A Matter of Heart (23 page)

I
wake up feeling more alive than I have in weeks. Well, except for the dry, cottony mouth and the aches and pains from my fall in the desert. Still, as I stretch, a sense of strength fills me. I've made the right decision.

It won't be easy. There are going to be…problems. Two of my biggest problems are talking in the kitchen right now. They can't know what I'm planning—no one can. So how do I pull that off? I push aside my comforter and head for the shower, hoping for some inspiration.

At 8:15, I walk into the kitchen, my hair in a pony and my usual Horizon one-piece with the red and blue swirl on under my sweatpants. I've got my hoodie tied around my waist. It took twenty minutes and all the hot water, but I figured out what to do.

Mom is sipping her tea and the crossword is spread out in
front of her. Dad is drinking coffee and reading the sports page. Just another Sunday morning. Except now there's a Kleenex box on the table.

And on the counter next to the coffee machine is a pill bottle with my name on it.

“Hey,” I say.

Dad slides his reading glasses down an inch. “Hi.” His voice is scratchy and he looks tired.

Mom glances up from the crossword, and I see the cap is still on her pen. “How was the party?”

“Good.” I open the fridge and grab the jug of milk.

“So you had fun?” Mom pauses. “I heard you come home and then take the car.”

“Yeah.” I shrug. “After Jen dropped me off, I realized I left my purse at the party.”

“I didn't hear you come back in.”

“I was quiet,” I say.

“Oh. Well.” Normally, she'd never let that slide without at least ten follow-up questions, not to mention a lecture about missing curfew, but she's hardly listening. I can tell by the expression on her face that she's gearing up to give me the news. I take a deep breath and save her the trouble. “I overheard you last night.”

She blinks, shoots a look at Dad, then sets down her pen. “What did you hear?”

“I heard the call from the doctor. I know he said the same thing as Dr. Danvers.” I pour myself milk and put the jug away.

“Honey, why don't you sit down.” Mom pulls out the chair between her and Dad.

“I don't have time. I've got class.”

“Someone else can cover your class.”

“I have to go.”

She looks like a glass figurine that's ready to shatter. “We need to talk. Sort this all out.”

“What do you think I've been doing for two weeks?”

“But things are different now. We hoped for different news yesterday.” She pats the chair. “All of us need to talk.”

“I don't.” I slide my hand around the cool mug. “I can't change what the doctors say, but I can still swim on the beta-blockers.”

Mom's eyes widen with surprise. Dad blinks hard, the corners of his eyes shiny, but a slow smile works across his face. “You mean it, honey?”

“Of course,” I say. “Why wouldn't I?”

He grins. “That's exactly what I told your mom you'd say. We've still got the fifty meter.”

I nod, and I know I'm right to do this. There's such relief on Dad's face; he doesn't want me to give up. And while they're both watching, I unscrew the medicine bottle and shake a pill into the palm of my hand. Small. White. Round. They're both staring as if I hold a ticking bomb. I tip the pill into my mouth, and then I swallow it with the milk.

Dad nods, all proud of me for taking my medicine and not letting it slow me down. Mom taps her fingers on the table, her mouth open as if there's something she wants to say but doesn't know what it is. I busy myself with washing out my mug and loading it in the dishwasher.

“You going to swim after you teach this morning?” Dad asks.

The tapping stops suddenly. “This doesn't feel right,” Mom says. Now she's staring at Dad. “It's as if the doctor never called.”

“I told you Abby could handle this.” He stands up, resettling the chair down loudly like an exclamation point.

“But the medicine. We've all read the realities—”

“She's worked herself back into shape and she's fine,” Dad snaps. “Stop being her counselor for one damn minute and try being her mother.”

“David!”

But he's already across the kitchen and he's got his arms around me. “You can do this, Abby.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I can.”

But we're not talking about the same thing.

A
lec is setting out kickboards when I push open the door to the pool area. He's wearing the usual tee and baggy swim shorts that he teaches in. My stomach flips even though I've seen him shirtless and in racing Speedos every day for the past three months. He's seriously hot. Long legs, lean hips, smooth muscle beneath warm brown skin. I haven't let myself acknowledge that fact before, but everything is different today. I could be dead in a week. It's kind of freeing.

“Hey,” he says. There's a new warmth in his voice and a steamy look in his eyes. The kind of look that says,
Last night I kissed you and I want to do it again
.

Oh man
.

I lick my lips—I don't realize how that must look until I'm doing it—and then I stop. If I wasn't on beta-blockers, my heart would be doing a five-minute mile. “Hey.”

He drops the last kickboard at the end of lane 1, then comes to stand in front of me. “You okay?” I can tell just from the change in his voice that he's asking about my heart.

My heart.

Crap
.

“Yeah,” I say. “Fine.” But I head for the equipment room, my brain churning as I grab a whistle. Now that I think about it, Alec is dangerous. If anyone might figure out what I'm up to, it's him.

But it's not like I can avoid him, not after last night. I can't go back to pretending we're acquaintances who happen to teach together. I don't really want to, either. My body thrums just thinking about last night—in a way it never did with Connor.

It was one lousy kiss. Okay. Two kisses. And they were anything but lousy. But the kisses are not the real problem. It's the things we talked about and the way he's peeled back all my layers so I feel like he knows me. Like he
gets
me.

Which is why Alec is dangerous.

Until State is over, I need to keep my distance. I can always use Connor as a reason to slow things down. Our breakup is so fresh, and it's not a lie to say that I still have feelings for Connor. I do. I'm pissed at him. He sent a text last night:
SORRY. FD THAT UP. IT
'
S JUST A LOT YA KNOW?

