Page 17 of Holding the Line

He watched as an adorable sweep of red swept across Marsh’s face.“Um,well—” he leaned forward and looked down.

He didn’t!

Eli leaned forward and saw the unmistakable shape of a wheelchair at the bottom of the pool.“I guess that’s one way to get into the pool fast.”

Marsh barked a laugh—it sounded rusty and hardly used.Then he warmed into it, with Eli joining in.It took a minute or two to calm down.

Eli pushed himself up to sit beside Marsh at the side of the pool.“I’ll get a couple of the guys to jump in and get it out later, and will go grab one of the others from the infirmary for now.”

He went to stand up, intent on putting a shirt on and heading over to the infirmary, but Marsh grabbed his arm.Eli looked up, their gazes locked.

“You need a better coping mechanism,” Marsh said.“Suicide by swim meet isn’t a long-term strategy.”

“You need to start living again,” Eli countered.“Not just existing.”

They locked eyes.A truce, fragile but real.

“I’ll try if you do,” Marsh stated.“Deal?”

Eli nodded.“Deal.”

The moment lingered.Warm.Real.

And for the first time in a long time, Eli didn’t feel like he was treading water alone.

Chapter Four

Early the next morning, Eli sat cross-legged on the narrow bed in his studio barracks, hair still damp from his shower, a towel draped over his shoulders like a half-hearted cloak.The room was silent except for the occasional tick of the heating vent and the rustle of pages as he flipped through an old, battered notebook.It wasn’t therapy per se—he hadn’t done formal journaling since college—but sometimes it helped to scrawl out the mess inside his head.

His muscles ached from yesterday.From almost swimming himself to death.Again.That was something he hadn’t wanted to admit to Marsh.There had been another close call about two months ago, but he hadn’t seen it for what it was.He drew in a deep breath, releasing it shakily.He couldn’t tell if it was due to the relief of being alive, or for finally admitting to himself that he had been deliberately harming himself.

He rolled the pen between his fingers, staring down at the blank page.

“Try gratitude,” one therapist had once told him.“List three things you’re grateful for.Every day.”

Eli scoffed.