5. Grey

Chapter 5

Grey

I fold down the plastic seating of the chair, watching out of the corner of my eye as Delilah perches herself on the edge of her seat as much as humanly possible without falling off. Her towel sits in a tidy bundle on her lap, hands threaded together and resting on top. Her right leg crosses over the left, highlighting the lean line in her calf and the way the heel of her right flip flop hangs away from her flesh.

I find myself distracted by it.

Why the fuck am I distracted by it?

Spreading my own legs, I lean my forearms on my knees, turning towards her enough to spot her upper teeth sinking into her lower lip as she gazes across to the children's swimming class. A third of them are in the water now, splashing and laughing while trying to catch as many rubber ducks for their team as possible.

Someone must have picked up the net bag and distributed them out after I'd dropped them all over the floor.

"God, this is ridiculous!" Delilah breaks out. "Why am I so bloody nervous? I—"

"It's normal to be," I reassure her as I would do any other nervous swimmer. "You're learning something new."

Delilah doesn't reply, so I stay silent, the clock ticking obnoxiously above us until she physically straightens her back, turns towards me and accidentally knocks her knee in mine. A patch of strange heat flares up across my knee in response, in the exact spot her skin had touched mine for a second.

When I notice the way her hands tighten in her lap, her knuckles turning white, I guess she must feel the heat tickle her skin too.

As quickly as she knocks into me, Delilah retracts her body.

She doesn't retract her tongue, though. "So, ground rules."

I nod. "Hit me with them."

"I-I don't want to be pressured. I'm not looking to be a professional swimmer; I just want to–I just want to prove I can do it. Swimming. I want to prove I can get in the water and swim."

"Of course. It's a complete pressure free zone here, Delilah. You're in control, whatever you say goes. Okay?"

Her head bobs in agreement, even though her face is still visibly drawn.

Across the pool, one of the gentlemen who'd been swimming, steps out, trailing water all over. Not a second later, a sharp whistle blows as Miss Peters wags her finger at a young girl for misbehaving.

I inhale, savouring the familiar sounds reverberating all around, the strong smell of chlorine I've grown up alongside.

Beside me, I see Delilah twitch.

I can sympathise with her fear; there's things in this world I'm not too keen on myself and being a swim teacher for the past seven years has shown me every aspect of people's fears alongside their capabilities.

Showing up in the first place isn't easy. But it can be worth it. Being willing to make a change isn't easy. Learning something new isn't—

"Let me dip my toe in tonight before I lose my nerve again."

Delilah's suggestion doesn't take me by surprise. Yes, she's scared. It's obvious in the quake in her voice, in her tight strung body language, in the way she keeps pinching at her bare earlobe. I've seen enough fear in my life to smell it, practically taste it on the tip of my tongue.

But there's steel in Delilah too.

Otherwise, she wouldn't be here, setting down her own ground rules, willing to give the water another chance.

"Okay," I agree simply, so as to not scare her off even further. "Ready when you are, Delilah."

She rises, finally letting go of her towel to hang it over the metal railing, and then I watch as she makes her way over to the pool side and stands at the top of the staircase staring down into the supple aquamarine surface.

"How about I get in the water first?" I suggest, already kicking off my flip flops.

I descend the metal set of stairs and as soon as the shallow water laps at my feet, kissing its way up my shins, and past my waist, I feel all stored tension release from my body. The water – having seen every inch of me; happy, elated, worried and sad – welcomes me without hesitation.

I put my back to the lip of the pool, fixing my gaze on Delilah, purely for safety reasons of course.

That, and she's hard not to look at.

Without her towel to cover her now, I notice the plain black bathing costume she wears, the only bit of detail added by the white lining rolling up and over her hips. She's a short thing or at least short in comparison to my six-foot-two frame.

I tell myself I'm simply doing my duty as a first aid medical professional, as my eyes stray across her ample curves to the spot she'd grazed last week, finding nothing but a fresh patch of healed shiny, pink skin.

Water laps steadily at my t-shirt covered chest as Delilah wades in further, away from the steps, her legs disappearing, forcing my line of eyesight to move up to her face.

"Good, Delilah," I hear myself praise. "Try to take another step."

The smile she offers to me is wan. But at least it's there, even if her jaw is clenching.

"Cold?"

"Mhm." Delilah dips her chin as the water rises to her hips, wading towards me until her fingers can latch onto the lip of the shallow end of the pool with a death grip. She peers up at me, her swallow visible "So… what do I do now?"