Yeah, I knew. Excuse me if I can't work up a lot of sympathy that it's such a load for him.

I sigh at my own thoughts. Maybe I'm not being fair to Connor, but does that mean I want to talk? Work through this with him? Be with him?

No
.

Whatever I felt about Connor, it's not half as much as I feel right now with the touch of Alec's lips fresh in my mind, and the memory of his skin still imprinted on my—

“Abby?”

Startled, I look up, right into his face. I didn't hear him walk over.

“You're breathing hard.”

I blush pure fire and look away.

“Abby?” There's a new awareness in his voice, and it's suddenly as deep as last night's shadows. “We need to talk.”

He reaches out a hand. I want that hand around my waist and threaded through my hair and in all sorts of other places.
Dangerous
. I can't. I absolutely can't.

Can I?

The locker door swings open and we both step away. Miley runs out, wearing a SeaWorld T-shirt. “Hey, Coach,” she says to me. “Hey, Coach Alec.”

“Morning, Miley,” I say, slipping the whistle over my head. My voice is actually steady, though nothing else about me feels like it is.

I did not plan for Alec.

Miley's mom waggles her fingers in a goodbye from the locker room door, then heads back in. A minute later, Mike shows, and then Katie, Benji, Nicole, and Billy.

Then there's no time to do anything other than focus on the class. Alec and I work well together. We've gotten into a rhythm. I introduce the drills and the technique and then Alec packages it all into some type of game. I'm not sure how he comes up with his ideas so fast, but he's made the class more fun for everyone.
I was wrong about him—he doesn't goof off. He may act like a goof, but the kids love him, and they leave class a little stronger every week.

I've assigned breaststroke kicking drills, and he's got the class counting the number of kicks it takes from one end to the other. It's a great distraction and it works for everyone but Miley. I feel for her. This is the one stroke she can't master, and when we focus on breaststroke, she shrinks two inches and turns back into a shaky, insecure girl.

After twenty minutes, she's near tears. I've put her in lane 2 with the weakest swimmers, but they're still complaining that she's slowing them down. Of course, for them, this is payback for all the races she wins when we swim freestyle or backstroke.

Alec can see how much she's struggling, and he's already complimented her form twice in front of everyone. It's only made her more miserable, though, because she hasn't earned it and she knows it. So does Alec. I can literally see him bite his lip to keep from saying anything else. I want to smile because it's so sweet. Alec Mendoza, Master of the Deadly Glare, is softer than an overripe banana. No wonder he's won over the kids in these short weeks. No wonder he's won me over too.

I start the group on another 50 and Miley waits until the others have begun. She lifts her goggles, then cradles one leg beneath the water. “My knee hurts. I'm going to sit out, okay?” Slowly, I crouch down and give her a long stare. “You sure that's what's hurting?”

She looks away. “Yeah, it's my knee.”

“You know, you can still be the best at breaststroke,” I say.

She blinks up at me. Her eyes are red, her cap is crooked, and
a chunk of brown hair is sticking out by her ear. “How? I'm so bad at it.”

“No negative talk,” I say automatically. “And it's easy. You just have to keep your feet flexed and whip those legs around a tiny bit faster.”

“That won't make me as good as Mike.”

“No,” I agree. “But it will make you faster than you've ever been before.”

She follows the ridges in the cool deck with one finger. “So?”

But I can see she's thinking about this.

“Miley,” I say, “there are all kinds of ways to be the best. All kinds of
bests
.”

I look up as Benji works his way toward the wall. “Now get your goggles back on. We've got one more.”

Miley fits her goggles back on and I can see the little indent by her lower lip that means she's determined. When she finishes the 50, she's still the slowest, but she's a little faster, too. As she climbs out of the pool, I'm treated to a tiny smile and a high five.

The other kids push past us, eager to grab their towels and escape with their parents. I stall Miley by grabbing her goggles and pretending to adjust a strap. “Do you know what a PR is?” I ask.

“Personal record?”

“That's right.” I nod. “There's almost nothing more special than a PR, because it means you were better than you've ever been.” I hand back her goggles. “Today you had a PR. You were at your very best.”

She smiles for real now. “Thanks, Coach.”

“I want to give you something.” I bend my neck to reach the
clasp of my necklace. I undo the silver chain and hold it out to Miley. The silver dolphin dances and kicks at the end of the chain.

“For me?” she whispers.

“For you.” I loop it around her neck and close the clasp. She reaches up, running a finger over the smooth tail of the dolphin charm.

“It looks good on you,” I say. And it does.

She throws her arms around my middle. She presses her wet face and hair against my stomach. “I'm going to come watch you,” she says.

I hiss in a breath so quickly, it feels like swallowing ice. “What?”

She pulls back and my middle prickles with wet coolness. “On Friday. Mom is letting me miss school to watch you qualify for the Olympic trials.”

She's beaming she's so excited. A lump the size of a plastic Shamu fills my throat. “Miley…”

“And you're going to be the best too.”

She waves and heads into the locker room.

My mouth is dry again. Miley. I haven't thought about Miley being there and watching. I'm oddly sick at the thought, and I force myself to shake it off. I'm going to be fine. She's going to watch me win it all.

Alec walks by, a stack of kickboards in his hand. “You're a softie,” he says.

“Look who's talking,” I return. “I saw you with her in the pool.”

He stops and his eyes connect with mine. “You were watching me, huh?”

I'm suddenly aware that all the kids have gone. We're in an area the size of a warehouse and the hot tub is full of people soaking and there's a water aerobics class going on at the far side of the other pool.

But it feels like only us.

“This,” I say, “is a bad idea.”