Page 33

I mean, the guy had been on TV. Freaking TV. Silver medalist at the Olympics last summer, standing there with the flag draped around his shoulders and no expression on his face.

I’d watched the race live on the common room couch with a bunch of guys from the hockey team, acting like I didn’t care, like I barely remembered him. They teased me about the fact we were from the same small town, but I’d only shrugged. “It’s small, alright, but I don’t know everyone.”

But I remembered everything. I remembered the way his back flexed when he dove off the block. I remembered the little tilt of his head when they played the national anthem and the camera zoomed in. I remembered the fact that, even when they placed the medal around his neck, he didn’t smile.

Not once.

Lena had messaged me out of the blue last week. Just a short text: “Hey. April said it was cool to text you. Are you driving back for break? My brother’s plans are still in the air—think you could give him a lift if the storm hits?”

She didn’t even say his name. She didn’t have to.

Lena went to school with my sister, April, which somehow never translated into a friendship between all the siblings.

We’d never gone to each other’s birthday parties.

We’d never even met a mutual friend on the same occasion. We’d only been aware of each other.

At the time, I said maybe. I told her I wasn’t sure of my schedule, that I’d let her know. But the truth was, the second I read the message, my heart did a weird somersault and my thumb was already hovering over yes.

I hadn’t seen Oliver up close in over a year. I hadn’t spoken to him in longer than that. And it wasn’t like we’d ever had anything between us. No hookup. No missed moment. Just a quiet, one-sided crush that had never dared to cross into the real world.

Still, the idea of spending an entire day in a car with him?

Just us, trapped in a moving metal box with nowhere to hide?

That lit something in me. Not lust exactly, and definitely not hope.

Just a nervous, buzzing curiosity about who he’d become and whether the guy with the perfect freestyle and the frostbite stare was still human underneath all that Olympic glory.

I wasn’t expecting anything. That would’ve been stupid.

But maybe I could make him laugh. Or at least talk.

Maybe we’d drive through a snowstorm and find something resembling common ground between Hastings and here. Maybe I could stop seeing him as the boy I was too scared to want back then. Maybe I could start seeing him as just a guy.

A hot, complicated, emotionally walled-up guy.

But just a guy nonetheless.

I saved the essay again, just in case, then shut my laptop and stood up. Rhett was snoring softly, one arm dangling off the edge of his bed like it had given up on life. I grabbed my towel and headed for the shower, the image of Oliver Hayworth already playing behind my eyes.

And despite everything I told myself, I couldn’t help but feel like there was something important in my near future.

CHAPTER TWO: OLIVER

The water was the only thing that ever shut the noise off.

It didn’t matter what time it was or how much sleep I’d gotten or whether my legs were aching from dryland the day before. Once I hit the water, it all stopped.

I pushed off the wall, body long, tight, and efficient. The world dulled to a low hum. No clocks. No thoughts. No questions. Just the lane ahead of me, slicing forward with every pull of my arms, every flick of my legs.

My breath rationed itself on autopilot. One, two, three, turn. One, two, three, breathe. The burn in my shoulders was familiar and welcome. My heartbeat wasn’t panic, it was rhythm. My skin didn’t prickle with cold, it adapted.

It always did.

I kept going. Flip turns, tight streamlines. The coach’s voice barking muffled commands from the side of the pool. I didn’t process them. I didn’t need to. My body understood before my brain had the chance to argue.

Laps blurred. One set became another. Stroke after stroke, I chased the perfect moment where my arms moved faster than the water could resist, where the timing was so exact it felt like I wasn’t even swimming. I was flying.

By the time Coach Johnson blew the final whistle, I was vibrating under my skin. Not from fatigue, but from satisfaction. I knew I’d hit the zone. That rare alignment where body, breath, and focus lined up so clean I forgot I was human.

I hoisted myself out of the pool without using the ladder. My muscles trembled, but it felt good. Clean.

Coach clapped a hand on my back, heavy and wet. “That last set, Hayworth, that’s what I want to see more of.”

I didn’t say anything. I just nodded. I didn’t need his approval. But I wasn’t above letting it settle somewhere warm in my chest.

The air outside the swimming pool was colder than I expected.

My skin tightened as I padded barefoot into the locker room, a towel hanging around my neck.

