Second Dive: A Second Chance Sports Romance (Kings Of The Water Book 3)

by Jasmin Miller

  “You know you don’t have to pay for anything or wash things for me. Don’t insult me.”

  “I wasn’t trying to.”

  With his hand squeezing his neck, he looks around the kitchen, probably inspecting the mess. “Shit. Let me help clean up.”

  Since I feel steady enough, I take a step forward and lift my hand, almost reaching out to him again before I think better of it. “No.”

  We both stiffen when I pretty much yell at him.

  I cringe. “Sorry. I meant no, thank you. I’ll take care of it.”

  “Are you sure? It’s pretty bad.”

  Crap, he isn’t wrong. It’s more than just bad.

  The green goo is everywhere. On every available surface, every appliance, plus the floor and ceiling. Nothing has been spared by my green smoothie that I thought could be my helper today in smoothing things over with Noah. Pun totally not intended.

  And look where that has gotten me.

  I release a pent-up breath and press my lips together. “Yeah, I’ve got it.”

  “I see.” He nods before bending down to untie his sneakers.

  Of course, they’re filthy too.

  “Why are you taking off your shoes?”

  He doesn’t look at me. “So I don’t carry the mess to the front door?”

  Of course, he has to be thoughtful now.

  What a jerk.

  “Well, I better get going, then, I suppose.” His words are stiff, and how can I blame him?

  This morning has turned into a total clusterfuck.

  With his shoes in his hands, he stares at me, and I take that as my sign. After quickly wiping off my feet, I lead the way to the front door and open it. Right before stepping back as far as I can to make as much room as possible. If I could, I’d dissolve into the wall.

  He walks off without another word, and I shut the door behind him the second he’s out.

  Is that rude? Maybe.

  But right now, there can’t be enough space between us.

  Nothing is safe where Noah is concerned.

  “You can’t expect me to just walk out of here and ignore the fact that you have a scar on your wrist from cutting yourself.”

  He’s wrong.

  That’s exactly what I need him to do. To walk out of here forgetting what he just saw.

  Twelve

  Noah

  “Dude, where the hell have you been? I was ready to kick in your door soon.” Hunter rushes past me and stops several feet away.

  My breathing is so labored, I can barely hear anything over the sound of blood rushing through my ears. Maybe I overdid it just a little bit with my gym session today.

  But it’s been my only outlet all week. Working out until I'm so exhausted I can barely stand straight anymore. Until I’m so exhausted my brain can’t do anything but shut down. To drown out all the unwelcome thoughts while I do my best to ignore everyone and everything in my life.

  Especially thoughts about a certain someone and her scar.

  “Chloe said the hospital lady informed her that you’d called in sick this last week.” Hunter lifts his hands in question. “You don’t look sick to me.”

  I raise my eyebrows because I have no energy left for more than that. Or rather, I need every last ounce of it to flip this monstrous tire one more time to finish my set.

  Gearing up, I take several deep breaths as I retake my wide stance, tighten my core, and grab the underside of the thick rubber to lift it. My body fights the weight of the tire with the small amount of strength it has left while also being reluctant to not let the crushing weight win. My hands slip once, but I steady my grip and make that tire my bitch.

  This is where I’m in control.

  Just me and my body. My physical work takes over my mental state.

  It’s all physics. Cause and effect. Logic.

  There aren’t any surprises waiting around the corner that smack me in the chest like a freight train.

  The opposite of anything that involves Chloe.

  In just two weeks, she’s given me more sucker-punching surprises than I’ve had in the previous few years combined.

  An image of seeing her for the first time again at the restaurant pops into my mind, followed by one of her wrist, and then the look on her face when I asked her about it. When I realized what the scar is from. And the little birds she had tattooed over it.

  Little bird. My nickname for her etched into her skin forever. Total mindfuck.

  So I push my thoughts away. All of them. Just like I’ve been doing since I left her house after smoothie-geddon.

  My life had already started to slowly unravel at the seams before she waltzed back into it, but at least, there was still plenty of time and several ways to fix things.

  Enter Chloe, and it feels like she took that seam and tore it open as far as it would go, before tossing everything around. Now, I don’t even know where to start fixing things. If they're even fixable.

  And I hate it. I fucking hate that life seems to be slipping through my fingers at the moment, and I don’t know how to control a fucking thing.

  With one last enormous effort, I let out something that sounds eerily similar to a war cry, flip over the tire, and let it crash onto the floor with a loud thud as I try to catch my breath.

  The heaviness in my body, the tightness in my chest, it both goes beyond this workout session. They’ve been my constant companions while my brain tries to make sense of everything.

  Which is why I needed to be alone to at least attempt to process what happened. I still go swimming—at the aquatic club rather than the university though where my coach is—and do my gym sessions, but I do everything by myself.

  For as lonely as I am—thanks for planting that seed, Daisy!—I don’t want company right now either.

  The only people I saw this week were my sister and nephews, but they immediately noticed something was wrong and kept their distance. At least once they realized I wouldn’t talk more than the bare minimum.

