Personal Best

by Sean Michael

  “How’s he doing, Jessy?” Jeff looked Mike over. “He looks stiff.”

  “Yeah. Hasn’t swum until today. Fell into all sorts of bad habits.” He shook his head. It was going to take the two months Mike had left in his suspension before the kid was ready to see a competition. “He’ll work it out.”

  Jeff nodded. “He will. You considered taking him somewhere? Switching up the training? I mean, your boy’s all about routine, but his routine’s all cracked. You could take him somewhere where there’s nothing but you, him, cleaning his body out, finding the water….”

  Jessy nodded. It was a good idea. He’d been so focused on getting them back to their routine, he hadn’t considered that maybe they needed to find each other, their centers—the damned wall—first.

  “You got any suggestions, Jeff?”

  “Go up north, maybe? There’s got to be a place with a heated pool, somewhere you can get in his headspace again.”

  He nodded. “I could take him up to Atlanta or Montreal. Go ’round to see the Olympic pools.” They could play tourist, there wouldn’t be any distractions but the ones they made them for themselves.

  Jeff nodded, eyes on the pool. “Yeah. You two need to settle things between you, between him and the water.”

  “We do. How are your boys doing?”

  “The marginal ones? Still marginal. Harry quit, went to Caltech. My two serious swimmers? Not sleeping, stressed. Upset.”

  Jessy shook his head. “You should have let me beat that kid to a pulp, Jeff. A fucking joke. Screwed up a whole bunch of kids’ lives.”

  “Yeah. And the drug itself made it worse, heightened their emotions and made things insane.”

  “You ever consider the kid might have been planted? Competition making sure UT has to do another year of rebuilding?”

  Jeff blinked. “No, man, that kid was scared.”

  “Well, it was worth considering. Hank over at UCLA’s been sniffing around Mike.”

  “Hank is a jackass, and if you let him have Mike, I’ll beat you.” No rivalry there.

  “I’m not letting Mike go, Jeff. No worry there.”

  “Good.” Jeff nodded. “I like him. He’s a natural.”

  “He’s the real deal. The best.” He watched Mike do a few more laps. “All right. I’m taking my swimmer home, and then we’re going to go find the wall again. Good luck with your boys, Jeff.”

  “See you in a month or two, Jessy.”

  He shook Jeff’s hand and crouched back down by the edge of the pool, waiting for Mike to return to the edge, catching Mike’s attention. “Come on. Let’s go home. I’ve got a proposal for you.”

  “A proposal?” He got a look, a raised eyebrow. “Okay.”

  “Brat. Not that kind of proposal.”

  Mike chuckled, eyes dancing. “Damn.”

  “Not today, anyway.” He gave Mike a wink and held out his hand, helping Mike out of the water.

  “So? What’s up? I still have a lot of laps left….”

  “I was thinking you could finish them at the Olympic pool in Atlanta. Or maybe Montreal.” He watched Mike, gauging his reaction.

  Mike tilted his head; sometimes his swimmer was such a pup. “Yeah? Why?”

  “Because I think getting away together would be good for both us. Let us relax a little and find how we fit again, yeah?”

  “Yeah. Okay.” Mike nodded, dried off. “I could do that. Be with you.”

  “And fall in love with the water all over again.” Jessy smiled and looked over at the door. “Maybe with me too.”

  “I never fell out.” Mike got his stuff together, grabbed his bag, and they headed for the locker room.

  “I know, but it’s still there between us a little. What happened.” He stopped Mike as they got there, stroked one cheek. “We need to focus on you and me and the wall with nothing else to distract us.”

  Mike nodded, eyes serious. “Yeah. I want… I want things back to normal.”

  “Yeah, baby. That’s the plan.” He glanced around the locker room and, finding it empty, leaned in for a real quick kiss.

  Mike’s eyes went wide, but he got a grin, a kiss back. “Coach!”

  He wondered if he looked as sheepish as he felt. “Couldn’t help myself.”

  He headed for the door, opening it for Mike. Time for them to get out of there.

  Mike chuckled, nodded. “Right behind you.”

  “Admiring the view?” he asked, looking back to give Mike a wink.

