Stroked Hard

  Melony. Thank. Fuck.

  Scrambling, I reach for my phone.

  Melony: I made it. I’m sorry.

  She’s sorry? What the hell is she sorry about? Is she sorry for not talking to me? Is she sorry for breaking up with me without saying a word? Is she sorry for ripping my fucking heart out and stomping on it every damn day she didn’t communicate with me?

  Calming myself, I take a deep breath and try to channel the caring part of me rather than the pissed-off version. Remember: she’s skittish, she’s scared, she’s been burned. She needs someone who understands, no matter how much I want to be pissed at her. No matter how much I’m hurting too.

  Hollis: Thank you for texting me back. Are you okay? Can we talk?

  The little bubble on the screen indicates she’s writing. I hate having this conversation through text message. I would rather hear her sweet voice, plus text messages can be so misconstrued.

  Melony: Bellini has an awful schedule for us right now. She’s using the bathroom so I slipped out to text you.

  Hollis: When can you talk?

  Melony: Not sure. You’re diving tomorrow, so you should get some sleep.

  Hollis: I haven’t slept at all since I haven’t heard from you, and I’ve made it to the finals. Doubt sleep will help with my diving now.

  No response.

  No response for at least ten minutes as I sit in silence, not even pushing play on Netflix.

  I fucking hate this.

  I hate everything about it. She’s running, and I can’t stop her.

  And the worst part? I have no clue why.

  I’m about to call it a night when I get another text message.

  Melony: Good luck tomorrow. Wish I could watch.

  I have to compartmentalize this. Because if that doesn’t fuck with my head, I don’t know what does.

  Diving is for now, and I have no choice but to make it my focus and do my absolute best.

  Melony is forever.

  I hope.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  MELONY

  A few days ago . . .

  “He sounds nice, Mom. I’m glad you had a good time.” Why do those words taste so bitter coming out of my mouth? Like battery acid. I knew she was getting serious. I told Hollis about it yesterday, how my mom has a boyfriend. His attitude toward the conversation was less than pleased. Not because of my mom having a boyfriend, but because of my comment about relationships.

  And here I thought my mom was done with relationships, but Mehi has apparently wined and dined my mom for the past few weeks and now they’re seeing each other officially. I should be happy my mom found someone. I should be overjoyed that she doesn’t have to always be alone, so why do I feel like crying?

  “I did.” She pauses, I can tell she’s treading lightly. “I would love for you to meet him.”

  I knew that was coming the minute my mom started gushing about him. It’s the second time she’s asked me to meet him. The first time was to have dinner the other night. I blamed Bellini.

  “Yeah, I leave for Rio in a few days, maybe when I get back.” Avoidance, it’s what I do best.

  My mom sighs. “Honey, he’s a good man.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” My throat is tightening up, and my eyes are starting to burn. Why do I want to cry? I’m so confused.

  Why can’t I find it within myself to be happy for her? Why can’t I find the happiness within myself for having an amazing man like Hollis by my side? Why do I ensure I sabotage the positive relationships I have with people?

  Well, isn’t it obvious? I would rather hurt them before they hurt me. Real mature, Mel.

  At least my heart is protected.

  My phone beeps with a text. I quickly glance at it. It’s a picture of Hollis kissing my cheek; he took it before we left.

  Hollis: I miss your face so fucking bad.

  Another text that will go unanswered because I’m a shitty person who’s scared out of her mind and way in over her head.

  And it consists of you and me, living in a house on the beach happily ever fucking after.

  Tears prickle at my eyes. I wish he was here. I wish he was able to hold me, to tell me everything is okay. I don’t want to break down in front of him. I don’t want to hurt him again. I hurt him the other night by showing doubt, but it’s all I feel, and I don’t know how to stop it. It’s a crushing feeling that’s weighing so damn heavily on my chest that it almost feels like I can’t breathe.

  “Melony, are you still there?” my mom asks.

  “Yeah, sorry. I have so much going on right now with packing and whatnot.”

