Page 33 of Stroke Rate

“Mom, I…” Chris started.

“I don’t want to hear it, Christopher. I don’t want to hear you complain again. This is what you are doing. We have put too much into this. We have put everything into this for you,” she spat. “You owe us.Your last race was quite pathetic. How do you think that showed on your family? How do you think that made me look?” She scoffed. “We didn’t work this hard, spend this much money, for you to become a failure. We give you everything!” Laura all but screamed, her tone low enough to sound threatening, ominous. “You will do better. You will train harder, or everything will be gone. Did you hear me, Christopher?” River watched as Chris nodded, never raising his eyes from the floor. “This house, gone. Your allowance, gone. Your brothers, ha!” she laughed, a sarcastic noise. “Your precious brothers, that you love so much. Gone. You will have nothing and no one. So, get your shit together and win a fucking race.”

“Yes, Mom,” Chris said, his head lowered, still gripping his wrists.

“You don’t want to quit, do you? We’ve discussed what would happen.”

“Yes, Mom.”

River couldn’t listen to her be so nasty to Chris one second more. Clearing his throat, River stepped into the kitchen and put on his best professional, fake smile. He checked in with Chris, just a quick glance—Chris nodded as he continued the wringing of his wrists.

River held out his hand to Laura; she looked at it but didn't take the offer. Laura stood frozen, radiating an unmistakable air of self-assurance. She was tall for a woman, much taller than her son, maybe 5'10", lean and beautiful. She had a wild, almost feral-look to her eyes; they were deep blue like Chris’. The beautiful eyes they shared were so different on the unkind woman’s face. Where Chris's eyes always looked playful and innocent, Laura’s blue eyes bored into him, angry and menacing. In the end, she grabbed River’s hand and gave it a firm, almost too tight, shake. Her touch felt unnerving, making River steel himself, ready for an attack his body told him was imminent.

Placing his tongue in a neutral position, taking a deep breath to calm his worried brain, he introduced himself. “Hi, I’m River,” the words came out clear and precise, allowing some of his nerves to dissipate. Allowing himself to break eye contact with the predator before him, River took a moment to glance at Chris and give him what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Chris looked back at him, a slight tilt to his lips, but not a smile, not a dimple in sight.

In fact, the look on his face was closer to that of a person in pain.

Chris drew his shoulders in, hunched his back, and his eyes stormed over with emotions River could not understand as they moved back to his mother. River watched as Chris lanced his bottom lip with his canines and winced, sure to have broken skin. Needing to soothe his pain, River took a step forward, but Chris gave him a sharp shake of his head, pleading with his eyes not to. River hated it, but obeyed, turning his attention back to Laura.

“So you’re the coach? Christopher said y’all were sleeping. Seems weird? Coming out here freshly showered?” She stared right through River, harsh and angry—then, like a flash of lightning, the harsh attitude was gone—in its place was a disingenuous flat smile–her stare scrutinizing him as if he were her injured prey, waiting for him to die so she could pick him to bits. There is something seriously wrong with the woman, he thought.

“I am. Nice to meet you. We got caught up discussing plans for training last night, so I stayed over in the guest room.” River paused, watching as Laura's face contorted, as if she were trying to gauge the truth in his statement. “Are you going to stay for lunch?” Out of the corner of his eye, River could see Chris cringe at the question, a sharp shake of his head, and a pleading look in his eyes.

“Ugh, no, I won’t be staying. That lasagna is a winter food. Much too heavy,” she scoffed. “I’m appalled that Christopher would make that for a guest in the summer, let alone his coach. He’s always been kind of…not quick, that one.” Tapping at the side of her head. “You must watch what you eat. Look at that body.” Her eyes raked down the length of him, pausing at his crotch, then back up to his eyes. “You have the perfect swimmer's build: lean, long, and muscular.” Her face contorted in disgust as she pointed at Chris, appraising him like a bizarre circus attraction, not the heartbreakingly sweet face River saw. “Christopher needs discipline, and he needs to work harder. His body,” she paused, tutting. “Well, his body needs a lot of help, and Christopher needs to work harder to make sure he doesn’t become what he once was. Christopher knows his body is less than…ideal.”

River could not handle her talking about Chris a minute longer; with every unkind, demeaning word said, he could feel his blood pressure rise. “It’s Chris. His name is Chris, ma’am,” River whispered, wishing his fucking voice had not been so small.

“Excuse me? I’m not sure I heard you well enough with your voice the way it is. He’s mine, that boy. He’s mine. I named him, and his name is Christopher.” Literal spittle flew from her lips with the statement.

River could not stop. The need to stand up for Chris was too strong, and his mouth moved before he had time to pause. “That boy you think is yours is Chris. He prefers Chris, and he deserves your respect. He works hard; harder than any swimmer I’ve ever seen. His body is perfect, and the fact that he had to work as hard as he has should tell you how amazing he is.” River looked over at Chris—his boy's shoulders had turned in even further, making him look so small and helpless, as his eyes flicked ‌between Laura and River. He looked like a trapped animal ready to bolt. “I apologize if I offended you, but I refuse to hear another word. I think you should go.” River gestured to the door, saying, "I'll walk you out."

Laura walked around River, ignoring him, and approached Chris. She took his wrists in her hands, leaned in, and kissed him on the lips. River squinted. The sight of her touching Chris, of her lips on his, made River so uncomfortable that he had to hold himself back from grabbing her and telling her no.

“I love you. I’ll text you when the next family dinner is. River, I’ll expect you as well,” she commanded with a disgusted sneer across her face.

Chris gave a sharp nod of his head. “Mom, we will see you at dinner.”

“Bye, love, and River, I’ll walk myself out.” Laura turned on her heel and stormed out of the house.

River went to lock the door and returned to find the kitchen empty, with Chris' shirt strewn on the warm stone floor. Clothes covered the hallway all the way to the pool room doors, as if Chris had left River a trail to follow. As he walked, River collected them all: pants and socks, and an undershirt stretched out, misshapen and damp with sweat. No, not damp. The undershirt was soaking wet, as if Chris had worn it to exercise in, not to sit and talk with his mom. Fuck. What the fuck happened?

“Helena” by My Chemical Romance blaring through the speakers and a very naked Chris swimming laps greeted River when he walked into the room. Chris was abusing the water with his fast, angry strokes. Punching his way up and down the length of the pool. River recognized this kind of swimming—knew it deep in his bones. This was a swimmer trying to escape. A swimmer trying to lose themselves in the water and the repetition of the movement. This was Chris’ form of running away, and it hurt River to watch.

Sitting on the edge, River dipped his hand in the water, wiggling his fingers. Chris swam right to his waiting hand and stopped, pushing his forehead against the fingers. Panting, he raised his goggles, eyes puffy and leaking, nose red and wet, hair hanging over his forehead. He sniffled, lowering his eyes to the water, and River watched as water droplets fell into the pool below Chris' face. Tears, my poor baby.

Using two fingers, River lifted Chris’ chin. “Out,” he commanded as he stood up and took a few steps away from the edge of the pool, watching as some of the tension left Chris’ body. Chris climbed out of the water, his shoulder muscles tensing up and then relaxing as he crawled to River—head sagging as he placed his forehead on River’s bare feet.

“Please,” he whimpered, “please, I don't want to think anymore. Please.”

Chapter twenty-nine

Chris

“Please.” The word came out raw and weak.

“Please,” he begged.

“Please.” As the pebbled floor dug into his knees.