I hand him the peas. “Hold that against the back of your neck.”
Our fingers brush as he grips the plastic bag, cold against hot. I shiver for no apparent reason.
I take a hasty step back, clearing my throat. “Well, I?—”
“You came to talk?” Otto’s head turns, intense gaze trapping me in place.
His color looks better than it did when I arrived, or maybe it’s just wishful thinking that I actually helped.
I swallow hard. “You’re not feeling well. Now’s not the best time to?—”
Otto interrupts. “I could use the distraction.”
He’smydistraction. And he has a bad habit of showing up during the moments when focus is most important. The Olympics. My final season maybe. He’s muddling that decision too. Because I’m playing better than I did last year, and I can’t tell how much is attributable to him.
“I, uh, yeah. I thought we should…talk.”
“We should.” He slouches against the tiled wall, settling in like he expects this to be a lengthy conversation.
I exhale. “You know it can’t happen again. You’re one of my coaches, and?—”
“What if I was not?”
“Youare.”
“Only for a few more weeks.”
I figured that would be the case, but my reaction to the confirmation he won’t return after the summer break is unsettling. I shouldn’t be so disappointed.
“Right. And then you’re leaving.”
He shifts on the side of the tub. “I am not officially cleared yet.”
“That wasn’t a question, Otto. You’ll leave whether you get cleared or not. Why would you stay?”
It’s meant to be rhetorical.
But Otto looks me straight in the eye and responds, “You.”
The tiled floor tilts. My heart flops around in my chest like a dying fish.
Everything about this moment is absurd. Us in his small bathroom. Him in the tub with a bag of peas. Me hovering.
“Don’t say that,” I whisper.
He’s still staring, unflinching in his focus. “You asked.”
“You—you’re just confused. You got injured and had to come here, and?—”
He scoffs, eyes sparking with irritation. “I didn’thaveto do anything, Claire. I could have stayed in Kluvberg if I wanted to.”
“Fine. But you had to stop playing. You’re?—”
He exhales. “I figured you would do this.”
“Do what?”
“It was a mistake.” His imitation of my voice is annoyingly accurate. “That is what you came here to say, yes?”
