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WARREN

The pool deck is almost unrecognizable like this. It’s dark and quiet, the faint underwater lights shimmering against the surface. Reflections scatter across the walls in broken, restless patterns, like light straining to push through cracks.

The meet already feels like a blur. A rush of noise, splashes, shouting. I swam hard, pushed through the weight in my chest, tried to bury the panic still scraping at the edges of my ribs.

Somehow, I swam better than I expected. The relays were sharp. Clean off the blocks, strong finishes, fast enough to hold our lead. Not enough to drown everything else out—but better than I thought I had in me.

Maybe the panic actually helped.

That sick rush of adrenaline hit harder than usual, dragging me through each lap. My strokes were sharper, my turns tighter. Like my body was too wired to crash, too wound up to give in.

Normally, a spiral like that would leave me spent—wrung out and empty. But this time, I just kept going.

During the debrief with Voss, I barely absorbed a word. I stood there with damp hair plastered to my forehead, nodding while he talked. There was something about my start being stronger than last week, something else about maintaining pace in the back half of the 200 free.

The guys trickled out after that, some heading for their cars, others off to celebrate. Hawkins didn’t even look my way, which honestly felt like a mercy. Most of the parents were gone before that. The last of the noise faded almost an hour ago.

Now, it’s just me, standing under the shower for what feels like forever.

I can’t stop thinking about my dad. How thin he looked. How glassy his eyes were. The way his fingers locked too tight around my wrist.

I haven’t seen him strung out like that in years—not since before Oakview. And it shook something loose inside me.

I get that Oakview isn’t a prison. Residents are allowed to leave. But I never thought he’d want to—not badly enough to drag himself here, all the way to Dayton, just to interrupt my meet. He hasn’t been to one since I was seven.

I’ve been sitting with that fact for hours. Letting it loop in my head until it’s worn paper-thin, standing in the shower for what feels like half the night. The heat has scalded my skin, and I was hoping it might burn away the memories, too.

But it hasn’t. It never does.

Now, the water’s off, and the locker room is silent, heavy with that late-night stillness that makes everything feel louder. I’ve done a few late swims before, usually in the practice pool. Twenty-four-hour gym access has its perks. But I’ve never been in the natatorium this late. Not alone.

When I finally step out of the locker room, still damp from the shower, hair curling against my temples, I don’t expect anyone to still be here.

But then I see her.

Just a flash of dark hair and the sleeves of her Dayton hoodie, too long and pushed up over her elbows. Quinn is tucked into one of the middle rows of the bleachers, notebook propped against her knees, pen flicking steadily across the page. Her head’s down and focused, like she’s deep inside whatever world she’s building.

I stop halfway across the deck, just watching her.

She actually stayed.

And more than that, she’s been here all fucking day. Showed up before the first race and didn’t leave. Not even after I rallied to finish my events. After the chaos and silence and sideways glances, she just ... waited. Sat here alone in the quiet, scribbling away in her notebook like I was worth sticking around for.

Something twists inside me, low and tight. It shouldn’t hit me this hard. Shouldn’t feel like this—a sudden, swelling ache in my chest. Relief and regret tangled up in one.

I step closer, feet scuffing the tile.

She finally looks up. “Hey, you,” she says quietly. “Everything okay?”

“Not really.”

She closes her notebook, tucking her pen inside before setting it aside. “Didn’t think so.”

“You’ve been here for hours.”

She shrugs. “Figured you might need someone.”

I should say something else. Something honest, something that explains the mess I’m still wading through. But I can’t. Not yet. Not tonight.

“I don’t really wanna talk,” I say instead, rough and tired.

She doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t push, either. Just watches me with that calm, steady look of hers.

I don’t know what I expected. For her to sigh and pack up her things, maybe, or offer some quiet reassurance before waving me off. Instead, she stands and steps down the bleachers, cutting across the empty pool deck until she’s right in front of me.

Close enough that I can feel the heat coming off her skin. Close enough that I could lean forward and press my face into her hair.

I don’t. Instead, I reach for her waist, curling my fingers beneath the hem of her shirt.

She breathes in sharply. Her hands lift, palms warm against my chest. “Warren?”

I kiss her before she can ask what I’m doing. Before I can second-guess the part of me that’s still scared to need her.

Her breath stumbles, but then she’s kissing me back, her fingers sliding up to my shoulders. I drag her closer, pressing her back against the wall, one hand catching her jaw while the other slips lower, fingers digging into the curve of her hip.

The sound she makes—low and breathless—sinks into my skin.

I know how this should go. It should be slower. Sweeter. We’re still wading through too much. My dad. Our past. All the things we’ve barely started to untangle.

But I need her in a way that feels desperate, quietly breaking open under the surface.

She’s my something solid to hang on to. The steady point that grounds me when my thoughts won’t stop spinning.

She must know, must feel it, too, because she doesn’t hold back. Her fingers hook into the waistband of my sweats, pulling me flush against her. Her lips brush my throat, then lower, tracing a slow path across my neck.

I slide my hands beneath her shirt, palms dragging over her ribs, and she arches into my touch, pressing closer like she’s chasing the heat.

“Here?” she murmurs, breathless. “On the deck?”

“Yeah. I just . . . I need you.”

