Page 43

It's shocking how quickly everything you work so hard for can collapse around you. Love, a career, a relationship—all of it can crumble. Nothing is permanent, so it shouldn't be treated like it is.

That's the way I've lived most of my life, especially the last eight years. The day I woke up in the hospital bed, with no one but a kind nurse holding my hand while the doctor slowly dismantled my life, haunts me. From that point on, everything fell apart. I lost what felt like everything, including the final proof that I never had my parents’ love.

I only had their attention, and even that was fleeting.

Instead of focusing on the people who did show up and convinced me to fight for what I still had, I focused on all the things I’d lost. Since starting Operation Fly, I'd pick new clubs and swimming programs to oversee whenever I felt the need to run.

To get away before I'm standing in the rubble of my life once more.

The last week or so, I've started feeling that itch again. The restlessness, the need to run. This time, it pisses me off. What do I possibly have to run away from? Everything I could have ever wanted is here; why can't I stick around to see it through for once?

When the itch started, I made an appointment with my therapist. I'm still getting to know him; I'm still determining whether he's who I'd like to see going forward, should I stay. I also haven't been as good about going as I usually am, which makes the process harder.

The appointment was two hours ago. I'd walked into that office so sure I was about to hear the same thing I'd heard countless times.

My previous therapist told me I had a restless soul, which isn't a bad thing, but I needed to wait for the thing that felt real. I’d been happy to let her believe that.

This guy, though, he saw right fucking through me. In less than an hour, he'd figured out that it wasn't me searching for something real; it was me running away from anything that felt too good, too tangible. He was the first person to call it what I've always known it to be: fear.

By the end of the session, I felt ripped open and raw in the way only therapy could make you feel. Worse, I know he's right, and now that a stranger has spoken the words out loud, there is no denying it. I don't want to run away anymore, though.

And I'm fighting against every instinct I have to stay, but my behavior is defaulting to patterns.

Which my therapist, who I now have regularly scheduled appointments with, thinks is a defense mechanism.

That I'm allowing myself to fall into those old habits, despite my brain saying otherwise, out of fear that things won't work out.

My phone lights up on the table, an incoming call from Mel, reminding me of the other obligations I have. Watching Lezak dart around my backyard, I press the phone against my ear. "Hey."

"Wow, you sound like an absolute delight this afternoon," she greets sarcastically. "Is it a bad time?"

I pinch the bridge of my nose, hoping to keep the headache I can feel coming on at bay. "Nah, it's fine; just came from an appointment. What's going on? "

"The start date for the new build in Santa Fe is closing in on us, Ronan," she reminds me. "You told me you wanted to take it. I need an answer, soon."

When Bryce and Carter asked me to come out to Adair, the Santa Fe project was already in the works.

It was going to be a large undertaking—building a new facility at a high school in an underprivileged area and bringing kids from surrounding high schools to swim for the same team, while also providing water safety classes free to the community.

It was supposed to be my way out of Adair. It'd give me six months to make sure my friends were good, and then I could leave. Onto the next thing.

"Send Jon," I say, surprising even myself. "And have him take Morgan with him. She needs the experience." Mel stays silent on the other end for a little too long. "Mel?"

"I'm sorry. Is this some kind of a joke?"

"Not a joke." I lean back in the chair, squinting against the sun. "Jon is a strong coach who's great with people at all levels and Morgan is excellent at water safety. She just needs more coaching experience. Jon will be good with that. Did you have someone else in mind?"

"Yeah, you," she deadpans. "Since when do you turn down a project in a city you've never been to?"

“I can’t leave Adair yet. Bryce and Carter still need some help.”

It’s a bald-face lie. Both, or either, of them could run this place completely on their own. Sure, I made a commitment to my team, but there’s no reason for me to stay. Even Bryce had a feeling I wouldn’t stick around months ago.

“Okay, if you’re sure.” I can hear the uncertainty in her voice. “What about future projects? Are there any you want me to put you on? ”

“Not yet. I don’t know how long I’m going to be out here.”

Why can’t I just say I’m planning to stay? That she’s more than capable of taking over the day-to-day operations of Operation Fly? Why can’t I tell her I’ve found everything I’ve been looking for my entire adult life and don’t want to leave it behind? Why can’t I be honest with her?

“All right, I’ll keep you updated,” Mel relents.

“I actually need to come out to California soon. We need to have a meeting with the board to talk about some things regarding the future and it’s best if we do it in person. I’ll try to get out there in the next two or three weeks. Does that work for you?”

“That should be fine. Ronan, can I ask you a serious question?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Are you staying in Columbia?”

Dropping my head into my free hand, I let out a breath. “I’d like to see what we can do about making that happen, yeah. What are your thoughts?”

“That maybe there is a God after all.”

