Page 38 of The Last Five Yards

The world comes back to her in fragments. The roar of voices. The echo of the music. The slap of water against the tile.

Reese breaks the surface beside her, laughing, wiping water from her face.

Maren blinks through the spray, smiling before she realizes it.

For the first time in a long time, she didn’t reach for control. She just floats.

For a few seconds, she just floats.

Then the static in her brain finds her again.

Laughter crashes down around them, mixed with splashing and someone trying to start a cannonball contest. A wave slaps against her shoulder and rolls toward the gutter.

Maren wipes water from her face, blinking through the blur. Her laptop sits where she left it, on the highest bench, screen half-open like a mouth mid-word. The puddle has reached it. The splash has dropped water along the keyboard, then slips between the keys. A faint flicker flashes behind the screen.

“Oh no,” she says, voice swallowed by the noise.

Reese swims closer, still laughing.

“What?”

Maren points toward the bench. “My laptop.”

Reese tilts her head, squinting. “Is it—”

A spark pops, soft but clear, even over the music. The screen stops glowing.

Maren groans, pressing a hand over her face. “Perfect.”

Reese’s grin widens. “Guess that’s one spreadsheet you can’t fix.”

Maren laughs because she can’t help it. It bubbles up bright and raw. “You are impossible.”

“Probably,” Reese says, still treading water. “But admit it, that thing had it coming.”

Maren shakes her head, hair plastered to her cheeks. “That thing had seasons of data in it.”

Reese floats backward, spreading her arms. “Then maybe it’s time for a clean slate.”

The words hit harder than a joke should. Maren looks back at the laptop, the thin wisp of smoke curling from one corner before it dies out. She exhales, slow and deep.

“Maybe,” she says quietly.

Around them, the commotion starts to settle. The music cuts for a moment, leaving only the sound of dripping water and distant laughter. The surface ripples smooth again.

Reese is still there, steadily beside her.

Maren glances at her one more time, the faint smile returning. “You’re still insane.”

Reese shrugs. “You love it.”

Maren doesn’t answer. She just shakes her head and lets the water carry her toward the wall.

By the time Maren reaches the wall, the chaos has thinned. A few swimmers still linger in the water, floating on their backs, laughing softly. Others sit on the edge, legs dangling, trading stories that dissolve into the hum of the fans.

Coach Hensley has given up pretending to scold anyone. He stands with a towel slung over his shoulders, shoes in hand, grinning like a man who remembers exactly why he stayed all these years.

Maren pulls herself up onto the deck, sitting on the edge of the gutter. The water drips from her hair in slow, steady lines. Her laptop sits dark and ruined on the bleacher, a faint reflection of gold light still glinting off its surface.