  Mike nodded. “You’re a fine man.”

  He chuckled, feeling good. Yeah, Jeff was right. A holiday was what they needed to get themselves back on track, to evict the awkwardness that one little asshole and his “joke” had managed to insert between them.

  They’d go away, fuck their brains out, swim until they couldn’t go another length, and just be.

  Chapter Eleven

  MIKE WAS tired and grumpy and headachy and he wanted coffee in the worst way. Of course, there was a coffeehouse right across the street from the tiny apartment Jessy had rented them, calling to him.

  Not that Jessy was going to let him have coffee. Mike wasn’t sure he could take a breath without Jessy seeing it.

  “You want to go see the pool? Or wait until tomorrow?” Jessy, on the other hand, appeared to be in a disgustingly good mood.

  “You sure are perky.” Mike found a smile, a wink. “Are you really sure about the whole coffee thing? I could so use a shot.”

  Jessy snorted. “I’m pretty fucking sure, Mike. No caffeine.” Jessy grabbed his hand. “Come on. I talked to the owner when he let us in earlier. We’re at the base of ‘the mountain,’ which isn’t really, and is a real nice climb from what I understand.”

  He chuckled, Jessy’s enthusiasm catching, making it impossible to be bitchy.

  They headed out to explore, finding the path that led up Mount Royal, discovering once they were at the top that there was a staircase they could have taken. There were several lookout points, letting them stop and check out the city, the St. Lawrence River. Everything was covered in snow and they could see their breath. It was cold as hell and strangely beautiful.

  They didn’t linger anywhere and took the stairs down, which was much quicker than winding their way up the footpaths.

  “What kind of food do you feel like, Mike?”

  He chuckled, bending to tie his shoe and scooping up a bit of snow, then slid it in Jessy’s collar as he stood. “Something warm.”

  Jessy squeaked and jumped and then picked up a big handful of snow, forming it into a ball and tossing it at him. It landed square on his chest, breaking apart and floofing snow up into his face.

  “Bitch!” He laughed hard, making a snowball of his own, tossing it and popping Jessy in the shoulder.

  Jessy, of course, retaliated, and they were both soon breathless, hands like icicles. “Come on, let’s go in here,” suggested Jessy, pulling him into a place called Casa Tony Roma’s, which claimed to be a sports bar with the best Italian food in the city.

  “Okay.” Mike nodded, suddenly starving, breathing a little hard. The place smelled like garlic and tomatoes and olives.

  They got a seat at a booth near the back, and Jessy ordered a beer for himself and a hot chocolate for Mike along with fettuccini alfredo and shrimp for both of them.

  He chuckled, rolling his eyes, teasing. “And what if I’d wanted spaghetti and big greasy meatballs and tomato sauce?”

  “I know what you like.”

  Mike nodded, leaning back as the waiter brought bread and salads. “You do. Although I did enjoy my daily french fries and chicken fried steak thing at Denny’s.” His stomach hated it, but his mouth? Yum.

  Jessy made a face, head shaking. “Back on your diet. No more of this eating whatever you want shit.”

  “I lost six pounds while off your diet. See? Proof you’re trying to make me fat.” He ran his foot over Jessy’s ankle, letting Jessy know he was only talking, pushing to see where they were again.
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  “That’s probably because you couldn’t keep anything down while off my diet.” Jessy’s eyes were twinkling.

  “I didn’t throw up after every meal, you know.” God, the salad tasted good. Fresh and crisp and right.

  Jessy laughed, finding Mike’s leg with his foot and returning the caress. “Just every second one, right?”

  “Maybe every second and a half. It depended on whether I ate breakfast.” He winked, buttered a slice of bread.

  Jessy shook his head. “I suppose I can’t bitch—I threw up every second morning, depending on how soon I doctored myself with whiskey.” Jessy winked and then changed the subject. “You looking forward to checking out the Olympic pool?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. I’m all off my schedule. It’s weird. Makes me uncomfortable, like I’m forgetting something.”

  Jessy took a long sip of his beer. “Your routine got royally screwed. You weren’t swimming every day, you weren’t eating the food you usually ate, you weren’t staying away from the illegal stuff, and I wasn’t fucking you silly twice a day. We’ll get you back into a routine again in no time.”