Hearing my very atheist VP say that makes me snort out a laugh. “Yeah, maybe.”

“We’ll talk more about it when you get out here. Just let me know when you have your travel plans.”

“Will do,” I promise her before hanging up.

I watch my dog roll around in the grass, clearly enjoying himself.

Just letting Mel in on my thought process makes me feel lighter, like I can have everything I want.

I’m not ready to tell the others yet, in case something happens, but I’m moving forward, and trying to create a future I can truly be proud of.

Bryce glides into the wall before turning to relax against it.

He's barely breathing hard despite doing more laps than me, and at a pace that's much quicker than mine.

Part of me hates him for it, and I think I always will.

Not in the real way, but in the way you hold a grudge against the people who can still do the things you can't.

A living, breathing reminder of what I lost that night.

"Is the leg bothering you?" He rips his cap and goggles off, tossing them to the deck before reaching for his water bottle.

I wince at the movement. "Your hairline is going to start receding from the way you rip that cap off your head.”

He rolls his eyes mid-drink before setting the bottle back down on the edge. "Stop being so dramatic."

I shrug, draping my arms over the lane line to support myself. "Don't come crying to me when Josie starts freaking out because you're balding before forty. The leg is fine, just a little stiff. Swimming helps."

He nods. "How are things going with Mia?"

I could almost get whiplash with how quickly he changes subjects.

It's not something we ever really talk about, not the way I know he and Carter do.

She is the last thing I expected him to bring up this morning.

Sure, Mia's his girlfriend's best friend, but he's never jumped into any of my relationships like this before.

Then again, none of them were nearly as serious as this, and I bet he probably knows that.

"Fine," I reply slowly, reaching for my own water.

"Just fine?"

"What are we doing here, man?" I question with a sigh. "Are you really about to give me the shovel talk?"

He shrugs. "Someone has to do it, don't they?"

I frown at him. "Yeah, I guess, but I was expecting it to come from Josie, not you. You were my friend first, you know. "

"Yeah, I was, but she needs people looking out for her more than you, sometimes. I know she told you about it, but you weren't here for the Bianca aftermath. She was a mess, and I want to make sure she's good. I'm sure you'll get a similar talk from Josie, too."

"Let's add Carter and Kat to the list, too."

"I wouldn't be surprised," he admits. "Again, you weren't here when she first moved here. We can support both of you and still be happy to kick your ass if you hurt her."

"I think Mia is more than capable of kicking my ass," I reply. "And if she doesn't, Josie will. Hell, they'd probably take turns."

"Great," Bryce replies in a much more serious tone than I'm used to him using. "Consider me third in line."

I almost tell him the truth—that if I'm stupid enough to screw this up, I'll let them all take turns. "I have no intention of screwing this up, Bryce. Not again. I'm acknowledging this second chance."

He nods, reaching for his cap and goggles again. "Good. Just make sure you don't fuck things up this time, Ronan. I know you're serious about her, but I need you to also recognize that she doesn't give third chances."

Before I can say anything else, he pushes off the wall into an easy breaststroke.

Every word he said to me runs through my mind, but before long, I find my focus shifting to him.

He's picked up speed, cutting through the water effortlessly and with nearly perfect form.

Breaststroke might not be my area of expertise, but I've been around the sport of swimming long enough to realize he's counting his strokes.

Maintaining consistency in a way that could monitor progress isn't something I've seen him do in a long time.

It's something we're all used to, but once we lose the pressure of competition, it's not something we need to do.

For a lot of swimmers I know, it's the first thing they get rid of.

From the other side of the pool, I watch him turn at the wall before gliding underwater.

He comes up before the fifteen-meter mark, transitioning into a freestyle, and that's where I can immediately tell he needs some work.

"Is he swimming the back half of an IM?"

I didn't hear Carter approach, but he's standing on the deck, dressed in a black brief with a cap and goggles in his hand. His entire focus, though, is on Bryce.

"It looks like it, doesn't it?"

I'm curious to see if he's wondering the same thing I am. Whenever he and I would swim, he tended to stick to either breaststroke or backstroke, two of his strongest areas. I'm pretty sure the last time I saw him do any sort of IM swim was when he was still competing.

"Yeah," Carter admits, pulling his cap over his head. "What do you think that's about?"

It's definitely not for me to say, because I'm not Bryce.

I don't know what his physical fitness goals are or what he hopes to achieve from a workout.

I do, however, think how he's switching up his swims and has started to pay more attention to the details is interesting.

Why he's doing this, though, isn't my business.

"I don't know, man," I reply. "Maybe he felt like switching up his workout?"

Carter shrugs. "Makes sense."

Without another word, he dives into the pool, picking up a well-paced freestyle. I continued to watch Bryce, though. Even after I pull myself out of the pool, I watch him. There has been something different about him recently, and I can't put my finger on it.