Her gaze flicks past me, toward the locker room doors. “Are you sure everyone’s gone?”

“Yeah, Quinny. I’m sure.”

“Good.”

Her fingers knot in my shirt, pulling me closer. It’s like she’s trying to hold me together, like she’s stitching the pieces back into place.

I press my mouth to her throat, feeling her shiver beneath me. Her skin’s still warm from the natatorium air, her pulse racing against my lips.

“Warren, baby.”

I push her shirt higher, fingers dragging across her stomach, and she exhales shakily, her head tipping back against the wall. She’s letting me take whatever I need—her warmth, her steadiness—and God, do I need it.

Her hand slides down my arm, fingers curling into my wrist. Then she drags my hand to her thigh, nails digging faintly into my skin, guiding me exactly where she wants me.

When I finally slip my hand beneath the hem of her shorts, she makes this soft, breathless sound that goes straight to my head. And I kiss her again, rougher this time.

Her fingers hook into my waistband, knuckles pressing hard against my stomach. We’re moving without thinking now—shirts tugged up, skin pressed together, each touch a little harder, a little more desperate.

I push her shorts down her thighs, fingers curling around her bare hip.

Her breath hitches, and her hand catches the back of my neck, dragging my mouth back to hers.

“ Quinn .”

“I know,” she whispers. “I know.”

I press into her, hips rocking slow and steady, and her whole body melts against mine. She clings to me like I’m something safe, like I’m something worth holding onto. I want to be that for her.

I let myself drown in her. The warmth of her skin, the sound of her breath, the faint hum of the pool filters humming in the background. Everything else—my dad, the way my chest still feels too tight, the sharp edge of tonight’s panic—all of it blurs and quiets until there’s only her.

Only us.

She arches beneath me, and when I sink into her, I swear I feel her everywhere. She’s under my skin, wrapped around my ribs, filling every breath. Her body fits mine like it was made for this, made for me. Every thrust leaves her gasping, fingers clutching, hips rising to meet mine.

“God,” she breathes, voice ragged.

“I’ve got you,” I rasp.

I catch her jaw, kiss her hard and deep, swallowing the sounds she makes. She digs her fingers into my back like she’s afraid I’ll disappear. I move faster, harder, chasing the sharp edge that’s been scraping at my ribs all night.

I bury myself in her, lost in the way she tightens around me, in the pressure and heat and the way she pulls me in like she can’t get enough.

When I come, it hits me like a wave. A sudden and overwhelming release, pulling me under until I’m weightless. She follows a second later, her body tightening, her breath shattering in my ear.

We collapse, clinging together and slick with sweat, skin pressed to skin. Her thigh is draped over mine, my hand still wrapped around her hip like I can’t quite let go. Her hair sticks to my neck. My heartbeat thuds against her chest.

“You okay?” she murmurs.

I swallow hard. “Yeah. I am now.”

There’s a pause, just the soft echo of water lapping against the pool’s edge, her breath still a little uneven against my chest.

Then she shifts slightly. “We didn’t use anything.”

I blink at the ceiling. “Yeah. I know.”

“You always make sure.”

“I usually do,” I say quietly. “I wasn’t thinking.”

She lifts her head a little, searching my face. “Are you freaking out?”

“Not freaking out,” I tell her. “Just ... registering it. We’ll be more careful next time.”

We stay like that for a while, entangled, until the tile beneath us starts to cool. Once the adrenaline fades and the warmth begins to slip from our skin, Quinn sits up slowly, brushing her hair back from her face.

“Come on,” she says. “Let’s go in.”

I glance toward the pool. The water is lit by the soft overhead glow, shades of blue and silver and deep green. The surface shimmers like fractured glass.

“Like this?” I ask, motioning to our bare skin.

Her smile curves, a little wicked. “Like this.”

She stands, walks to the edge, and holds out her hand. I take it, threading our fingers together. We jump at the same time, crashing into the water in one smooth, reckless motion.

The cold hits hard, stealing my breath, but when I break the surface, I’m laughing.

So is she, her head tipped back, eyes closed, hair slicked against her cheeks.

Despite scrubbing myself under the hot spray of the shower for hours on end, only now do I feel clean. New. Like maybe I can let it all go, as long as she’s here with me.

I swim to her and pull her into my arms. Her legs wrap around my waist, arms locking around my neck like she never wants to let go.

“Quinn,” I murmur. “Promise me you’ll stay?”

We both know I’m not just talking about tonight. Not just this weightless moment, the quiet hush of the water holding us steady. I mean all of it. What comes next. Whatever rough waters may still be ahead.

I need to know I won’t lose this, won’t lose her .

“I think,” she whispers, “I made you up inside my head.”

I blink, turning the words over in my mind. Mad Girl’s Love Song .

“You’re quoting Plath to me right now?” I ask, half a laugh caught in my throat.

She just smiles and ducks her head.

“Though I appreciate the sentiment, it’s probably not the time to hit me with existential despair. I’m a little too fragile for that.”

“I’m here, Warren.” She swallows hard, her fingers curling tighter around my shoulders. It’s like she’s trying to make me believe it, like she’s trying to believe it herself. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll always be here.”

I close my eyes for a second. “Thank you, Quinny. That’s all I need.”