The tile floor chilled my soles, and my legs still felt rubbery with use, the kind of burn that told me I’d gone to the edge without falling over it.

I turned the dial in the locker I always used, third from the left, bottom row, dented corner from the time someone slammed it too hard after a loss. The routine was the same as it always was: suit off, towel off, hang everything neatly. No wasted motion. I hated wasted motion.

The locker room was empty except for me. Evening sessions always ended that way. Guys went home, went out, went anywhere but here.

I preferred this.

In the shower, I turned the heat up just past reasonable. The water hit my shoulders and spilled down my back like the sound of static turning to silence.

I braced both hands against the cool tile and let my head fall forward, eyes closing, breaths steadying a little.

God, I needed that.

Not the swim, but the stillness after.

No noise in my head. No pressure waiting in the wings. Just the warmth on my back, the sharp scent of chlorine bleeding off my skin, the small thrum of satisfaction that came from doing the thing right.

Coach had been pleased.

I’d been sharper than yesterday. I’d kept my hips high on the water and got out of my own way.

If I didn’t have to go home for the holidays, I could’ve built on that. Kept the streak going. Every week away from the pool was a step backward. Every day with family was noise I didn’t know how to tune out.

But I couldn’t think about that now.

I took one more breath under the stream of water and let it all roll off me; expectation, distraction, whatever came next. None of it mattered.

The swim was done. The work was done. For now.

And it had been good.

After drying and dressing, I left the pool and went to my place.

It was an apartment on the thirteenth floor, just off campus, with a view of Westmont’s landscape, its dormitories, faculty buildings, recreation centers, library, and student center.

I’d wanted to be close enough to the coach and the pool.

The apartment itself wasn’t huge. Open kitchen, living area, one bedroom, small balcony. But it was mine. Quiet, clean, easy to maintain. The kind of space I’d never had growing up, where the walls weren’t paper-thin and I didn’t have to share a bathroom with three people.

There was more money now; sponsorships helped, endorsements, gear deals.

I had a pair of running shoes in the closet worth more than my old bike.

But it didn’t mean much to me. I didn’t buy flashy things or host parties.

The extra cash went to groceries and water filters and the same meal-prep service that shipped the exact portions of vegetables and protein I needed for training.

My sister teased me about it constantly.

I dropped my bag by the door, shrugged off my jacket, and walked into the kitchen.

There was a rhythm to my movements. Everything was pre-set, pre-measured, and clean.

I didn’t even have to think about what I was making.

Chicken, spinach, a little rice. I cooked it in silence, not because I didn’t like music but because I didn’t like distraction.

Once it was ready, I carried the plate to the couch, set my tablet on the coffee table, and called Lena.

It rang twice before she picked up, her face filling the screen in warm lamplight. She was wrapped in a hoodie, chin deep in a blanket, and smiling like she’d been expecting me, which she probably had.

“Well, if it isn’t Captain Hydration himself,” she said. “Still alive?”

“Barely,” I muttered, stabbing a fork into the rice.

“How was practice?”

“Good.”

She narrowed her eyes. “That’s it?”

“Coach said it was one of my best days this month.”

Her smile turned genuine. “See? I told you the back-to-back sprints were worth it.”

I didn’t answer, but she knew I agreed. She always knew.

She let me eat a few bites in peace, then said, too casually, “So I figured you wouldn’t book your ticket home.”

I looked up. “I haven’t had time.”

“Mmm,” she said, smug. “That’s why I already arranged your ride.”

My fork paused midair, rice crumbling back onto the plate. “You what?”

“Yup.” She popped the ‘p’ and looked far too pleased with herself. “You have a ride. Thursday morning. Leaves early. And no, you don’t get to complain.”

“Lena,” I said slowly, “I didn’t say I wasn’t coming. I just…”

“You were stalling. You always stall. Last year, you ‘forgot’ until the tickets were three hundred dollars and you blamed it on training.”

“I was training.”

“You always are. But not this time. You’re coming home, and you’re not allowed to back out. Ride’s already confirmed.”

I sat back, suspicious. “With who?”

She hesitated just a second too long. “Lennox.”

“Lennox Ellery?”

She nodded, eyes all fake innocence. “Yup. His sister and I were talking, and it came up. He’s driving. He’s got space. It’s not a big deal.”

