Page 14

Overall, it’s a solid team. Although they’re young, I could already see several of them making time cuts for Olympic Trials in 2028, which is exactly what Bryce and Carter want to see for their small club.

And now they’re turning this team over to me while Carter focuses on some of the younger swimmers and Bryce takes a step back to focus on the business.

I’m fulfilling everything I was brought here to do.

And it’s no surprise I’m the one who breaks the silence between Mia and me.

I’m running the team through an efficiency workout—helping them nail the basics of knowing their stroke count and keeping it consistent—when Mia walks onto the deck.

She hesitates when she sees me, before putting on a blank look of pure annoyance and walking down the deck to get better angles for photos.

My gaze drifts from swimmer to swimmer as I pace the length of the pool with them, trying to pick out the most consistent among them.

As a group of them turn at the wall, heading back, while the rest of them are still making their way to the wall, I stop near Mia.

She’s determined to not pay me any attention, continuing to snap pictures. I break.

“You’re going to have to get used to this,” I tell her. “The team is all mine. Bryce’s in his office and Carter is with the middle schoolers.”

She’s focused on scrolling through the pictures and, for a second, I don’t think she’ll respond to me. “I’m surprised they trust you to coach kids alone.”

My gaze snaps toward her. “Excuse me?”

Surely Bryce and Carter told her what I do. Besides, there are so many steps involved in being cleared to coach, especially at a level where the kids would have to travel. Something I know she knows from her time doing media in the sport.

“We would hate for you to teach all those kids to be cocky, irresponsible assholes.”

Is she really throwing that stupid reputation I had back in my face?

The reputation she knows I hate and the one she and Josie worked hard to fight against?

Was I always the picture-perfect athlete?

No. Did I use my status as a world-class athlete to flirt?

Sure. But I didn’t have a string of girls waiting for me to give them a chance.

I also hated the way swimming and sports media made me out to be this self-absorbed ass because of the way my parents paraded me around like a show pony.

She knows all that and now she’s treating me like everyone else.

“You think you know me so well,” I say lowly. “Don’t you, Sheridan?”

I have never referred to her by her last name; she’s always been Mia to me. And her name has always brought a smile to my face, until now.

Her eyes widen slightly, the brown line surrounding the greenish-blue looking impossibly dark, but her mask is quickly back up. She smiles smugly at me. “Yes, O’Brien, I do. Isn’t that what I’ve been trying to tell you? You’re not fooling anyone. You never have been.”

My irritation grows. For the first time in my life, I want Mia to get as far away from me as possible. “Well, apparently, I fooled you once.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. I hate how her eyes shutter, how she seems to fold in on herself, and make herself smaller.

There’s no emotion on her face when she looks back at me. She hops off the bleacher she was using for leverage, gripping her camera, and glaring at me. “And it’ll never happen again.”

My shoulders sag as I watch her walk back down the deck, probably ready to head up to her office.

Hell, maybe she’ll find Bryce and demand I be fired.

This conversation would definitely fall under “HR nightmare,” which he warned me against. Maybe he was right.

I probably should have never opened my mouth.

I’m still cleaning up after my practice well into the start of free swim.

One of the mothers had snagged my attention before I could stop it, asking about the schedule of meets and what the time standards would be.

Although I calmly explained we were still finalizing the meet schedule, reminding her short course season doesn’t start until September, she wanted something concrete.

I mentioned a couple of the meets I knew we’d be looking at, which drew the attention of another parent who wanted to know why we weren’t participating in long course season.

Which led to a whole other explanation of this team being new enough that swimmers are on different levels—levels we’re still determining.

Some of our athletes aren’t familiar with long course, which requires a different approach to their races.

Besides, since it’s June, the long course season is well underway, and it could do more damage to the team to throw them into something they’re unprepared for.

There’s a difference between the typical high school season and the club season, which we fall under, and keeping them in the club year-round will prohibit them from competing for their high school team.

Which then led me to learning all the reasons why swim parents know more than the coach. Something I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to, but definitely know how to handle.

The point is, I’m already here later than I want to be, and I did not have enough caffeine to deal with this.

As I finish gathering the team’s equipment, I think about the conversation I had with Mia.