  “I was asking about Hollis. How is he doing?”

  If I had to take a guess, probably fuming but trying to act sweet because he doesn’t want to scare me away. Yup, I can be insightfully blind.

  “Good, settling in well,” I answer generically. “Hey, Mom, I have to go, Bellini is calling on the other line.” It’s a lie but I need to get off the phone, now.

  “Oh, okay. Call me later, honey. I love you.”

  “Love you.”

  I hang up and put my head in my hands. Why does everything feel like it’s coming all together just to explode in my face?

  Hollis is gone.

  I’m lonely again.

  My mom is dating.

  She will get hurt again.

  My heart is beating for a man.

  I will get hurt again.

  I can’t be alone and hurt again.

  I’m so out of my element with Hollis. I feel out of control, unable to figure out all these feelings rushing through me and worst of it all, there’s a part of me that still believes it won’t work out, that someway, somehow, he will leave me.

  I’m so fucked up in the head. Thanks, Daddy dearest.

  Instead of drowning myself in pity and spending the rest of the day under the comforter on my bed, I put on a pair of spandex shorts and a workout tank. I need my beach; I know it will help clear my head.

  Putting my earphones in, I go to my favorite playlist, press play, and jog my way to the beach.

  The cool ocean breeze hits first, slowly relaxing the migraine that wants to take up residence in my brain. Salt water and sand invade my senses while the sun sets to the west over the ocean. It’s serene, calming. It’s the main reason I wanted to live so close to the ocean.

  It’s funny, how the smallest things can shape you as a person, or even the biggest.

  My dad . . . God, he was a good man when I knew him. He treated my mom well; he acted like I was his world, like I was the most important thing in his life.

  Just like Hollis does . . .

  He was everything. And then he left without a word, without giving me a second thought, and I’ve felt utterly . . . worthless.

  My breath catches in my throat from the thought.

  Worthless.

  That’s all I am, and it’s all I’ll ever be.

  Perfectly damaged and thoroughly worthless.

  Tears stream down my face blurring my vision. Damaged. Warm sorrow covers my face. Alone. Slowing down, I link my hands over my head trying feverously to catch my breath with what seems like the world spinning around me. Worthless.

  I fall to the ground, the sand filling my running shoes, people walking around me on the beach, staring at the broken little girl. I remove my ear buds and scan the beach, trying to soak in as much of my favorite place as I can, trying to wash away the pain coursing through me.

  From the side, I hear a little girl laugh, the sweet sound of her being chased cutting through the rhythm of the waves against the shore. To the right, there is a girl who looks about twelve, her hair in French braids, wearing a pink swimsuit. A boy who looks to be in high school is chasing her, playing the big-brother role to his finest, never running too fast so she’s caught, giving her just enough room to think she’s beating him. It’s adorable.

  “She just ate, Jack, be careful with my baby girl.”

  That voice.

&nbs
p; That deep, masculine, smoke-filled voice.

  Slowly, I turn to toward where it came from, the sun setting behind the man’s frame makes it hard to decipher until he steps to the side, revealing the man I last saw when I was six. When he left me. My heart catches in my chest from the sight of him.

  He’s by no means the same man in his appearance. He’s filled out, his hair has thinned and greyed, but that face, I would recognize it anywhere because it looks so similar to mine.

  My dad.

  Standing right there, a picnic basket in his hand, a smile of adoration on his face as he watches his children.

  “Daddy,” the girl shrieks, running up to him. He drops the picnic basket and scoops her up just before his son can catch her. She giggles in his arms as he kisses her all over her smiling face. “Daddy, protect me.” Her screech is surrounded with joy while Jack dodges at both of them, my dad protecting her.

  My dad . . .

  But is he really?

  Dads are supposed to love you unconditionally. They’re supposed to protect you, to shelter you from harm, so how come I’m the one sitting here fatherless on the beach while he affectionately loves and protects another little girl? How come he stayed with them?