"How about we try walking to the first set of flags?" I point ahead to the closest set of red, white and blue triangles suspended above the water. "The water level won't change until we get there, so you'll still be able to reach the floor."

I don't fail to register Delilah's eyes widening.

"You'll be warmer if you keep moving…"

"Okay, I can do this." Delilah's fingers flap beneath the surface of the water, causing tiny ripples, while she talks to herself. " I can do this. Just one foot in front of the other, Delilah, one step in front of the other…"

I don't have time to say anything else before Delilah is off, attempting to walk through the water as fast as she can to reach the flags, grasping fistfuls of the cold water as if to pull herself along an invisible rope.

"Delilah. Hey, Delilah! Slow down!"

I wade towards her quickly, feeling her shake beneath me as I gently take a hold of her right forearm.

"What happened to taking things slowly? At your own pace?"

"I—"

"Just walk forward slowly, focus on your breathing, get used to the water around you. It's not a race."

We stay suspended for a moment, the waves of the water kissing our waists. Delilah huffs through her nose, lips upturned at the corners, eyes narrowed playfully in my direction. "It's not fair that you're entirely too calm with of all of this, while I'm standing here like a nervous wreck."

"All of this?" I question, taking a step forward and guiding Delilah to do the same.

"The cold water, my nerves, the-the knowledge we could drown at any moment."

Tipping my head back, I let out a sharp laugh. "I'm not going to drown, and neither are you."

"You promise?"

I nod. "I promise, Delilah."

We reach the first set of flags and since Delilah isn't saying anything, I can only assume she's still able to feel the safety of the tiled floor beneath the soles of her feet.Keeping my hand on her forearm, I turn us both around to wade through the pool back towards the shallow end.

"But have you ever?"

I furrow my brow in confusion. "Have I ever what?"

"Drowned."

Another bubble of laughter threatens to escape, but I swallow it down when I see the serious expression painted across Delilah's pretty features.

"Once, when I was younger. My brothers and I were rough housing a little too harshly and—"

"How many brothers do you have?"

"I'm one of four."

"Four?!"

"Yep," I say proudly. "I've got two older brothers, myself, and then a younger brother. We always joke that my parents were trying for a girl and ended up with us rowdy lot instead."

"Four boys… I couldn't imagine it." Delilah laughs breathily. This little noise I find myself suddenly wanting to coax out of her again and again just to hear it… Weird. "I've only got one sister, Aurelia, and my god, I could kill her sometimes."

"Glad it's not just me and my siblings." I chuckle. "Family get-togethers are definitely an experience. Are you the youngest or the oldest sibling?"

What can only be described as a sly smirk crosses Delilah's face. "The oldest."

We turn and wade towards the flags again, one lap down.

"Did you always want to be a swim teacher?"she asks, seemingly out of the blue.

"Uhh, no." I glance over at Delilah, releasing the hold on her forearm to just hover beside her and swallow down the lump of bile quickly rising in the base of my throat. "I kind of fell into it, but I've always loved the pool and swimming, so it made sense to do something along these lines."

Delilah nods slowly, eyes fixed somewhere on the wall ahead.

"What about you?"

"Me?" She jolts. "I'm a book editor for a publishing house. I've been there since I left university… It was always what I wanted to do, so I'm extremely lucky in that aspect."

"A book editor? That's cool! You're a big reader, then?"

"Yeah." She smiles. "My sister jokes that my e-reader is glued to my hand. Are you?"

I screw up my face. "Not massively… I read stuff at school and this time travel novel my mum's obsessed with about Scotland and the Jacobite rebellion but I didn't have a lot of time growing up for anything but swimming. Guess, I've taken that into my adult life too."

Delilah hums in the back of her throat to show she's heard me, but she doesn't say anything else, allowing silence to fall between the two of us.

A rubber duck quacks, followed by a childish giggle.

I inhale the familiar scent of chlorine, tasting it at the back of my throat, drawing my gaze back to a still silent Delilah.

"You doing okay?"

She nods.

"It's not so bad once you're in the water, right?" I push ever so slightly.

Delilah's throat bobs as she swallows. "I guess not."

I raise both of my brows, the corner of my lip twitching. "You'll be coming back then?"

"I—" She pauses. "Maybe."

"Come back." I coax. "I'll teach you. It'll be—"

"Let me think about it and I'll give you a message—"

"Don't think about it! Just say yes, Delilah."

"I—"

"Say yes."

Delilah lowers her lashes, peering down at the water and then looks back up at me with something unreadable in her eyes. "Fine. I'll come back next week." My heart does a weird jolt in my chest before it regains its usual rhythm. "But only if you teach me and help take my mind of the sheer fear I'm feeling."