The way I’d pretty much burned every bridge that could have ever brought us together.

Which is a shame because I’d really like to get her and Josie to put together a handout for parents to explain everything they need to know about club versus high school swimming.

Maybe I could get Josie to bring it up; she doesn’t hate me .

Or maybe she does. Mia’s had a lot of time to tell her about what happened.

Something catches my attention out of the corner of my eye before I can finish cleaning up.

Or, rather, someone. A swimmer has claimed one of our free swim lanes for herself and is gliding through the water in a gentle freestyle.

She’s better than any of the kids I currently have freestyling on the team.

I watch her swim a couple of laps, picking up pace occasionally before dropping back down.

There are things that need improvement—her elbow position and turns are off, along with her breathing—but the basics are there.

Not only are they there, but they’re strong.

She keeps her body in a great streamlined position—her head is low and in line with her body.

Just looking at her, I feel like I’m looking at a younger Katie Ledecky or Simone Manuel. I want this girl on the team.

Forgetting my gear, I walk over to her lane, hoping to catch her when she stops for a break and a drink of water. Something else I’ve been able to easily pick up on is when someone is tiring themselves out. As predicted, she pulls to a stop at the wall as I’m approaching.

I approach carefully, fully aware of the fear that comes from a man approaching a young woman in public. I go in with the introduction. “Hey, my name is Ronan O’Brien. I’m one of the coaches here at Adair Swim Club. You’re really talented, and I was wondering what team you swim for.”

The young woman pulls her goggles off, resting them against her cap, and blinks up at me. Once, twice, three times. I don’t know what to do.

“Holy shit,” she breathes. Well, that wasn’t what I was expecting. “I watched you at the Olympics. I mean…not in person because it was in Rio, and I was only five, but I remember wa tching you.”

My face flushes. It’s not often people recognize me anymore, even among young swimmers. My career ended in 2017 and most of the kids this girl’s age were too young to remember, but she remembers me, and that will always be a weird feeling. “Uh, yeah, I retired in 2017.”

She nods. “Yeah, I remember that. Holy shit, you were watching me swim and think I’m good? Me ?”

“Yes,” I exclaim, happy to pull the attention off me and back on her. “I was wondering what team you swim for? Is it a school team?”

If it’s a school team, I have the chance to pull her away. If it’s a club, it depends. Adair is the only one in the city who’s registered with the US swimming governing body, which is a pull for a lot of people.

The young woman laughs in my face. “I don’t swim for anyone! I’m not on a team. I just like swimming.”

My scheming brain screeches to a halt. “What?” My astonishment is clear in my voice, and it’s now my turn to blink at her. “But you’re good enough to get a scholarship.”

A scholarship. Go pro. Potentially go to the Olympics. Become one of the best female freestylers we’ve ever seen. But, you know, baby steps.

“I’m going to be a sophomore in high school, and I go to public school.”

I bite back a smile. “Not high school, kid. College. I feel confident enough to say you could get a college scholarship if you took this seriously.”

The wide-eyed wonderment is back, but it dims almost as quickly. “Swimming on a team is expensive. It’s not something I can really afford.”

Which tells me she’s wanted this bad enough to look into it at some point .

Part of the reason Bryce and Carter brought me on is to build a scholarship. To give talented swimmers the chance to chase their dreams, even when their financial situation doesn’t allow it. And she’s right about swimming being expensive. It takes a toll on the swimmer’s family.

And that’s exactly why we want to push this scholarship. And I know who our first recipient should be.

“Would you want to swim on a team? More specifically here.” She goes to argue, but I don’t let her. “Let me talk to my boss, but there is a way we can get you on the team here—get you training and competing—without costing you a dollar.”

There’s something in her eyes that tells me she’s been let down before. She doesn’t want to hold on to too much hope around this. “I need to leave in fifteen minutes.”

It’s an opening; that’s all I need. “That’s all I need. What’s your name?”

She’s not convinced. “Emmie.”

“Emmie,” I repeat. “Great! Don’t go anywhere, please!”

Ignoring the fundamental rule of no running on the deck, I take off toward the offices, determined to not be another person who lets this kid down.