Page 85 of Beyond the Stroke

I flop onto the bed and bury my face in his comforter.

He smells like fresh linen and salt water, with a hint of oak. Clean. Crisp. Masculine.

And devastatingly arousing.

Big Dill is definitely going to have his work cut out for him.

twenty-one

. . .

RORY

With a signed marriage certificate and the satisfaction of Summer moved into my house, I breeze into the aquatic center like a man ready to take on the world. I toss my stuff in my locker, then get dressed for the team’s pool workout.

Eli appears beside me, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “Owens is looking for you.”

I nod, throwing on a t-shirt before making my way to Coach’s office.

“Eli said you needed to talk to me?” I ask, my hand braced on the door frame.

“Sit down.” He motions to the chair across from his desk.

“If this is about Summer—” I start, but Coach shakes his head, cutting me off.

“Connor Fisk is joining the team.”

The name alone kicks up my pulse. It’s not a full adrenaline surge, but a steady drumbeat of tension followed by a hollow drop in my chest.

Coach Owens isn’t known for being a jokester, but he has his moments. Maybe this is one of them?

“You’re kidding.” I blink; certain I’ve misheard him.

“I know there’s history between you two,” Coach continues. “Some bad blood.”

I mentored Connor through a program at UC-Berkeley when he was training with the Bay City Barracudas. He was a lonely teenager; reeling from his parents’ divorce. I thought he was a good kid who needed guidance navigating sponsorships and the business side of swimming.

My jaw tightens remembering Connor’s betrayal. It’s been seven years, and we’ve crossed paths at every major meet, but showing up here to train with the Current is fucking ballsy.

“You could say that.” I stretch my jaw, trying to loosen it from the tension settled there. “Why does he want to train here?”

Owens’ brows lift in question.

Not every coach-athlete combo works, but Owens is known for bringing out the best in everyone.

“Point taken.”

Owens nods, arms crossed. “He cut ties with Ryland Jenkins a few weeks ago and came to me looking for a supportive team dynamic.”

A scoff escapes my throat. “That’s interesting. Fisk has been a loner for years. He hasn’t been part of a training team since college and seems perfectly content in his glass tower.”

Owens’ gaze softens. “He’s had a rough couple of years since his mom passed.”

I sigh, pushing a hand through my hair before leaning back into the chair. I’m not an asshole, so of course I feel bad to hear about Connor’s mom. My mom is a lot to deal with, but I couldn’t imagine her being gone.

“This isn’t about you and Connor. It’s about the team.”

I get it. I do. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel like a betrayal.

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