Page 92 of Steal My Heart

“Your safety is my boss’s top priority.” And then he shoves me into the pool.

“Ahhh!” I cry, sailing into the water.

My nose burning, I kick and work my arms, my head surfacing. I cough, water in my eyes, my hair matted to my head.

“What the hell, Maks!” Alessandra appears.

“She has to be safe in the water. We tried your coddling approach. It did not work,” he says matter-of-factly. “Now we try mine.”

“At least give her some time to recover from nearly drowning!”

“No,” he says dismissively. “Like riding a horse; you fall off, get right back on. You are sinking like a fucking stone,” he barks at me.

“She has a tendency to do that,” Alessandra agrees.

“Help!” I flail about in the water.

“Are you seriously going to drown my brother’s girlfriend?”

“No. I am teaching her to swim.”

“By drowning?” Alessandra challenges.

“Will somebody fucking help me?” I shriek.

Maks gracefully dives head first into the deep end, the splash drenching me in the face.

With a frustrated squeal, I splash water in his direction, the effort nearly causing me to fall under.

Unfazed, he swims circles around me.

“Now that you’ve wasted most of your energy, what are you going to do? The ladder is over there; you’re over here.”

I frantically tread water, but he’s right. I don’t have much energy left, even if I knew how to swim. Which I still don’t.

“The Mississippi River, bank to bank, is one and a half miles wide. One and a half miles, either direction, would have gotten you to dry land. When I’m finished with you, you will not only be capable of swimming one and a half miles, you will be proficient,” he promises.

“She doesn’t need your extreme military training,” Alessandra argues.

“Her near-drowning says otherwise,” Maks counters.

While the two of them go back and forth, I’m over here fighting for my life. My arms fail, and my head begins to drop under the water. “Help,” I gurgle.

Maks’ arms band around me, and he swims me to the ladder. My hands grip it so hard my knuckles blanch as I pull myself out. Turning around, I go to kick him in the face, but he easily ducks.

“Channel that anger into conquering your fear. Our training starts this afternoon,” he informs me. “For now, sit down and play the blocks game. Twenty minutes.”

I look at Alessandra for support, but she holds up her hands. “Maybe we should try it his way.”

“I’m not playing your weirdo games, Maks, until you tell me why.”

“Have you been having flashbacks of drowning? Nightmares? Panic attacks?”

“No,” I say hesitantly.

“Then that’s why. Fitting the blocks into rows uses your brain’s visuospatial processing system.”

“My brain’s what?” My forehead bunches.