I Swear I Still Hate Him (Atlas Lawson) novel Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Emerys POV

It had been a week since Atlas and I made our so-called truce.

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Yep. That’s what I’m calling it. A truce. A mutual agreement to pretend the night we totally crossed the line never happened. Even though, let’s be honest, that line was long gone. Dead…deleted.. completely vanished.

And for the record, we’d been great at pretending it never happened.

Okay. He had.

Atlas was acting all normal, smirking at me like always, stealing my fries, picking up the toothpaste I had left in the sink, never once bringing up the fact that his head was between my thighs just seven nights ago.

But as for me… well, I think something’s seriously wrong with me.

Because tell me why the hell I’m sitting here, staring at Atlas, his back turned, hair messy like he literally just rolled out of bed, and he’s taking a drink of water. Normal, right?

Wrong.

Because might I add, he’s shirtless.

His muscles flexed as he grabbed the bottle, veins running down his arm like sin itself. His broad shoulders rose and fell as he twisted the cap off and took a long sip. The sound of the water bottle crinkling. The way his Adam’s apple bobbed. The line of his jaw, the trail of water that slipped down his chest and disappeared into the waistband of his low-hanging pajama

pants.

God. His hands. His damn hands.

He turned to me, eyes still heavy with sleep, lips slightly parted like he was mid-yawn, and our eyes met.

I panicked.

My breath hitched, knees went soft, and then…

Boom.

I fell.

To. The. Floor.

“Shit, are you okay?” he rushed over, crouching beside me, concern written all over his face.

I forced the most unconvincing smile of my life and waved him off. “Yeah! Totally fine. My, um… my spoon fell.”

We both looked toward the table. The spoon sat there. Untouched. Sitting upright like it hadn’t moved all morning.

Atlas raised a brow.

I swallowed and laughed awkwardly, standing so fast my legs wobled. “I’m gonna go to practice now,” I said, grabbing my bag and bolting toward the door before he could say another word.

Once I was out in the hallway, I let out the most dramatic sigh known to mankind and practically stomped my foot like a five-year-old.

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Chapter 23

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“Seriously? Spoon? That’s what you went with?” I groaned, dragging my hand down my face. “You need therapy, Emery. Immediate, urgent, emergency therapy.”

And then, because life hated me, I turned around.

Atlas was there. Leaning against the doorframe. Arms crossed. Lips definitely fighting a smile.

“You forgot your phone,” he said, holding it out to me.

My stomach dropped. My face went full tomato.

I yanked it from his hand. “Thanks,” I mumbled, then turned and practically sprinted out of sight.

I was never showing my face in that apartment again.

Ever.

***

“Collins. My office. Now,” Coach said, voice sharp but calm.

Awesome.

I sighed quietly, already bracing myself for the lecture waiting of the other side of that door.

As I stepped inside, Coach barely looked up from his laptop. He just motioned toward the seat in front of his desk. I sat, shoulders tight, fingers fidgeting in my lap.

He finally closed the screen and looked at me. His face was unreadable, but I knew that look. The one that meant: you’re not in trouble, but I’m disappointed, and somehow that’s worse.

“I did a little digging,” he started, leaning back in his chair. “Checked out your high school records.”

My stomach dropped.

This could go either way.

“To be honest,” he continued, crossing his arms, “I’m impressed. You’ve got a shelf full of gold medals. District, state, regionals. Started swimming when you were eight?”

I nodded slowly. “Yeah… My mum taught me.”

He smiled faintly. “That’s admirable. Really. You’ve got natural talent, Collins. But more than that, you’ve got a history of pushing yourself.”

Okay, so far… not bad?

Then he exhaled. That long coach sigh that meant the hammer was coming.

“So imagine my surprise when I see your performance this week

There it was.

My face flushed. I kept my eyes down, tracing a scratch on the disk with my nail.

“You’re slacking,” he said bluntly. “And I don’t mean that in a ‘you’re lazy’ way. I mean that in a ‘you’re not giving me the swimmer I know you are’ way. And I don’t know what’s going on in your head, but I can tell it’s not the pool.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but he raised a hand.

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Chapter 23

“Let me finish.”

I bit the inside of my check and nodded.

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“The Olympics,” he said slowly, “is every swimmer’s dream. But not everyone makes it. Not because life’s unfair, but because they didn’t give it everything they had. Everything. Heart. Mind Body. You understand me?”

“Yes, Coach.” I murmured, swallowing the lump in my throat.

“If something’s going on,” he continued, softer now, “I’m here. Ian help. Or if you’d rather talk to someone else, I can set you up with the school therapist. No shame in it.”

I blinked fast, trying not to let the sting in my eyes turn into tears.

“But you need to clear your head,” he added. “And fast. Because m gonna need a whole lot more from you moving forward.”

My heart thudded. I sat up straighter.

“I get it,” I said, forcing my voice to stay steady. “I’ll do better. I promise. I won’t let you down.”

He studied me for a second. Then gave a single nod. “I hope not. Collins. I really do.”

I gave him my brightest smile, the one that said, I’m fine. I’ve got this. No big deal.

Then I walked out of his office, shutting the door behind me. The smile fell before I made it halfway down the hallway. I leaned against the wall, let out a long breath, and closed my eyes Get your head in the game, Emery Collins.

****

Later in the evening

The pool was empty. Just me, the echo of splashes, and my loud-ass thoughts.

Again.

I kicked off the wall, arms slicing through the water as I pushed forward. My lungs burned, but I kept going, flipping at the edge and swimming back. Again. Again. Again.

The timer on the wall blinked at me like it was mocking me.

Still not fast enough.

I popped up at the edge of the pool, panting, water dripping down my face. I shoved my goggles up to my forehead, chest rising and falling like I’d just done five sprints in a row-which, spoiler: I had.

“What the hell is wrong with me,” I muttered, dragging myself out of the water.

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