Page 117 of Good Graces

“Don’t touch me!” His shout cuts sharp and ragged across the air. “I’m talkin’ to my son!”

They try to keep calm, murmuring something low and steady. My dad just swats them away, stumbling sideways into a row of chairs. Metal screeches against the tile. People pull their bags closer, some standing, some whispering.

“Get off me!” he yells.

His face is red now, twisted with anger. He stumbles again, almost trips over his own feet. One of the security guys grabs his arm, trying to steady him, but my dad shoves him off so hard he nearly loses his balance.

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter under my breath.

I step forward, but one of the security guys shakes his head, blocking me off.

“Sir,” the other says, voice sharper now. “You need to come with us.”

“You leave me the hell alone!” My dad’s voice cracks. “I came here to see my son!”

“You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

They each grab an arm, gripping him tightly as he fights to shake them off.

“Let me go!”

I watch, helpless, as they drag him away. He’s still swearing, still twisting against their grip, his voice echoing down the hall even after they’ve disappeared from sight.

And once he’s gone for good, the whole place stays silent. The meet’s paused, which is just about the most embarrassing kind of spotlight I can think of.

Some of my teammates are shifting awkwardly, others frozen just off the blocks. Parents are staring at me like they’re wondering if I’m about to go off, too. And I’m not nearly brave enough to search out Quinn.

I exhale hard and drag a shaky hand down my face.

Voss appears beside me, calm but watchful. “You good?”

I don’t answer right away. My pulse is still, my lungs locked up tight.

“I need a minute,” I finally manage.

“Go,” he says. “Take your time.”

I quietly slip into the hallway behind the bleachers, then lean hard against the wall and try to breathe. But the air catches halfway down, sharp and useless. Eyes fixed on the floor, I start counting down.

Five. Four. Three.

My dad’s voice is in my head before I can finish, all loud and jumbled. His face, pale and blotchy. Those glassy eyes blinking at me. It’s all I can focus on.

His fingers locked around my wrist, too tight. The heat of his breath slurring my name. How thin he looked, like something hollowed him out from the inside. Drugs, maybe? Alcohol, definitely.

I bite the inside of my cheek, and blood instantly fills my mouth. A sharp, metallic tang that cuts through the panic. It grounds me, but only for a fleeting second.

He shouldn’t have been able to leave Oakview. He’s supposed to be safe there, supposed to be somewhere they can watch him. He’s not meant to have access to substances that make him spiral or wander off to crash my meets.

Not like this. Not stumbling onto the pool deck and turning the whole thing upside down.

My pulse jumps, too fast, like my heart’s forgotten how to pace itself. My breaths come quick and shallow now, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to get enough air.

I don’t know how long I lean there, dizzy and barely holding it together, before I feel Quinn’s hand on my arm.

My first instinct should be to push her away. To tell her I’m fine, that I need to deal with this the way I always have. Alone. But I can’t summon the energy to push her off. Or maybe I just don’t want to.

Maybe I know that if I let go of this—of her—I’ll unravel completely.

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