TALON
“There’s the golden boy.”
Ledger’s voice carried across the swim deck as I stepped out of the locker room, the smell of chlorine already seeping into my skin.
Ledger was my main competition on the team—equal parts rival and best friend. Since our freshman year, we’d been locked in a constant battle for the fastest times, the best splits, the records on the board. The kind of competition that didn’t just push you, it sharpened you.
We were both sprinters, but I had two inches on him, something he swore was the only reason I touched the wall a second ahead of him in the fifty-yard freestyle.
I gave him a smirk. “Aren’t you tired of chasing my bubbles?”
“Let’s race the hundred breaststroke and see who’s eating whose bubbles,” he shot back.
I tugged on my swim cap. “Sure. Right after we do the hundred fly.”
His expression twisted into mock disgust. Breaststroke was his territory and my weakest event. If I could burn him out on butterfly first, I had a shot at stealing his win—by half a second, if I was lucky.
“As fun as it is listening to you two argue over who’s prettier in a swim cap,” Ridge cut in, “can we start warming up?”
I grinned at him. “C’mon, baby brother. Don’t you want to challenge us to a backstroke duel?”
He gave me a one-shouldered shrug and a cocky grin. “It’s not really a challenge when I know I’m going to win.” He dove in before I could push him in.
Ridge and I could’ve been carbon copies—same height, same lean muscle over broad shoulders, the same brown hair and blue eyes. The only real difference was that I had a few more years of training, and he had a slightly bigger ego.
I followed him in, the water swallowing me in an instant. Cold shock bled into something calm, almost meditative. Down here, the noise in my head faded. Every kick, every stroke, every breath was muscle memory. In the water, I was in control. The only other thing that gave me that kind of peace was writing—two very different worlds, but both let me disappear.
By the time we wrapped up our warm-up, Coach Saunders was pacing the pool deck, whistle dangling from her fingers.
“All right, sprinters,” she barked, “drill set. Let’s move!”
Coach Saunders was a paradox wrapped in a tracksuit—sharp as a whip, quick to yell, but underneath it all, she cared. I’d had plenty of coaches over the years, but she was my favorite. A hard outer shell with a soft center—like an M&M that could destroy your lungs in a 200 IM, the race where you had to swim all four strokes back-to-back without mercy.
I hauled myself out of the pool after the last set, arms on fire as water streamed off my shoulders. Sitting on the edge, I yanked off my cap and goggles, dragging in a few deep breaths. My body already felt the strain of the late night I’d pulled. Five a.m. wake-ups didn’t forgive poor decisions—especially when they started with a dryland workout in the gym and rolled right into a workout in the pool.
Still … I wouldn’t have changed a thing about last night.
Every lost minute of sleep had been worth it.ReadToLivhad messaged me again, and I’d stayed up far later than I’d planned trading words with her. She was sharp, funny in a way that didn’t try too hard, and blunt enough to keep me on my toes. Talking to her was … easy. And that was rare.
It felt good to have someone I could talk to about my writing—really talk. Nobody in my life knew I was working on a book or that being an author was the dream instead of using the business degree I’d gotten incollege. My whole team probably thought the only thing I knew how to do with words was post a caption on Instagram. I hadn’t told Ridge or Ledger, because if they laughed it off or looked down on it, I wasn’t sure I could keep writing at all.
After a quick shower in the locker room, Ridge, Ledger, and I left the Wilson Center and made our way to breakfast at the Orange Blossoms Café. My stomach was already in “feed me now” mode, and I ordered enough food that it looked like I hadn’t eaten in a week.
“So, who’s the woman you ditched us for last night?” Ridge asked once we sat down, picking up right where I’d hoped he wouldn’t.
Right. I’d almost forgotten about the lie. They had shown up at my place because I had the better TV, and I’d told them they could stay but I had a date—so I could skip video games and write in peace.
“You don’t know her.” I aimed for casual and landed somewhere between dismissive and guilty. I kept my eyes on the waffle in front of me, carefully filling each square with syrup like it was a highly technical task.
“Where’d you meet this one?” Ledger asked, his smirk pure trouble.
It was almost funny—my two closest friends seemed convinced I cycled through women like it was an Olympic sport. Truth was, I was drowning in lies and half-truths, treading water just enough to keep my double life hidden.
I shoved a too-big bite of waffle into my mouth tostall for time. Technically, Ihadbeen with a woman last night. Just not in the way they were picturing.
Once I swallowed, I said, “At the library.”
Ridge’s eyebrows climbed. “The library?”