  He sighed, frowned over. “I really need you to stop that.” He hadn’t taken the drug on purpose. Hell, he hadn’t even taken it by accident. Someone had fucked with him, and Jessy kept on like he was to blame somehow.

  Jessy frowned. “Stop what?”

  “You keep blaming me for the party. You keep insisting that I took something, that I did something. I drank a soda that a team member brought me. I didn’t even know I was high. Hell, I was still high when I drove to Dallas.” Mike shrugged. “I feel like you think I did something I should feel bad about, and I didn’t.”

  Jessy was still frowning. “I didn’t say a word about the party, Mike. All I was talking about was you not swimming and eating stuff you know I won’t let you eat, you know—illegal. And I keep apologizing for not believing you at the party, I’m not sure what else you want me to do.”

  “Oh.” He blushed dark, eyes on his salad. Okay, so he was a big moron. “Sorry. I misunderstood.”

  Jessy reached out and squeezed his hand. “Well, obviously the whole drug thing is still sitting here with us or you wouldn’t have. Do you really think I’m blaming you for what happened?”

  “Maybe. I think part of you does.” He swallowed hard, forced the words out. “Because if you don’t at all, then you wouldn’t say that I ‘took’ it. We’d have to ask why you didn’t trust me.” Because he’d not broken any of Jessy’s rules. And the chocolate and Dr Peppers were way harder.

  Jessy ran his hand through his hair, sighing. “I’m sorry if my word choice bothers you, Mike, and I will try to be clear that I know you didn’t take it, okay? And I do trust you. I do. More than I have ever trusted anyone in my life, ever.”

  Jessy looked at him intently and nodded. “And maybe when you were high and I had no reason to know that you weren’t that way through your own efforts, maybe a part of me pipped up that I didn’t even know was waiting. ‘There you go, Jessy, this one’s gonna screw you like all the rest of them have.’”

  He nodded, playing with his salad. “There’s part of you that doesn’t believe in me. I guess that’s normal, huh?” Like the part of him that left without saying goodbye.

  Jessy shook his head. “No, you’ve got it backwards. There’s a part of me that doesn’t believe in me.”

  “What?” Jessy confused the hell out of him sometimes.

  “Did you know that none of my swimmers have ever stayed with me? I’m too strict, my rules are too hard, the West Coast is warmer, the East Coast is prettier, this coach gives away free cars, that one lets you stay out and party every night.” Jessy shrugged. “I guess I keep waiting for you to decide I’m more trouble than winning’s worth. Maybe that’s why I didn’t come after you sooner.”

  “I don’t stay with you because I want to win, Jessy. I stay because I need you.” He shrugged. “I just want to swim. I mean, I hate the no-chocolate rule, I do, but I do it. I’m not smart enough to do this without you, I just run around in circles. I mean, Aunt Kathy’s right. I’m nothing on my own. People don’t hire swimmers in the real world.”

  “I don’t ever want to hear you calling yourself nothing again, Michael Gauliet. You are the most amazing swimmer I have ever seen. And that was before you even knew who Jessy Turner was.” Jessy shook his head. “I like that you need me, though. It’s good not to be doing that on your own.”

  He looked over. “So I’m not leaving. I just want to swim and be with you, maybe watch a movie a week.”

  “I think we can do better than one movie a week.” Jessy gave him a warm smile, blue eyes looking… relieved, maybe, and happy. “I love you,” Jessy said quietly. “And I need you to know that swimming or no, I want you to be my lover.”

  Mike nodded. “And I need to swim, so I need you to be both.”

  “I can be both.” Jessy gave him a smile. “I’m damn good at being both.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, you are.” He sat back as their meals came. “Even if you’re unreasonable about the chocolate.”

  THEY TOOK the Metro to the pool and met up with a city worker who let them in and then assured them they had the place booked nine to noon and two to four for the next two months. They needed to go by the office on their way out and sign for a key.

  Jessy thanked the gentleman and looked at Mike. “Ready for your first taste of the Olympics?”

  “I just want to get in the water.” Mike was restless, ready, almost bouncing with it.