  “Hey, you okay?” Hunter rushes over to where I’m now bent over because my body is done. Utterly depleted. There isn’t enough air going into my lungs, and I don’t have the energy to stand upright anymore either. “Come on, let’s go sit down somewhere.”

  He leads me over to the side where I lean against the wall and slide to the floor. Or rather drop like a sack of potatoes, but who cares anymore at this point? Hunter does the same next to me—except the potato-sack action—and stays silent. Which I know isn’t an easy task for him.

  After a minute, he shuffles next to me, and I turn my head in his direction.

  “What’s going on, man?” He holds up a blue water bottle. “That’s yours, right?”

  I nod and grab it from him, greedily emptying the contents in large gulps. I have to hold it with both hands because my hands are shaking from exhaustion. “Thanks.”

  “No problem.” He lets his head fall back against the wall, and we’re quiet again.

  I ignore his other question and go back to my previous position. My knees pulled up in front of me with my quivering arms folded on top. The most comfortable place to rest my head right now.

  “This can’t possibly have anything to do with Chloe, can it?”

  I grunt without looking at him.

  “Mmm. I thought so.” He exhales loudly. “What’s going on between you two?”

  “Nothing.” The word shoots out of my mouth, muffled. My throat is scratchy. Maybe I’m coming down with something.

  “Is that the problem?”

  “Huuuuuuunt.” I lift my head to glare at him before I switch my position and rest it back against the cold wall.

  Oh yes, that feels nice.

  Not as comfortable but the cold surface feels good against my overheated skin.

  He holds up his hands. “Sorry. I’m just trying to help.”

  “I know.” Shit. I can be such an asshole sometimes. “Sorry.”

  He mimics my position, and we both stare at the gym.r />
  Thankfully, the back area we’re in is isolated and mostly deserted at the moment. The last thing I need is extra ears or eyes on our conversation.

  “No worries.” He stays silent for a moment and I close my eyes. “I know you haven’t been training either.”

  “Coach told me to take a break.”

  “Yet you’re here busting your ass.”

  “Mmm.”

  “You know you can talk to me, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  More silence while my heart is finally slowing down.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  I open one eye and peek at him. “Huh?”

  “Is she the one who pissed in your Cheerios? Chloe, I mean.”

  My eyebrows draw together at his words until my brain puts two and two together. The conversation we had at Ryan’s house last year when Jace had screwed up with Millie. Something Hunter said to me about wanting to know who pissed in my Cheerios. Not that I remember what I said.

  Shit. I don’t know how much to tell him. It’s not that I don’t trust him. We’ve been friends for many years. All of us. But do I really want to dig up more crap from the past? Would he even understand? I’ve never really talked much about what went down with Chloe and me.

  After we broke up—or rather she left to go on the vacation she never came back from—I focused on swimming. I turned all of my thoughts and anger into energy and used it to my advantage in the pool. It turned me into a beast in the water, yet no one knew there was a reason for it.

  The guys and I first met at camp when Chloe and I were still together, so of course, they knew she wasn’t in the picture anymore at some point. But I didn’t talk a lot about her, didn't like to share our private stuff with anyone. The guys didn’t know much about her or what was going on with me. We were still teenagers at that point and easily distracted.

  With a heavy sigh, I close my eyes again. “I guess she is.”

  “No fucking way. I knew it.”

  Hunter’s way-too-cheerful response makes me snort, which is progress, I suppose.

  He whistles under his breath. “Wow.”

  “Okay, Hunt. I got it.”

  “Sorry, dude. But wow. And now she’s back . . . and the hospital work. Man, she’s fucking hot.”

  “Ugh.” I grit my teeth, a headache slowly forming behind my temples.

  “Shit. Sorry.” He grimaces. “What are you going to do? Are you going to skip the volunteering?”

  A question I’ve been asking myself all week long.

  “Now I feel extra bad. My agent landed this new campaign for me last minute, and it will collide with the times at the hospital, so I won’t be able to help out as much as I had hoped, if at all. If you’re dropping out too, she’s gotta do the whole thing by herself.” He stops talking, and I look at him. His gaze is focused somewhere far away.

  It’s rare to see Hunter this focused and serious outside of swimming.

  He huffs. “Now I feel like a total dick. Maybe I can move around some stuff. Talk to Coach and my agent to see if we can shift around some of my schedule.”

  Even if I’ve been half the problem, the thought of Chloe being there all by herself without any help doesn’t sit right with me either.

  Yes, she still screws with my mind.

  Yes, I hate the things I’ve discovered about her since she returned. Loathe them.

  That she wasn’t feeling well. That she . . . that she tried to harm herself at some point.

  But I’m an adult, and I signed up for this project.

  I can push aside my differences and be civil, friendly even, right?

  Just for a few weeks, and then I’ll make sure to never see her again.

  With a groan, I turn to Hunter. “I’ll help her. I’ll go back to the hospital.”

  His head whips my way. “You will?”

  “Yeah.” Not sure who’s more surprised about it. Hunter or me.

  But it’s the right thing to do.