"I can do that." I smile. "Easy."

"I don't think it'll be that easy, I—"

"Look back, Delilah." Both of us gaze over our shoulders at the set of flags only a few metres away. "You've done the hardest part; getting in the water, and we've done about six laps already without you even realising it."

She raises two perfectly manicured eyebrows at me. "Do you think I can get to ten?"

" Y ou've done really amazing today, Delilah." My gaze drops to her arse for a second as she ascends the steps, our teaching lesson over for the evening. Water droplets cascade down the length of her spine and her thighs, pooling at her hot pink painted toenails. My eyes bounce back up to her hips again, the white detailing in her bathing suit which perfectly follows the crease of her—

I look away, focusing on the pruned skin of my fingers.

I wait until she's wrapping her towel around herself to pull myself out of the pool, wringing out the hem of my t-shirt and sliding on my flip flops with a squelch.

"You should be really proud of yourself," I continue. "How are you feeling about next week?"

"A little less nervous," she admits, eyes cast downward as she tucks the edge of her towel in between her breasts.

Holy fuck—

"Good," I all but choke out, pulling my line of eyesight away from her chest, squeezing my hands into fists down by my sides, attempting to redirect my brain in literally any other train of thought besides the gorgeous, soaking wet brunette, standing in front of me. "That's what I like to hear."

It's not the only thing I'd like to hear—

I've got to stop it. Oh, my fucking—

"So, Wednesday again? Six till eight?"

"Yep." I take the plunge and look into her eyes. How can I not? They're so brown and doe-like, innocent looking and… and it'd be weird and rude not to look at her when she's asking me a question. An important question. About our swimming lessons together.

Why have I agreed to be her swimming instructor?

What the hell have I done?

"Okay, I'll see you then, Grey… unless I freak out on you between this week and the next, but I'm sure it'll be fine, because—"

"It will be fine," I hear myself promise. "You're in control, remember? And you've got my number if you need anything."

"Your personal number?"

"Yeah, my personal number. I don't give it out to just anybody, but if you need me, I'm only on the end of it, so just send me a text or a call or—"

"I will do." Delilah smiles, eyes still twinkling, but tight lipped this time. "See you next Wednesday then, Grey."

I nod, raising my hand in farewell. "See you next Wednesday, Delilah."

It's not until she's gone, disappearing into the tunnel leading towards the changing rooms, that I realise what the ever-loving fuck I've just said.

I've just admitted to giving her my mobile number.

Not only that, but I've agreed to teach Delilah to swim. Something which wouldn't be an issue if I didn't find myself attracted to her… but I am. And now I've got to see her next week and pretend like I'm not imagining her in my mind's eyes; like I don't want to lay my lips on hers and coax a sweet whimper from mouth, squeeze her full arse and—

Shit.

M y mind is still stuttering over my parting words to Delilah, the ones I'd let slip four days ago, like an old, broken VHS tape, as I catch my usual train on Sunday morning, heading towards my childhood home in the Cotswold Hills.

A light smattering of summer rain kisses the windows of the train as we pull away from the station with a familiar click and a jolt, and I wish I was able to feel it hitting my skin. It would be a welcome reprieve after the smothering heat we've been experiencing, not at all helped by the added body heat and car fumes circulating around London's city centre. But instead, I make myself comfortable in the unreserved train seat I'd managed to grab last minute, stick in my earphones, and attempt to redirect my pattern of thought to enjoying the latest crime show I've been watching.

The rain has cleared by the time we reach the small Charlbury train station an hour and a half later. Passengers, including myself, pour out, each heading in a different direction.

I tread the familiar steps to the car park, focusing on the dark blue car tucked away in the corner, its engine still running.

"Train journey alright?" Noah, my eldest brother, older than me by three years, asks as I slip into the passenger seat, reaching behind myself to clip in the safety belt.

"Not too bad, managed to grab a seat at least. You been waiting long?"

"Nah." He flashes me a smile identical to the one I see upon my own face. "Happy to get out of the house, honestly… Mollie's teething."

I barely hold back a grimace. "Bet Mum loves that."

"Well, she's the one who begged me for her first grandchild."

There's no arguing with that statement. He's right. Mum had been begging Noah for a grandchild ever since his third date with his now wife, Faith. They'd certainly made Mum sweat a bit, taking time to establish their relationship, getting engaged and then enjoying married life, until, seven months ago, when baby Mollie was born.