  He laughed, happy at that restlessness. Mike needed to want that water.

  They made their way to the changing rooms, and he got into his swimming trunks as well, waiting for Mike to notice—he hadn’t told the kid he was going in too.

  Mike’s gaze dragged along his body, eyes going wide. “You’re swimming with me?” The pleasure in that voice was gratifying.

  He nodded, smiled. “I’ve always wanted to dip my toes in an Olympic pool. Besides, I figure I can coach easier across fifty meters if I’m swimming them with you.”

  “Cool. Let’s go.” Yep. Bouncing. Eager.

  Chuckling, he followed behind Mike. This was the real thing. Once upon a time, Olympic champions had walked along there with their coaches. World champions still did.

  Mike’s attention was on the water, eyes shining. Mike’s arms were swinging, wide shoulders so strong. “Laps?”

  “Yep. The usual order, fifty each. Don’t worry when you leave me behind.”

  “Uh-huh. Turn the music on?” Mike wasn’t even listening, moving toward the edge like an addict.

  He chuckled and set up the CD player, turned on something loud and noisy that Mike liked, and took the time to watch Mike with the water.

  He could already see things. See the way Mike used the first few laps to focus, to get into things. Mike did it in races too. The kid had a slow first leg. Still, it wasn’t long before Mike was in sync, pushing, sliding.

  Not counting, but swimming.

  He turned off the music and waited for Mike to stop and look up at him, treading water. “How many’s that?” He wasn’t called a hardass for nothing.

  “Uh… seven?”

  He chuckled. “Start from the top and count this time, Mike.”

  He slipped into the water and started swimming himself, keeping pace with Mike for a while before the kid’s pure talent and power left him behind. Mike moved well, staying far ahead. Being in the water like this, Jessy could match Mike’s strokes with the rhythm of the music, the beat speeding up, pushing Mike as he tired.

  This was the Mike he knew, the Mike who had a love affair with two things in life—the water and him.

  He was damned lucky to be a part of both of those.

  Jessy finally got out of the water, not even trying to pretend that he could match Mike.

  Finally Mike’s head lifted, cheeks red, his baby panting. “What next?”

  “Short sprints across the short length of the pool
. Ten in a row as quick as you can.” Jessy was going to push Mike; they both needed to get back into a routine, to get back on track.

  Mike nodded, wrinkled his nose, and started. Mike wasn’t a sprinter, but even so, he was making good times, finding his rhythm four turns in.

  He pondered that, pondered what to do to have Mike not need that first turn to feel the water out. For now, that wasn’t a problem; he was more than making up the time on the subsequent laps, but when they hit the world circuit Mike would need to up the ante.

  He had Mike up out of the water, on the blocks, starting, swimming fifty and then out again. It didn’t take four laps before Mike started glaring, breathing hard, rumbling.

  He got up on the blocks next to Mike. “Let’s see if you can beat me in a simple fifty.”

  Mike bent over, stretched, breathing hard. “You’re fresh. I’m not. That’s cheating.”

  He glanced at the clock. “Okay, we’ll save that for this afternoon. We’ll break early this morning, and you can have a nice, long shower before we do lunch.”

  “No way.” Mike shook his head, eyes going stubborn. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t swim it.”

  “But I’m going to beat you, and you aren’t going to believe it’s because you have a slow first fifty. You notice I’m not suggesting a two hundred or a four hundred—you’d beat me in that without even trying.”

  “I know I have a slow first fifty, Coach. I always have. Otherwise I’d be a sprinter.”

  He chuckled and went over to Mike. “If you can gain even two strokes in your first lap, Mike, you’ll be unbeatable.”

  “I try. I do, but it’s like….” Mike shrugged, sat on the blocks. “I have to find the water first.”

  “Couldn’t you find it in the first ten to fifteen meters?”

  “I’m still under the water then, Coach.” Mike chuckled. “I find it on the turn. You know that.”

  “I know. I know.” He rubbed Mike’s arm, trying to wrap his brain around the problem. “What’s so special about that first turn? It’s almost like it isn’t the water you need to find, but that first wall….”

  Mike leaned against him, nodding. “Got to make the turn, push, go go go.”