“I’m moving intentional with you because I see a future with you, baby. I’m not just passing time with you. I have a meeting set up with this female I was dealing with before you to let her know in person we are done, since she can’t take hints from me not messaging her back. I don’t need anything coming between us. I’m not going to keep secrets from you ever. You are goingto be my future wife for real, and I’m going to respect you in all ways. What do you say?”
My laugh came out shaky because my heart was overwhelmed in the gentlest way. He was a mess, yes. But he was also clear. Clear was rare. Clear was a gift. I looked at him, really looked, and felt something settle in me. A quiet yes. A soft courage. A permission to believe what I was seeing.
“Of course, love.”
“Call me that again,” Roman teased.
I giggled. “It would be my pleasure,love.”
We sealed our newfound relationship with a kiss, and it wasn’t fireworks. It was warmer than that. It was promise. It was peace. It was the beginning of something that felt like it had been waiting on us to stop pretending we didn’t want it.
“I am Coach DeLane.I will be your biggest supporter. Your biggest motivator. I do not play about my family, my money, and safety,” I told them, pacing the edge of the pool with my whistle hanging heavy on my chest. “When you are in my pool, you will be safe. There is no horseplay. We do not clown at all around this water. Do I make myself clear?”
The natatorium held that familiar mix of echoes and chlorine, the ceiling lights glaring off the surface like the water had its own attitude. The lanes lines floated in straight obedience, and the deck stayed slick beneath my sneakers, every step a reminder that this was not a playground. This was a place where focus kept you living.
My swim team sounded off with, “Yes, Coach!”
I paused and let my eyes sweep over every face, shoulder, and stance. A few stood tall like they had been waiting for this moment their whole life. Others wore nerves on their skin, trying to hide it behind jokes that didn’t move me and smiles that did not quite hold. I saw the tight hands. I saw the bouncing knees. I saw the way some of them kept glancing at the deep end like it had a reputation. Either way, I needed them locked in.
“And before we even get in this water, let me make something clear,” I said, voice steady.
A couple of them straightened up. It could be heard, that tiny shift when a room decided to listen for real.
“There is no such thing as ‘I can’t.’ I do not want to hear that in my presence, ever. And that’s not because I’m mean, but because that mindset will drown you faster than water ever could,” I continued, tone cutting clean through the room.
Quiet fell fast. It was not a fearful quiet but one of respect, showing they heard me. They got quiet, and I went on.
“I want to hear positivity. If you do not know something, you ask someone who does. If you cannot get something right the first time, you practice it until you can. If there is a problem, then we find a solution together. Period.”
I pointed at the lanes.
“We hold each other accountable here. We do not tear each other down, we do not clown, and we do not play like this is a game. This is discipline. This is respect. This is trust.”
Trust mattered more than talent. Talent was loud, but trust kept the whole structure standing. I learned that the hard way, in places that did not smell like chlorine, in moments where nobody blew a whistle before things went left. In here, I could build something cleaner, something safer. Something that would last.
I let that sit for a beat, then nodded once.
“We’re a family and a team here. Everybody get it? Everybody got it? Everybody good?”
“All good, Coach!” they replied.
I gave a firm nod. “Good.”
I lifted my whistle slightly, voice dropping into that final warning that wasn’t up for debate.
“Alright, we’ll do five laps. On my mark . . . set . . . go!”
I blew the whistle and watched them launch into their lanes, arms cutting water and kicks throwing ripples into the next line. Some were smooth and aligned; others wrestled the pool with choppy strokes and borrowed breath. I didn’t judge it. I assessed it. Judgment couldn’t teach, but coaching could.
There was something about being in the water that was relaxing to me. Even standing on the deck, watching it and listening to it felt like a reset button. Water told the truth. It didn’t care about excuses. It didn’t care about pride. It responded to effort and only effort.
I kept my eyes on my team, making notes on times and technique, who needed tips on their breathing, who needed more private lessons, and who I would have to let down. That part never got easy. Cutting kids hurt, not because I enjoyed control, but because I remembered being young and needing somebody to bet on me when life wasn’t.
I loved teaching, and swimming was my coping. Water only asked me to be present: breath, stroke, wall, again. Lately, I wasn’t drowning the way I used to, not under that weight Black men carry, always proving to be safe before even being seen.
Raising Reagan and Reece kept me on alert. I needed them to know their worth wasn’t in bundles or bodies; it was in their minds, their hearts, their boundaries, their standards, their voices.
And now, . . . there was Solè.
