2. I love this

TWO

I LOVE THIS

HARLOW

Five more laps. Five more laps and I’m one practice closer to being back with the team.

I touch the side of the pool and look up at the giant clock on the wall. I’m already twenty seconds ahead on my interval laps, so I take a moment to prop my arms up on the edge of the tile, pull my goggles onto my forehead, and reach for my bottle.

I pour a little water in my mouth and let the rest dribble down my chin and onto my chest. Despite swimming for almost an hour, the water doesn't feel cool anymore, making the contrast of the iced, bottled water refreshing. I close my eyes as the water around me sloshes and my mind starts to drift.

I remember my first swim lesson. My mom thought it would be a good idea if I found a fun little hobby because apparently I was a “busy child.” Dad wasn’t around much with his job, so I think Mom was just looking for a way to keep me out of the house for an extra hour after school. I chuckle to myself while the memories play in my head. Little Harlow, who never listened to the lifeguard’s whistles and ran to jump into the pool head first every time I got there.

Mom got her wish, though. At eight years old I found my love for swimming, which turned into endless practices and hours out of the house. So much for just finding a hobby. Swimming became my life.

I take another sip of my water and return my mind to the present. The clock is coming up on the fifteen-second mark, so I set the bottle down and pull my goggles back on before taking a deep breath, sinking underwater. My feet find the wall and I push off into a streamline position. After a few dolphin kicks to further myself in the lane, I break the surface and take my first breath of air. I turn my head back into the water and start swimming freestyle to finish up my workout.

I toy with the idea of maybe trying my butterfly again, but I know that if I keep trying to rush it, it will only take longer for my shoulder to heal. Not to mention the last time I tried it was embarrassing, at best. I should just be grateful those miserable two weeks of being stuck in a sling are over. Not being able to do anything but minimal lower body strength training and cardio was torture.

I reach the end of the lane and do a few extra kicks before pulling my arms to my side and doing a flip turn, making my way to the other end of the pool. I love this. I love the quietness of the water, how it shuts out everything but my own breathing and thoughts. I can get lost in my own mind during these workouts and it only makes time go by faster.

After a few more strokes, I glide through the water to the wall and pull the rest of my body to the edge. Glancing up at the clock, I smirk to myself for finishing early yet again. Four laps later, my final touch of the smooth, tiled wall ends today’s practice. I pull my goggles off and set them on the edge before taking a deep breath of air, going underwater. While submerged, I pull my swim cap off and let my long, blonde hair free.

This is another favorite feeling of mine. The rush of water through my hair is the best cool down. When I break the surface, I prop my arms up on the edge of the pool and look around to make sure no one has their eyes on me.

This is the part I don’t like. This is the part I hate.

Among the other things I haven’t been able to do recently, it’s been a feat in itself to get out of the water. I used to be able to push myself up and out in one quick move, but now I have to use my good arm to start the process before basically lobbing the rest of my body forward and onto the pool deck.

When I realize nobody is paying attention to me, I toss my cap and goggles towards the base of the swim block and shimmy myself out. Once I make it onto the edge, I let my legs dangle in the water for a few more seconds.

I close my eyes, trying to shut out flashbacks from the last few weeks. The yelling of Coach Bradford when I told him I was injured. The looks from my teammates when Coach told them all I was going to be out from September to mid-October. The passing stares from the rec center workers when I showed up for my first week of rehab practices.

I know what they all think of me. I know what people say about me on campus. It’s hard enough being a college athlete. Factor in being a female college athlete? Every misstep, every mistake, is put on an even bigger display. I think my favorite encounters, though, are with the people who are just innocently blunt and make comments like, “Aren’t you that swimmer girl who got drunk at the Chi Kappa frat house and hurt your shoulder?”

At first it really bothered me. I kept experiencing the same feeling I had in Coach’s office—heat rushing into my cheeks, my ears ringing, and my chest tightening. According to Google, it’s a panic attack, but I refuse to accept that. So I’ve just told myself over and over that I don’t care. It works. Sometimes. Until I find myself needing to throw up. But whatever, until I’m back with my team, my plan is to just dismiss the rumors, laugh at the comments, and ignore the stares.

