Hurt me like you need me novel Chapter 16

Thursday. 4:15 PM. I walk onto the pool deck with my bag over my shoulder and a protein bar halfway to my mouth and I stop so hard my shoes squeak on the tile.

Sawyer is standing at the end of lane six.

He’s in borrowed jammers — black, too tight across the thighs, the waistband sitting low on hips that have no business being in my pool.

His arms are crossed over his bare chest and his shoulders are hunched. Marsh is next to him explaining something with his hands while Sawyer stares at the water like it personally wronged him.

My protein bar tastes like cardboard. I drop it in the trash and walk toward the blocks.

Tyler appears at my elbow before I’m halfway across the deck. He’s already in his suit, goggles around his neck, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Heads up — Coach approved the tryout. We need a relay alternate before regionals and Sawyer’s the only walk-on who showed up.”

“When did this happen?”

“Marsh submitted the request Tuesday. Coach signed off this morning.” Tyler claps my shoulder. “Relax, man. We need a body. He’s got the build.”

“Nobody asked me.”

Tyler blinks. “You’re the captain, not the admissions board. Coach doesn’t need your sign-off for a tryout.”

“He should.”

Tyler gives me the look that says he can’t tell if I’m joking. I smile at him and it must pass the test because he laughs and jogs back to the blocks.

I stand on the deck and watch Sawyer adjust the borrowed goggles with fingers that don’t know the right grip anymore.

Something in my chest goes very, very still. Every record on that board has my name next to it and this hostile little shit just walked into my territory.

I go to Coach’s office.

Harding is behind his desk filling out a form. The office smells like chlorine and old coffee and the cinder block walls are covered with heat sheets from every meet since 2014. He doesn’t look up when I walk in.

“Sawyer Drum.” I lean against the doorframe and keep my voice conversational. “He’s got a temper. History of getting kicked off teams. He punched a kid at his last school hard enough to break the orbital bone.”

Harding keeps writing. “Can he swim?”

“That’s not the point. He’s volatile. He’ll blow up in the locker room the first time someone looks at him wrong and we’ll lose our alternate two weeks before regionals.”

“Can he swim, Ellory?”

“Coach—”

He looks up. Harding’s eyes are gray and flat and they’ve been staring down recruits since before I was born. “I asked you a question.”

“He was the fastest sophomore in his district three years ago.”

“Then it’s the only point.” He goes back to the form. “I don’t need him to make friends. I need him to swim a leg in thirty seconds. If he can do that, I don’t care if he bites.”

I stand in the doorway for another four seconds. Harding doesn’t look up again. I walk back to the deck.

The team is gathered around lane six. Tyler and Marsh on one side, Davis and Beck on the other. Even the distance guys have wandered over from the far end of the pool.

The energy on the deck has shifted to that low hum that happens when someone new enters the water and every swimmer in the building wants to know if they should be worried.

Sawyer is on the block. His stance is wrong — feet too wide, hands too far apart. He hasn’t done this in years and the rust shows in every line of his body.

But his back is straight and his jaw is set and he’s looking at the water like it’s a fight he’s already decided to win.

He’s not supposed to be this fast.

He’d be better than me.

Coach Harding is standing at the edge of the deck with his stopwatch in his hand. He looks at the time, then at Sawyer. He nods.

That’s it. One nod. The Harding equivalent of welcome to the team.

Tyler slaps Sawyer’s back as he climbs out of the pool. Marsh shakes his hand. The distance guys nod from across the deck.

Sawyer is breathing hard and the chlorine is running off his body in sheets and there’s relief in his expression. He just discovered he’s still good.

Tyler turns to me. “Told you. Kid’s a weapon.”

Coach claps my shoulder on his way back to the office. “Better watch your back, Ellory.” His voice is gravel and casual. “Kid’s got hunger. Give him a semester and he might be gunning for your armband.”

He means it as motivation. Keep the captain sharp. Don’t get comfortable. Standard Harding — light a fire under the fastest guy so the fast guys stay fastest.

I hear replaceable. I hear your spot was never yours. I hear the sound my mother’s monitors made when she flatlined and the doctor turned to my father and said we did everything we could and I learned that nothing you love is permanent and the moment you stop watching is the moment someone takes it from you.

I stand at the edge of the deck. The pool is still. The team is filtering into the locker room and Sawyer’s wet footprints track across the tile toward the door and I watch them evaporate one by one until the deck is dry and the only thing left is the chlorine in my nose and the decision forming behind my ribs.

Tonight, Linda and Richard are going to dinner at the Pattersons’. Eight o’clock reservation, which means they’ll leave by seven-thirty, which means by seven-forty-five the house will be empty except for me and Sawyer.

I am going to beat the shit out of my dear brother.