Chapter 2 — Back to the Pool
Claire
The smell of chlorine enveloped me the moment I pushed open the doors to the Seabreeze Aquatic Center, sharp and unmistakable. It mingled with the faint tang of salt wafting in from the ocean just beyond the parking lot, a sensory cocktail that sent my stomach into a slow, uneasy churn. The sound of splashing water echoed off the high ceilings, punctuated by the occasional call of a coach or a swimmer’s sharp exhale. It was all too familiar, yet overwhelming in its intensity. The scent tugged at a memory I wasn’t prepared to revisit: a whistle’s shrill blast, a sea of expectant faces, and my twelve-year-old self frozen on the starting block.
My grip tightened on the strap of my gym bag, its weight far heavier than the swimsuit, towel, and goggles inside could explain. “All you have to do is survive this,” I murmured to myself, though my voice wavered. My fingers drifted to the stopwatch necklace resting against my collarbone, the cool, worn brass grounding me for a fleeting moment. I rubbed my thumb over the etching of waves, seeking some semblance of calm.
The lobby was brighter than I expected, sunlight streaming through the massive windows that framed the pool. The aquamarine water shimmered, alive with ripples made by swimmers who glided through the lanes as if they'd been born there. Their movements were rhythmic, controlled, and utterly intimidating. My chest tightened, my breaths shallow. My palms dampened against the strap of my bag.
Why did I agree to this again? Jenna’s voice came to mind, unrelenting and cheerful: “You need this, Claire. It’ll get you out of your head. Besides, you’ll thank me when Ryan works his magic.”
Magic. Sure.
“Hi there!” chirped the girl at the front desk, her ponytail bouncing as she smiled brightly. “Are you here for lap swim or the league practice?”
“League practice,” I managed, my voice catching. I cleared my throat and summoned a polite smile. “First time.”
The girl’s eyes lit up. “Oh, you’ll love it! They’re such a great group. Coach Ryan is right over there.” She pointed toward the far end of the pool, where a tall figure stood, clipboard in one hand and stopwatch in the other.
Coach Ryan. Jenna had said his name with a knowing smirk, as if she were sharing a secret too good to keep. My gaze followed the girl’s gesture, and there he was: blond hair tousled as if he’d just stepped off the beach, a faded navy T-shirt that hinted at his athletic frame, and flip-flops that smacked faintly against the deck as he shifted his weight. He laughed at something one of the swimmers said, his dimple flashing in the sunlight.
Of course there were dimples.
I took a deep breath and stepped forward, each stride feeling more out of place than the last. My tailored blouse and dark jeans practically screamed “corporate drone,” a stark contrast to the swimwear and athletic gear surrounding me. I regretted not changing into my swimsuit at home, but there was no time to dwell on that now.
Ryan turned as I approached, his cobalt-blue eyes locking onto mine with a spark of curiosity. “You must be Claire,” he said, his voice warm and easy, like someone who never ran out of charm.
“Guilty,” I replied, offering a faint smile. “Jenna sent me.”
“Ah, Jenna.” His grin widened, his fondness for her clear. “She mentioned you might be joining. Glad you made it.”
“Made it” felt generous. I glanced at the clipboard in his hand, hoping to deflect some of the attention.
“Let me guess—haven’t been in a pool in years?” Ryan asked, his tone teasing but not unkind.
“Is it the aura of terror I’m radiating?” I shot back, attempting humor to hide the truth.
He chuckled, a deep, easy sound that softened the edges of my anxiety. “You’d be surprised how many people start out feeling that way. We’ve all been there.”
His words landed differently than I expected. There was something in his tone—a flicker of sincerity beneath the charm—that hinted at personal experience. Before I could dwell on it, he gestured toward the pool.
“No medals required today. Just get in and see what happens,” he said.
No pressure. Right.
Ryan scanned his clipboard. “We’re starting with warm-ups. Why don’t you hop into Lane Four? Tom’s in there—he’ll help you get settled.”
I followed his gesture to a burly man adjusting his goggles. He caught my eye and waved, his expression friendly but unobtrusive.
“Got it,” I said, though my feet remained glued to the deck.
Ryan tilted his head, studying me. “You okay?”
“Fine,” I lied, though my heart was pounding. My gaze flicked to the water, shimmering and deceptively inviting. I saw my twelve-year-old self again, knees locked, the whistle’s shrill echo in my ears. My fingers tightened around the stopwatch necklace. Just breathe.
“Claire?” Ryan’s voice broke through the memory, steady and reassuring. “You’ve got this.”
I swallowed hard and stepped forward. The water enveloped me as I lowered myself in, cool and startling, sending a shiver up my spine. Tom gave me a nod of encouragement, and I adjusted my goggles, focusing on the rhythmic hum of the water filters.
“Ready?” Tom asked, his voice calm and steady, as if he’d seen a hundred nervous newcomers before.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I replied, though my grip on the edge of the pool said otherwise.
The warm-up—freestyle laps at an easy pace—sounded simple enough. By the third lap, though, my arms burned, my breathing was ragged, and Tom had lapped me twice with unhurried strokes. I sputtered along, each movement feeling both clumsy and exhausting.
“You’re doing great,” Ryan called from the deck, his tone maddeningly chipper.
“Liar,” I muttered, though a flicker of gratitude stirred beneath my frustration.
By the time the warm-up ended, my legs felt like jelly. I clung to the wall, gasping for breath. Tom gave me a thumbs-up, and I managed a weak smile. But the swimmer in the next lane—a statuesque woman with sleek black hair and piercing green eyes—raised an eyebrow.
“Not bad for a beginner,” she said, her tone light but laced with condescension. “Of course, it’ll take years to keep up with me.”
“That’s Vanessa,” Ryan said, appearing at the edge of the pool. “Don’t mind her—she’s all bark.”
“And bite,” Vanessa added, her lips curling into a smirk as she adjusted her goggles with practiced ease.
I bit back a retort, the sting of her comment settling uncomfortably in my chest.
“All right, everyone,” Ryan called, clapping his hands. “Let’s move on to some drills. Claire, feel free to sit this one out if you need a breather.”
“I’m fine,” I said quickly, though my muscles screamed otherwise.
Ryan’s grin carried a hint of challenge. “Suit yourself.”
Determined not to let Vanessa’s comment—or my own insecurities—get the better of me, I pushed off the wall and made my way to the starting block. The drill was simple: a basic dive. But as I climbed onto the block, my foot slipped.
I hit the water with an ungraceful splash, laughter rippling through the pool. My cheeks burned as I surfaced, sputtering and mortified.
“You okay?” Ryan called, crouching closer, his expression unreadable.
“Peachy,” I said, though my pride was in tatters.
“Points for entertainment value,” Vanessa quipped, her smirk firmly in place.
I shot her a glare but said nothing.
Ryan’s voice softened as he leaned in slightly. “Hey. It’s okay. Happens to the best of us.”
His tone was genuine, unassuming, and somehow it loosened the knot in my chest just a little. I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat.
As practice continued, I began to notice the rhythm of the team around me—Tom’s steady strokes, Vanessa’s effortless speed, Ryan’s easy camaraderie with everyone. The water felt just a bit less foreign, the noise in my head fading ever so slightly.
By the end of the session, I was exhausted, my confidence as wobbly as my dive. But Ryan’s parting words stayed with me.
“See you next time, Claire,” he said, his smile warm and patient.
Next time.
I wasn’t sure if I’d come back. But as I stepped out of the pool, clutching my stopwatch necklace, a tiny ripple of hope stirred within me.
Maybe, just maybe, I could belong here.
