For a second, I just stared at the screen like it might disappear if I blinked.
Then I couldn’t catch my breath. My throat closed. And something sharp and thrilling shot through me, so sudden and overwhelming I had to grip the edge of the pool to steady myself.
I’d made it.
After years of grinding. Of early mornings and late nights. Of scraping by, of wondering if I was insane for chasing something that so many people had told me wasn’t real. After injuries and missedcuts and doubts that had crept in during the quiet hours when it was just me and the water.
I was going to Trials.
I sank down onto the bench, dripping and shaking, pressing my palms to my thighs like I could anchor myself there.
This was it.
The thing I’d been running toward for so long, it had almost stopped feeling real.
I let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.
And the very first person I thought of, without hesitation, without logic, was Roxie.
The realization surprised me, a sharp jolt of awareness cutting through the adrenaline. But just as quickly, it settled into something that felt right. Natural. Like of course it was her. Like my brain had already rewired itself to measure moments like this against whether or not she was part of them.
That realization affected me more than the email had.
I didn’t think about my coach first. Or my parents. Or even Talon and Ridge, who’d been with me through every miserable, grueling season.
I thought about Roxie. About the way she’d looked at me that night at the bar. About her hand in mine when we’d walked home. About the way she slept closer now, like her body was slowly forgetting the invisible line we’d drawn between us.
I didn’t want to think too hard about what it meant that she was the one I wanted to tell.
Because if I did, I’d have to admit that this wasn’t just excitement looking for an outlet. It was instinct. The kind that reached for the same person over and over, without asking permission. The kind that trusted her with something fragile before I’d even stopped to protect myself.
I was already halfway there emotionally—already picturing her reaction, the way her face would light up, the way she’d say my name like it mattered—and that made the ground beneath me feel less certain.
But even that fear couldn’t stop me from wanting to tell Roxie.
So I grabbed my towel, dried off quickly, and left the pool, ignoring Talon and Ridge as I hurried back to my apartment.
I stopped just inside the doorway.
The sight of her hit me square in the chest, common and suddenly terrifying all at once.
She was in the kitchen when I got home, barefoot, wearing leggings and one of my old Kemery University swim T-shirts, hair pulled into a messy knot. She was scrolling on her phone, coffee steaming on the counter beside her.
It took me a second to breathe.
I’d seen her in my space a hundred times. Seen her in pajamas, in sweatshirts, curled up on the couch, half asleep in our bed. But this was different.
The shirt hung loose on her, the hem brushing herthighs, the faded Kemery logo stretched just enough across her chest to make something hot and possessive twist low in my gut. It was mine. Something I’d worn through early-morning practices and late-night meets, something that smelled faintly like chlorine and home.
And now it was on her.
I liked it more than I should have. Liked how natural it looked. How right.
I shut that thought down hard.
Because clothes didn’t mean anything. Shirts didn’t mean anything. And yet my brain was already reaching—already wondering when she’d grabbed it, whether she’d hesitated, whether it felt familiar in the way my presence had started to feel to her.
Whether this was just convenience … or something else.
