Hold My Breath Read Online Free Page A

next four hours.
    When we get to the club, a few other cars are in the lot. I know most of the swimmers. A lot of them aren’t really ready for this, but one or two have a shot at some of the distance trials. There’s only one that I’m interested in, though. And by interested, I mean interested in avoiding.
    Will’s already warming up when I pass by the glass doors to dump my things in the women’s locker room. It’s going to be impossible not to look at him. I came to terms with that fact sometime around three in the morning. I’m going to have to get used to looking at him; I need to become numb to the similarities. Only now that I’m here, at the pool, faced with the reality of actually looking at him, I’m not so sure I’m strong enough.
    I sit on the bench and let my head fall back against the metal locker door behind me, pulling my phone into my palm. I text Holly.
    I think I made a mistake.
    That’s the thing I love most about my best friend; I can be raw and honest with her. She’s one of a handful of people I’ve always been able to cut through the bullshit with and get right to the heart of things. The other two people were Evan and Will.
    My phone buzzes with her response.
    Don’t be a pussy.
    I laugh out loud.
    Okay.
    After tucking my phone away, I push my locker closed and grip my goggles and cap tight in my hand. It’s just a pool. Fifty meters that I can cross in seconds. My lane—I see nothing but my lane. I remind myself of the words my father used to tell me when I got nervous before a race when I was a kid, and it works for the few seconds it takes me to walk to the pool’s edge.
    And then nothing will help. Nothing could ever help, or ever will help this. Will is standing on the opposite end, dripping from warm-ups, his body strong and similar. His hair wet…and similar. The blue of his eyes…piercing.
    Similar.
    The same.
    There are maybe a dozen other athletes around—splashing and chaos between us—my father whistles, orders to begin, but we’re both locked in the past, and I just can’t seem to tear my eyes away. The hurt is almost good. It reminds me that something real was in my heart once, and as much as I want to run away from it, in this moment, I also want to hold onto it. I want to remember what exceptional felt like so I make sure I never settle for less. I wonder if exceptional comes along twice in a lifetime?
    I wonder what this feels like for him? I wonder if the hurt is the same? Will and Evan were more than brothers; they were best friends. One ended and one began. I breathe in deep and let my chest feel full on the air and those thoughts, and I finally look away, bending down and splashing water on my arms, dunking my cap and goggles before getting in.
    The water is my home, and I manage to do as my father always told me for the next few hours. I focus on the lane. I count my strokes, and push my capacity. I breathe and then hold my breath. I dig my arms into the water, and I kick and push. By the time my father blows the whistle for us to stop for the day, I’m spent—more than I have been in years. It takes me a few attempts to pull myself from the pool, and as I’m about to push my elbow into the ground to lift myself, I feel a hand wrap around my bicep and steady me until I can find my feet.
    I don’t look at him completely. I knew it was Will’s touch the instant I felt it. It’s the only thing that doesn’t really remind me of Evan at all. Will’s hands—the size, strength and tenderness of their movement—that was always something unique to him.
    “Thank you,” I say, smiling, but again, not at him. I move to the bench near the women’s locker room entrance and work my cap from my hair, toweling myself dry while I try to ignore the panicked thumping in my chest as I see Will walking toward me in my periphery.
    “We have six weeks,” my dad says. Most of us sit at the loud boom of his voice, some of us on the ground. Will leans against the metal