Speaking of stares, how long has that stupid lifeguard been looking at me? I turn and glance over my shoulder to see if there’s someone behind me or something else catching his eye, but nope. Just me.

This isn’t the first time I’ve caught him watching me. At first I thought it was a coincidence that he’d already been looking at me when I looked his way. But no, it was not a coincidence. He’s got a staring problem and today, I’ve had enough. Not to mention, he already saw me cry last week during some of my stretches for PT.

I grab my water bottle, swim cap, and goggles then stand up and walk over to the back wall where I put my swim bag and towel. I throw my items in the bag then wrap the towel around myself. Glancing back over at the lifeguard stand, pool boy is still glazed over, looking in my direction.

I huff and grab all of my belongings before marching up to his stand. I get to the base of the steps leading up to the chair and come straight out with it.

“Can I help you?”

He shifts quickly in his chair and blinks a few times as if coming back to reality. “Oh, shit. No, sorry. ”

“Well, you’ve been staring at me the entire time I’ve been here. It’s kinda fucking creepy.” I cross my arms, eyeing him up and down.

“Staring? At you?” He stumbles over his words before running his hand through his dirty blonde hair. “No, I was definitely not staring at you.”

I raise my eyebrows and let my arms fall down to my sides. “Right, okay. You could at least have some sort of excuse other than no .” I turn to start walking away towards the locker room when I’m stopped in my tracks.

“It’s Harlow, right?” His voice is soft, making me feel like I’m hearing my name for the first time. I’m so used to only being referred to by my last name when I’m swimming.

Spinning around on my heels, I take a few steps back towards his stand as he climbs down, meeting me on the pool deck.

“Yes?” I respond with an edge in my voice. Whatever he has to say about me, about why I’m swimming here, I’m not up for it. I may have just asked him to give me a reason for why he was staring, but I don’t actually want to hear it.

Imagine my surprise when instead of offering me some half-ass answer, he reaches out towards my shoulder before stopping about halfway, bringing his hand to his pocket.

My breath catches and I take a step back, needing some space from whoever this guy is. I don’t know him. I’ve seen him around the fraternity house, so I assume he’s also a brother. And unfortunately, he always works when I have to practice.

“Sorry,” he mumbles before running his other hand down his face.

“For?” My heart’s now pounding and the thin swimsuit I’m wearing likely isn’t hiding the intense rise and fall of my chest. Luckily, my hard workout is an easy excuse for that.

“Honestly, I don’t know what I’m doing.” He laughs to himself and I can’t help but notice the softest dimples in his cheeks. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry you’re injured.”

His words catch me off guard and my mouth falls open a little. Here I was assuming he was also a part of the rumor mill. “Wait, what?” I try to respond, but only a dry whisper comes out. The sincerity in his voice makes my legs feel weak.

He takes another step towards me, this time with more confidence. Not in an intimidating type of way, more like with a gentle determination. He reaches out and touches my injured shoulder. The second his skin grazes mine, I realize I’m holding my breath and also not moving away from him. Why am I not moving away from him?

“I said…” He stops and lightly runs his thumb over the curve of my shoulder before withdrawing his hand. I wince at his touch and he looks at me with a strange expression. It’s not pity or judgment, it’s almost like a genuine curiosity. “I’m sorry you hurt your shoulder. I saw some of your race videos. I know it can’t be easy having to practice away from your team, on top of not being able to compete,” he says.

My mind has gone blank. I think I’ve blinked now maybe four times in a row before I realize I need to respond. “Uh, thanks,” I get out before looking down at his hand that was just on my shoulder and then back up to meet his eyes. “Wait, you know my name, why don’t I know yours?” I reply quickly. Smooth, Harlow. So smooth.

He smirks then turns around, walking back towards his stand. I’m absolutely dumbfounded right now. He’s just going to walk away? More importantly, why do I care?

He makes it up to his chair then turns to look at me. “Maybe because Harlow Sutherland doesn’t know everything like she thinks she does,” he says, grinning.

His response has me shaking my head as I turn around myself, making my way to the locker room to rinse off and change.

Was that real?