With his foot on the pedal, Noah takes us down a winding country road, pasture green fields filled with cows and sheep trundling by. The strong scent of manure slips in through my cracked window, tickling my nose.

Home.

A left at the first set of traffic lights, and we're pulling into our gravel driveway already littered with parked cars.

The front door is opening before we're even out of the vehicle, footsteps hurrying over and an ice-cold beer being pushed into my hand by my second eldest brother, Blake.

"You're going to need it," is all he says.

I raise my eyebrows at Noah, taking the bottle to my lips for a sip as I move inside the house.

For a second, all is as usual.

The flagstone flooring of the hallway is decorated with a pile of shoes, a jacket or two falling from the already full coat rack. A step further, and the open plan kitchen and dining room appears relatively normal too. A stack of plates lay upon the marble island, ready for the dishing out of food, as does a jug of lemon water and a fistful of cutlery.

My stomach rumbles as the smell of roast chicken follows me from the kitchen, along the corridor, past the base of the stairs and into the family room, where I can hear the usual dim of chatter but—

A high-pitched squeal pierces my eardrums, accompanied with a sudden cry.

Noah slaps me on the back, hard, sliding ahead of me and stealing my beer while he walks ahead. "Told ya."

He pulls open the door to the family room, leaving just enough space for me to slip inside and survey the scene.

My brothers take up most of the area, spread out over the sofas and armchairs. Faith, my sister-in-law, sits perched beside the muted TV, while Blake, older than me by only a year, stands rocking baby Mollie from side to side, obviously striving to keep her from crying. I can see from my spot beside the door how rosy red her chubby cheeks are, painted with dried up tears and snot. From over Blake's broad shoulder, Mum smooths the back of her finger down Mollie's quivering chin, offering a sympathetic hum.

"Where's Dad?" I ask, moving the empty baby playmat with the tip of my shoe covered foot, so I can at least cross the floor. Soft baby toys cover the carpet too, and something which looks oddly spikey for a seven-month-old to be playing with.

"Oh, nice to see you too!" Mum breaks out, narrowing her eyes at me. "Your father is probably upstairs somewhere trying to watch the football game."

"In peace." My youngest brother, twenty-five-year-old Hudson, whispers to me as I squeeze myself in between him and the arm of the sofa. "Can you blame him?"

I shake my head minutely, staring ahead at the same football match our dad is viewing upstairs. Except he's getting to watch it with the actual sound. Lucky bastard.

"How was the train ride up, Grey?" Faith voices, giving me a glimpse of her dark under eyes. She's still pretty, though, in a natural kind of way, with her long, straight auburn hair and makeup-less face. Her eyes are brown, not as brown as Delilah's, more like a honeysuckle kind of brown, whereas Delilah—

"Not bad." I blink, Faith morphing into the woman on my mind, as if it's really Delilah sitting in my childhood family home, listening to the incessant cry of a baby with lungs made of fucking steel.

I blink again and Delilah's gone, this time replaced by Noah's screwed up face.

"What's up with your face?"

"Nothing, you fucking—"

"Language," my mother scolds, scooping baby Mollie by her underarms and rocking her in her own arms, as if by grandmother's magic touch, Mollie is going to stop making such a racket.

She doesn't.

I steal a glug from Hudson's bubbly beer. It's only right seeing as how Noah stole mine. "How long do babies teeth for?"

"On and off until they're about two, two and a half," comes Mum's quick response. I guess she would know after having four children herself.

"And how long does a crying episode last for?" I wonder out loud. It's a simple question, one I mean without any malice. I work with small children on a regular basis – boosting their confidence, correcting their mistakes, fixing injuries, I've even had to clean up vomit from swallowing too much chlorinated pool water on a number of occasions. But that doesn't mean I'm used to their screaming tantrums, or their screaming of blue murder in Mollie's case.

"You try and get her to stop crying then." A small, wriggly, extremely loud lump is deposited onto my lap. "I've got dinner to be dishing up. Faith?" My mother, a twinkle in her eye, and a twitch in her lips, holds out her now empty hands to her beloved daughter in law. "Would you like to help set the table?"

The two of them are gone before I can even have time to protest, leaving me and my three brothers in charge of the tiny human.

Tiny fists latch onto my shirt, with more force than I thought possible, until Mollie is sniffling into my neck, her whines winding down with every pass of my hand down her small back.

"Who knew you'd be the baby whisperer?" Hudson bumps his shoulder with mine. "If you're not careful Mum will be onto you next about procreating."