  This isn’t just about Chloe and me. This is about the hospital and doing something nice for the kids. I’ve never been one to back out of projects I signed up for, and I won’t start now.

  I shouldn’t have flaked on her this week, but it’s not too late to make it right.

  It’s time to face the music, or rather paint in this case.

  Hunter stretches his arms above his head. “She’ll be there this afternoon.”

  “Awesome.” I don’t think I could sound more unenthusiastic if I tried.

  He jumps up and holds out his hand to help me up. “I gotta get going, and you need a shower.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Always.” And there is Hunter’s signature cocky grin, and I shake my head.

  After a long hot shower at home rather than the gym, some lunch, a cat nap, and a quick grocery trip, I enter the third floor of the hospital.

  Since it’s the weekend, it’s mostly quiet, which is both good and bad. When I round the corner, I spot Chloe immediately at the far end.

  Taking this moment to study her as I make my way over, I can’t help but notice how different she looks when she paints. It’s her element, always has been, and her focus is similar to mine when it comes to swimming. The only difference is that I don’t stick out my tongue at the corner of my mouth when I concentrate like Chloe does so often. I’d suck in way too much water if I did.

  Her purple hair is knotted on top of her head and she’s wearing a large men’s shirt. It looks old and heavily used, covered in paint splatters that look like they’ve been washed more than just a time or two. She’s on top of the stepstool when I stop behind her.

  I didn’t mean to stand so close, but I can’t help it.

  My attention shifts to the octopus she’s working on. Wow. It’s mind-blowing. Absolutely fascinating. I have no idea how a painting can look so real.

  “Amazing.” I take a step closer to get a better look when Chloe turns and screeches.

  She takes a step into nothingness and looks like she’s about to faceplant. And what do I do? I open my arms to catch her.

  Does that make me the knight in shining armor? Nope.

  I’m so distracted by her and her painting that I stumble backwards, barely catching myself before I land on my ass. With Chloe half in my lap and half on top of me.

  “Hey.”

  Well, I guess that’s a way to tell her I’m back after ghosting her for a week.

  Thirteen

  Chloe

  “Hey? That’s what you’re going with?” I close my eyes for one deep breath in an attempt to calm the pounding in my chest. “How about ‘Sorry, Chloe, for almost giving you a heart attack’?”

  “Yeah.” He grimaces. “Sorry about that.”

  I was so engrossed in my painting, with the music as a nice background sound coming from my headphones, that I didn’t notice anyone was here until Noah was standing right freaking there and started talking.

  My poor, poor heart.

  It’s definitely been getting an extra workout this week.

  First, the whole smoothie murder scene at my house. Like any murder scene—I assume—it took a ridiculous amount of time to clean up.

  Then, the whole wrist and tattoo thing that has caused me several sleepless nights.

  And now this. Whatever this is.

  All I know is that I feel way too comfortable in his arms, with no desire to move. At all. And who could blame me? Noah is built with a capital B. Muscle after muscle is my cushion, which is a lot softer than it sounds. He definitely didn’t have all these muscles when we were teenagers.

  Given our strange circumstances, I probably should move, right? I mean, smarter choice and all that shebang.

  Why does nothing ever go according to plan?

  I didn’t expect to want to be around him this much after all is said and done.

  Okay, maybe I did. Or maybe not? I don’t even know anymore, but I probably should have anticipated it.

  Because do I still feel ins
anely attracted to him after all this time? A big, fat yes.

  So where does that leave me when I know I can’t possibly get back together with him? Not that I think he’d want that anyway.

  One-sided friends? Frenemies?

  What would being friends with Noah look like anyway? We were never just friends. But since we were so young, and under a lot of adult supervision from both of our parents, the friendship portion might have actually been the biggest part of our relationship.

  No matter what we did, I always loved being around him.

  He was my person.

  My safe place where I could forget about teenage drama, school stress, and all the other things we like to worry about as teenagers.

  “Ehm.” Noah clears his throat and looks at me with raised eyebrows.

  Of course. I’m still draped across him.

  A hot tingling sweeps up the back of my neck and across my face. “Dang it, sorry.”

  I climb off him as gracefully as I can, which isn’t very graceful at all.

  I knee him in the crotch by accident before dropping my weight on his chest so I can get off his penis. I definitely don’t want to crush that.

  That would be a shame. Teenage me blushes at the memory of exploring that specific part of his body.

  No, don’t think about his penis.

  Nope, nope, nope.

  How did I just jump from thinking about possibly being friends or frenemies with Noah to his penis?

  Maybe because it’s not the first time I wonder how sex would be like with him now? I mean, we were kids back then. Inexperienced. Each other’s firsts. There was fumbling. Lots and lots of fumbling. No orgasms. Quick orgasms. Great orgasms. We had it all.

  “Uh, Chloe.”

  I wince. Damn it, I was gone in la-la land again.

  All because of Noah.

  The same Noah I still haven’t gotten off.

  Nope, not going there.

  This man turns my brain into a squirrel.

  “Sorry.” I finally crawl off him and straighten my clothes as we both get up. “It’s been a long day.”