  How come I’m the one alone?

  Why the fuck did he leave me?

  It’s because I’m worthless.

  ***

  “You’ve been quiet,” Paisley says, poking me in the side. “I thought we were going to have fun on this plane ride. Gossip, trade Bellini horror stories, look at pictures of Reese on my phone.”

  I smile apologetically. “Sorry, just have some things on my mind.”

  Paisley wiggles her eyebrows. “Things? Or thing. You can just tell me, it’s Hollis, isn’t it?”

  Well, Hollis has been on my mind, but he hasn’t been the one who’s been weighing heavily on my heart.

  “No, something else,” I answer somberly.

  “What is it? You’re going to have to tell me, as we are on this plane for a long time together. I will bother you until you do.” I know she’s right about that. Plus, she’s very chipper about heading to Rio to not only see Reese swim, but to actually see him. I wish I could same about the Hollis, but whenever I think of seeing him, my gut twists in my stomach. Not talking to him hasn’t helped.

  Giving in, I say, “I saw my dad the other day.”

  “By your tone, I’m taking that as a bad thing.”

  “You could say that. I haven’t seen him since I was six, just about to turn seven. He was with his new family.”

  “Really? Oh, shit, I’m sorry, Melony. That couldn’t have been easy.”

  I shrug my shoulders, trying to act like it wasn’t that big of a deal. “Just odd, you know?” Not wanting to dig too deep into my daddy issues, I say, “You don’t see someone for so long and when you do, the picture you had of them in your mind is completely different.”

  “Yeah, I can see how that is weird. Was he much older?”

  “Much,” I answer. He was much older, and he seemed happier, as if his first daughter wasn’t good enough, but his second? Now she was who he’d hoped for in a child.

  I swallow down the emotions that want to bubble to the surface.

  “I’m sorry. I’m taking it you didn’t go say hi.”

  I chuckle. “Not so much. He looked in my direction but didn’t even recognize me. He’s never been the best dad. I’ve always felt very insignificant.” Shit, why did I just say that?

  Mustering up a pep talk, Paisley knocks her fold-down tray and says, “Well, fuck him. That’s what I think. Fuck him.”

  “Yeah, fuck him,” I say with way less gusto than Paisley, but it seems to appease her nonetheless.

  “Now tell me about Hollis. Are you two an item?” To my knowledge, we haven’t told anyone about our relationship. The only person that should technically know is my mom. Hollis might have told his family, who knows, but friends, they don’t know. At least I hope they don’t.

  “There isn’t much to say about Hollis,” I answer vaguely.

  “Oh no you don’t. There is something. What’s going on with you two?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know.” She gives me a knowing look. “He really likes me.”

  “And do you really like him?” Paisley is leaning forward, waiting on bated breath for my answer. Ugh, she’s one of those people. When she’s in a relationship, she wants everyone to be in a relationship. “Come on, Melony. Give me something.”

  Sighing into my seat, I say, “Yes, I like him.”

  She practically pops out of her seat and cheers. “Oh, this is fantastic. I knew you would. I mean, how could you not? The man is a walking piece of sex and those abs . . .” She fans her face. “Don’t get me wrong. Reese is the hottest man I’ve ever seen, but Hollis is a close second.”

  Reese is hot, like really sexy, but I would have to disagree. There is something about Hollis that edges him out. Maybe it’s his charm, his cocky swagger, or the fact that he both stakes a claim in being a romantic and takes pride in it.

  God, I feel so sick to my stomach.

  “So what are you going to do about it? Does he know? Are you going to date? Oh, I bet he would be amazing in bed. I wonder what his dick size is, probably a grower. What do you think?”

  Her onslaught of questions makes my head swim as nausea starts to settle deeply in my stomach. My mouth begins to water, a sweat breaks out on my skin, and I know if I don’t get out of this seat right now, I’m going to throw up in aisle thirty-two right now.

  “Excuse me,” I say, bolting out of my chair and back to the bathroom where I make it just in time to throw up in the small compartment they call a restroom.

