my dark zip jacket, Tamsin in her cream sweater, Rourke in his dark polo, and Ivy small beside the water.
Rourke lowered his hand an inch, then lifted it again. "Mr. Calloway, I respect your family. I respect this program. If you want to set a meeting with the director tomorrow, we can go through everything."
I didn't answer him right away. I looked past him at the pool lanes stretching blue and still under the overheads, then at the whistle on his chest, then at his face. He was breathing faster than he wanted me to see. His weight had shifted back toward the edge. Another six inches and his heels would be over water.
Tamsin stepped a half-step closer to him instead of to me. That was the thing I registered most. Not what she'd said, but where her feet went.
"Ivy's right here," I said. "She came back for her goggles. That's the only reason we're in this room."
Rourke glanced toward Ivy for the first time. His expression tried to soften. "Ivy, hey—"
"Don't talk to her right now," I said.
He stopped. His mouth stayed half open. His open hand hung in the air between us, useless now, and the echo of the room settled around it.
May you like
I felt the cold coming up through the soles of my shoes from the wet concrete. My shoulders were tight inside my jacket. I could hear my own breathing, controlled, and Tamsin's quicker breaths beside me, and the small sound of Ivy's wet hair dripping onto her swimsuit top.
There was nowhere else for the talk to go. He'd given his excuse. Tamsin had given hers. I'd set them both aside. We were just four people standing too close to deep water with the bleachers empty behind us, waiting to see who moved first.
