Page 8 of Stroke Rate

A sob broke through Chris’ lips. “I'm serious, Brooke. They are my family. They are awful, but they are all I have. And I just can’t... I can’t leave Harrison and Flynn. I can’t lose them.”

“Okay. Shit, okay. I’m sorry, I know. They are your family. But I need you to remember that you have options. You have a degree. You could find a job. Fuck, you can live with me, and we can go live a cushy life living off the settlement money that I’ve barely touched. I just want you to be happy.”

“Yeah. Brooke, I know. But I can't leave them. I need to know Harrison and Flynn are okay.”

“I don’t get it, Chris. Why wouldn’t they be okay? They are adults now, too.”

“Laura,” he whispered, and left it at that, taking a deep breath. They were adults, and Chris was fairly certain Laura had never touched them, yet she still held them in her grasp. Harrison was stronger, more independent. He could tell Laura no, but Chris knew that she still manipulated him in some way. Still made him feel guilty for choosing himself over ‘the family.’ Made him feel less than because he chose an ordinary life. A quiet life. A life with less money, but a life he seemed content in. So Harrison compensated by embracing his frat-bro persona when Laura was around, something that Chris hated with his whole soul.

And Flynn. Poor fucking Flynn, it was as if he was stuck. He still lived at home at 19 and still had a lot of growing up to do. But he still couldn’t see how toxic Laura was; she had always kept him close, had always treated him differently. Kinder. Softer. The way Chris had always longed for her to treat him. But still, Laura controlled Flynn in the same way she controlled Chris by financially choking him. Controlling every aspect of his finances, making it appear as if she was helping him, when in reality she was cutting his legs out from under him. Making him weaker. More dependent. It was an echo of what she had done to Chris. What she was still doing to Chris. He hated to watch it happen, but he couldn’t figure out how to make it all stop. He couldn’t figure out how to dig them out of the crater she had created to keep them trapped.

“Okay, I’ll drop it.”

“Thanks.” Fuck, Chris was tired after that conversation, but he needed to ask Brooke one more thing. “Hey can I ask a favor?”

“Always.”

“Could you get in touch with River for me? I…ugh…I need a new coach.” Chris knew all about River. Brooke had made sure he knew what an amazing coach he had been to her and her team. Knew about the horrible accident and how he had struggled in the years since. Chris had seen pictures and heard stories and knew how much Brooke loved him. Shit, she had been bugging him for years to just take a chance on him. More or less pleading with him to get in contact with River, always whispering how great they would be together. Despite Brooke's repeated offers, Chris had, for some unexplained reason, never agreed to let her arrange a meeting. Something had always held him back. But now, ‌something felt different. The feeling of being so frightened of a coach felt…wrong. Chris was exhausted. Exhausted of feeling unsure and having no say over his life. Firing Rick was the first step in taking some control over his life. It was a small step, but it counted.

Brooke cleared her throat, a little giggle escaping. “So, um, what if he? What if he is at your heat today?”

“What are you talking about, Brooke? Why would River be in Indy?‌”

“Wellllllll… how do I put this? Imighthavebeensendinghimyourtapes,” she said in one long word, no breath in between. “I’ve been trying to convince him to approach you, and I guess he decided now is the time? I talked to him this morning, and I said you might need a new coach soon.”

“Wait, excuse me?” Chris asked.

“Yeah, well, I talked to him this morning, and I just knew you were going to fire Rick, and that you would need a new coach.”

This girl and her scheming. Listening to her, he wondered if she had ulterior motives. She sounded kind of sneaky, like a child with their hand in the cookie jar.

“I'm so confused, Brooke.” He's wasting his time…you're not worth it, the nasty internal voice taunted.

“Will you talk with him? He seemed kind of nervous on the phone today, and was stuttering a bit. He has a speech thing. So be kind, will ya?”

“I mean, if he approaches me, then yes, I’ll talk to him, Brooke. Of course, I will. I’m not an asshole and I need a coach.”

“Okay. I just love him, you know. This is a big step for him, and he’s…well, he’s nervous. So after your heat and cool down, look for him; can’t miss him. He’s the handsome, very tall man with lots of freckles. You’ll recognize him from the pictures I’ve shown you.”

“Okay, Brooke, yeah, I know what River looks like. Gotta go.”

“Good luck. Call me later. Love you.”

“Love you.”

Thank God I have her, Chris reflected as he got out of bed to get back to the arena and get ready for his heat.

Chapter six

River

Moist chlorine-scented air smacked River in the face as he entered the aquatic center; the thick air caused his anxiety to spike, and the sudden need to pull in a deep breath was almost overwhelming. His palms were slick with sweat, an excess of saliva pooled in his mouth, and his stomach churned with apprehension at the thought of approaching Christopher, despite knowing he was ready. A spark of life had ignited in River’s chest watching Christopher’s videos the past months. River felt ready to coach again; he just needed Christopher to say yes. Before ascending the bleachers, River took a few calming breaths to steady himself, visualizing the positive outcome that he so desperately wanted.

From his vantage point at the very center of the highest tier of the bleachers, River had a clear view of the entire pool, the wide perspective enabling him to scrutinize every swimmer. From the moment they plunged into the water off the blocks, he could break down their race. River could count each swimmer's stroke rate, watch their whole body, and see each swimmer's form. He loved this part of being a coach and suddenly realized how much he had missed it. The quiet observations, no talking, no telling a swimmer their strengths and weaknesses, just him analyzing every minor part of the heat.

As swimmers filed out from the locker room, River’s eyes fixed on Christopher the moment he exited; his body was easy to pick out in the group. He was small and stocky compared to the tall, lean men who walked beside him. Bouncing blond hair, golden skin, and muscles. So many muscles. A smile plastered across his impish face as he shook his arms and climbed up his block.

Christopher’s dive was clean and fast as the buzzer rang for the 100-meter butterfly. The swift race usually finished in under a minute. The perfect warm-up for a swimmer before the 400 IM. River watched his form from above. His kicks looked strong, his arms in sync. He was right in the middle of the pack at the first turn. Christopher kept a consistent pace, gaining a bit on his competition with every turn. He seemed to have saved enough energy to really let go the last length of the pool—he was fourth, then third, and in the end came in second, a powerful race. Christopher popped his head up and looked at the board.