It sounded like a big deal. Lennox Ellery was…

memorable. All easy charm and bright smiles, the kind of guy who seemed to glide through campus with sunrise in his eyes.

I’d seen him around. He was big on the hockey team, everyone liked him, and he moved through people like they didn’t weigh him down.

The opposite of me.

Still, a ride was a ride.

“I could’ve booked a flight, Snip,” I said.

“But you wouldn’t have.”

She wasn’t wrong.

I sighed. “Fine. Send me the details.”

“They’re already in your inbox.” She grinned like she’d just won something. “Thursday. Don’t make him wait.”

I shook my head, but I felt the corners of my mouth twitch. “You’re a menace.”

“And you’re predictable.” She stuck her tongue out at me. “But seriously, come home, Ollie. You need the break.”

I didn’t. Not really. Especially not there. But I didn’t say that.

“I’ll see you Thursday,” I said instead.

“Love you,” she said.

I hesitated for half a second. “Love you too, Snip.”

She hung up, still smiling, and I stared at the blank screen for a long moment after.

Lennox Ellery. That name hadn’t crossed my mind in years. I didn’t even know he remembered who I was.

But I remembered him.

Not in vivid detail. Not like a crush, not quite. Just…moments and glimmering flashes. A summer memory left out in the sun too long, faded around the edges but still mostly intact.

He’d always been surrounded by people. Girls, especially, were clinging to his arms or flopping on poolside towels and tossing their heads back whenever he so much as smiled.

It wasn’t obnoxious. That was the thing.

He wasn’t trying to impress anyone. They’d just gravitated toward him, like the sun finally showed up and everyone wanted a piece of the warmth.

I watched from a distance. Not because I was scared, exactly. Just because I didn’t see the point.

Lennox was the kind of boy who laughed easily, who belonged in groups, who glowed in public. His hands were always moving, offering, nudging, passing someone a bottle of water, slapping a teammate’s back. I couldn’t imagine him still, couldn’t imagine him quiet.

So I stayed where I was. Focused on my laps, on my breathing, on keeping my pulse down whenever he walked by, wet hair slicked back, skin flushed from the heat, eyes bright.

He might’ve looked at me once. Maybe twice. I never gave him a reason to look again.

And later, when I started figuring myself out, slowly, painfully, in the solitude of hotel rooms and locker rooms and questions in the back of my head, I realized I wasn’t built for that kind of life—the loud, easy, lovable one.

I wasn’t meant for passing kisses and arm touches and Saturday night hookups that turned into Sunday breakfasts.

I didn’t do complicated.

I didn’t do dating.

The people I fucked—and that’s what it was, nothing softer than that—came from apps. Or bars I didn’t frequent more than once. It was cleaner that way. Controlled. No names, no promises, no risk.

Because anything with stakes could be used against me. Anything real required space.

And I didn’t have any.

Not after this summer. Not after the medal.

God, the medal.

I didn’t hang it up. Didn’t even open the box after the airport ceremony. It sat in my bedroom closet behind my spare towels and backup resistance bands. I didn’t need to see it to feel it. It was always there. A silver sun pressed to my spine. A reminder.

Not good enough.

Not first.

Too slow.

People called it an achievement. They wanted to celebrate and to ask questions. To post my name and stats on screens and lockers and banners across Westmont’s athletic page. But for me, it was just…weight.

No wonder I didn’t decorate the apartment. No wonder I couldn’t deal with family visits or check-ins about my love life or conversations about who I was or who I might be someday.

There wasn’t space for it. Not with that thing burning a hole through my chest.

If I wasn’t training, I was recovering. If I wasn’t recovering, I was planning the next round. If I wasn’t doing any of it, I felt like I was drowning.

So no. I hadn’t thought about Lennox Ellery.

Not until tonight.

And even now, I wasn’t sure why the idea of sharing a car ride with him had struck me so hard. It wasn’t nerves. It wasn’t excitement.

It was more like a shift. A tremor in a carefully built schedule. A name from a summer I barely remembered shaking loose from the back of my mind.

Still, it was just a ride. A long stretch of road and maybe some awkward silence. I could handle that.

I had to.

Lena wanted me home, and that just had to be my priority.

The story continue in Depths of Desire .