"Who the fuck says ‘procreating'?" Blake spits, at the same time as Noah mutters, "He needs a woman in his life first."

"If I could stop opening my big mouth and embarrassing myself, maybe I could get one," I mumble, my thumb skimming the miniscule shell of Mollie's ear, her baby scent filling my nose.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

"Definitely wasn't nothing," prods Noah. "Share with the class, G."

My family's always been my weakness, and after everything, they've always been my safe space even more so than the pool, so I'm not surprised when the truth starts to fall smoothly off my tongue.

"You know when you do something embarrassing, and your mind won't let you stop thinking about it?"

Beside me, Hudson nods, cutting his eyes to me and then back to the still muted football match. God only knows what he's been getting up to recently.

"Yeah, that."

"What did you do?" asks Blake.

"I think I made a fool of myself in front of a-a-somebody…"

Noah raises his brows. "A somebody?"

I grumble, "Stop taking the piss out of me."

"Gotta keep your head on the ground somehow… keep going, G."

"It's nothing." I need to give myself a fucking shake. "She might not even show up again, so—"

"Show up?" Noah questions, pushing his – my – now empty beer bottle onto the coffee table sans coaster. Mum would fucking kill him if she saw.

"You dating?" Hudson grunts out.

I smooth down Mollie's downy hair, desperately trying to get a word in edgeways. Not easy to do when you're a middle child. "No, I'm teaching her how to swim, so—"

"She hot?" he asks.

"Yeah, but—"

"You gonna ask her out?" Not once does Hudson's eyes leave the telly. It's a tiny bit disturbing.

"No, she's off limits, because she's a—"

"Not this again," he grumbles, swigging from his drink. "If you like her, just ask her out. Simple."

"I—"

"Pretend nothing embarrassing happened, you've probably made it worse in your head anyways, and get your head back in the game. You're Grey fucking Millen."

Silence creeps across the room after his speech until Hudson reaches for the remote control and turns up the volume, bringing with it the shrill blow of the referee's whistle and the roar of the crowd in the football stadium.

Across the room, Blake gives me a tilt of his head, as if to say ‘he's got a point, you know?'

I resume stroking Mollie's back, the delightful quiet coming from her and puffs of breath tickling my collarbone, telling me she's fast asleep.

My fucking god, I've just been schooled by my twenty-five-year-old little brother.

Not only that, but his words are actually sinking into my skin, into my subconsciousness, making me question why I'm trying to pull away from the attraction I feel towards Delilah in the first place. As long as she feels the same way and it's consensual between the two of us, then why can't I ask her out?

I could ask her when I next see her, maybe? After our swimming lesson?

I'm not doing anything wrong. We're both adults.

God, how did I get to this point in my life, where my little brother is the one helping me shoot my shot?

Faith pokes her head through the doorway. "Dinner's ready."

Thank fuck.

Careful not to jostle her awake, I slip Mollie in her mother's waiting hands, returning Faith's grateful smile. As she heads upstairs to put the baby down for a well-deserved nap, I follow the mouth-watering scent of home cooked food, practically shoving my siblings out of the way.

The succulent chicken already sits in the middle of the laid-out table upon a platter, freshly carved to reveal juicy white breast, and a mountain full of wispy steam. Smaller plates dot the table too; fluffy roast potatoes, a bowl of buttery mash, mixed greens and two jugful's of gravy.

"Looks amazing, Mum." I press a kiss to her powdered cheek, taking the goblet of water from her hands, and taking my seat beside Blake as I always do.

Mum preens under our praise. "Dig in, then!"

Silence falls over us boys, the way it always does when food is involved, as we spoon out our helpings from the large dishes. We've been doing this for so long, our routine is practically ingrained in my memory, something I take great comfort in.

Faith slips in as Noah finishes fixing her plate, pouring gravy over her piece of chicken before Hudson can steal it all.

"Is Mollie—"

"The little nugget is fast asleep," Dad answers as he walks into the kitchen, kissing Mum's temple and patting my shoulder in greeting before taking his own seat at the table.

"Football score?" Hudson mumbles, a drip of gravy escaping onto his chin.

"Draw."

"For fuck's—"

"Hudson Millen!" Mum screeches. "Stop swearing!"

"Mollie isn't here even," Hudson grumbles back, shovelling a forkful of carrots in his mouth.

"That isn't the point. You—"

I tune out the background noise while I dig into my own dinner, the homecooked meal warming my stomach instantly and the gratitude of being home filling my heart. Other than the pool, or maybe out with Delilah, there's nowhere else I'd rather be.