Tessa’s pov

“Stay after for extra starts,” Coach Marcus Hale said, voice low and even while the rest of the team packed up. Everyone else filtered out by five.

The deck emptied fast. Chlorine hung thick in the air and the water settled into flat silence.

I stood there in my black racing suit, towel draped over my shoulders, watching him lock the main doors.

He was forty-nine. I was his best freestyle swimmer. All season his tone with me had been different, quieter, tighter, like he was holding something back. Today I stopped pretending I didn’t notice.

“You’re still here,” he said, turning. His eyes moved over me once,...