  It’s all too much.

  Looking in the mirror, I look haggard, like a complete hot mess. This is not me. I feel like I haven’t felt like me in a long time. Then again, before Hollis, I wasn’t happy either.

  But, I’m not happy now.

  A stray tear falls from my eye that I quickly wipe away.

  I should be happy now. I should be happy in life, what I’ve achieved, where I live. What’s to come.

  I should be happy because of Hollis.

  So why? Why am I not happy now?

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  HOLLIS

  Deep breath. Ignore the crowd. Focus on the target ahead. Two steps, a skip, and a leap. That’s it, that’s all I have to do and then fall into a four-and-a-half somersault.

  Holly’s words repeat in my head. “Smooth start, focus on your tuck, and really push the water away from your body at entry. You need a nine-point-five average. You’ve got this, Hollis.”

  I’ve got this. I’ve been on autopilot ever since I showed up at the pool with Holly by my side. We spent a great deal of time warming up, going over each dive on dryland, talking them over, and then laughing at the picture of Mom and Dad’s shirts. Not only was my face plastered across their chests, but so was Holly’s with a fake whistle attached to her mouth. How I loved seeing her face on their shirts once more. It’s only right. The shirts were absolutely ridiculous, but they are the Hollis Howlers. I’m not surprised by their antics anymore. Even better is the back of their shirt . . . The Holly Howlers.

  When the competition started, I sank into my zone, blocking away the outside world and all worry about Melony. I’ve been able to get through five of my six dives for the most part flawlessly besides my third dive when I released too late from my pike position resulting in a shortened vertical entry. It’s the reason why I have to score high on this final dive in order to claim gold.

  But it’s my favorite dive. Four-and-a-half somersault tuck. One of the most difficult dives, but the most thrilling because once you’re tucked in position, you fly, tumbling down into the water. If you don’t pull out of your tuck at the right time, you’re looking at a world of hurt. Believe me, I’ve smacked water before.

  I wait in the stairwell, my shammy clinging to my shoulder, my heart racing a mile a minute. China’s best
diver is right ahead of me, performing his final dive, giving me a run for my money. But I don’t pay attention to him. I don’t listen for how well he does. I focus on my routine, on my steps, on my arms and my tuck. I practice in the stairwell envisioning my moves and how I need to execute my last dive.

  Mentally I’m there, physically I’m more than ready, but it’s my heart that’s suffering. It’s my heart that’s snapping in two from the thought of Melony not being here to watch me, from the thought of not being able to talk to her, from the thought that she might have ended what we have.

  Too bad for her, I don’t throw in the towel that easily.

  From a far distance, at least that’s what it sounds like, I hear the crowd cheer for China as he makes his final dive.

  I’m up.

  One more dive.

  One more swim through the nasty green water that apparently is okay to dive in, despite its moldy color.

  One more approach on the platform.

  One more time to do right for Holly. Diving is for now.

  I take a deep breath and step out onto the platform. I can feel the stare of the crowd on me as I dry off one last time with my shammy before tying it in a knot and tossing it down to the pool deck.

  Roped off in the corner are the coaches. I glance down and catch Holly’s eyes looking up at me. For a brief moment, we exchange smiles, hers being warm and full of hope. I’m doing this for her, for my sister who’s so graciously forgiven me. This gold is for her. She gives me a thumbs up, and I smile one last time before turning my attention back to the platform and the green water in front of me.

  Two steps, a skip, and a jump.

  Two steps, a skip, and a jump.

  I take a few deep breaths, adjust the waist of my speedo, rub my hands together, and then take off.

  Two steps, a skip, and a jump. Immediately while in the air, I tuck my legs into my chest, hold on for dear life, and start counting my revolutions.

  One, two, three, four . . . start to get ready to un-tuck. I spot the water, unfold, hold my breath, and when my palms hit the water, I sweep my arms to the side, sucking down my wake with me.