I Swear I Still Hate Him (Atlas Lawson) novel Chapter 96

Chapter 96

Emery’s POV

“First off,” Coach began, voice firm but kind, “you’re all doing amazing. I mean it. I’ve seen the work you’ve put in, and I’m proud of every single one of you.” His eyes scanned the room, and for a second, I swear it felt like he was looking right at me. “Now listen, whatever happens out there today, I don’t want any of you walking away feeling less than. I don’t care how fancy North Bridge’s gear is or how cocky they look when they walk in. You are the best swimmers I’ve ever had the honor to coach. Got it?”

We all nodded, as we echoed. “Yes coach.”

“Good now go kick some ass.”

The meet was already buzzing. North Bridge had arrived in matching warm-ups and smug expressions, but our team didn’t back down. We weren’t just here to swim, we were here to make noise.

Jazz was up first. She stood at the edge of the pool, bouncing on her heels, goggles snapped in place, her arms loose and ready. The announcer called the heat, and the air got thick. I held my breath as the whistle blew.

She dove clean, her form sharp as hell. Freestyle. Smooth and aggressive.

“Let’s go, Jazz!” I yelled, fist clenched as she glided through the water like she owned it.

Thirty seconds later, she touched the wall first.

A beat.

Then her fist shot into the air as the crowd erupted. She popped out of the water grinning, soaking wet and glowing. “Let’s gooo!” she screamed, slapping the water before climbing out and high-fiving anyone within reach.

Next up was Wendy. A sophomore, solid swimmer. She dove in at the buzzer, her strokes clean. But it was a tight race, and North Bridge edged her out by maybe half a second. Still, when she climbed out, we were all there, clapping her back, pulling her into a side hug, telling her how proud we were.

Then it was Sophie. And yeah, Sophie killed it. The way she moved in the water? Total Olympics level. When she finished, she didn’t even look surprised, just satisfied. Captain energy.

And then… it was me.

My name echoed through the speakers. “Emery Collins, representing Linchester.”

I stepped forward, heart thudding in my chest. The tile beneath my feet was slick, cold. I adjusted my goggles and stood at the edge of the block. My opponent glanced at me-tall, well built, toned…great. I gave her a small smile hoping I didn’t look as intimidate as I felt. She returned it, respectful, but there was fire behind her eyes.

I turned back to the pool.

Okay. Breathe..

You’re Emery Collins.

You’ve trained for this.

Added a post. You interacted with th….

But the pounding in my chest wouldn’t slow. My stomach twisted.

What if it goes like last time? What if I choke? What if I….

The buzzer blared.

And of course I hesitated for a beat like a whole idiot.

North Bridge dove in first. Crap.

I launched in, mentally yelling at myself the entire way down.

Why are you like this?

Why did you hesitate?

Why didn’t you pee before this?

My strokes were a mess at first, arms flailing, brain screaming. I couldn’t find my rhythm. My body felt like it was made of bricks. This was it. This was how I died. Embarrassed. Wet. Loser.

Just when I thought the self-doubt was gonna swallow me whole, like legit, right there in the pool, full-on

emotional drowning, I heard his voice in my head.

“Just a reminder that I’m always rooting for you. Always in your corner.”

And then I saw it.

The bracelet.

The little letter E, shining through the blur of water and panic, catching the light like a freaking sign from the universe. The same bracelet I had stared at last night for hours like a lovesick fool. The one that made my heart clench and flutter at the same time.

It was like someone hit the switch inside me.

Suddenly, the ache in my limbs didn’t matter. The heaviness in my chest, the spiral of “what if I lose again” noise? Gone.

I wasn’t done. Not yet.

I pushed.

Hard.

Every ounce of fight I had left came alive, arms slicing, legs kicking, lungs burning, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.

The wall was coming. Fast.

I reached. Touched.

My head shot above water, chest heaving, heartbeat slamming in my ears as I got out the pool.

Did I…?

I blinked the water from my lashes, trying to make sense of the voices, the noise, the announcer’s mic crackling.

“And the winner for the 50mm race is… Emery Collins!”

I froze.

Literally stopped breathing.

Wait.

What?

I won?

I…WON?

My eyes shot wide. My mouth dropped open. I blinked, honestly wondering if I hallucinated the whole thing.

Then sam shrieked, “EM! YOU FREAKING WON!”

The next thing I knew, bodies were colliding into me. My team wrapped me in a giant group hug like a wet, screaming, half-sobbing burrito. Someone kissed the top of my head. Another person shouted my name like we were at a some rock star concert.

I was dazed. Breathless. Somewhere between crying and screaming.

“I…I actually did it,” I muttered, still blinking like an idiot.

“Of course you did,” Sophie said, her hand cupping the back of my neck, her smile soft and proud. “I always knew you had it in you.”

I sniffled, nodded, grinning like an idiot. “Thanks, Cap.”

She winked.

As everyone slowly broke apart, I turned toward the North Bridge girl who had just stepped out of the water too. She offered me a hand.

“Good job.”

“Thanks,” I said, shaking it, “you too.”

Then, while the others were still cheering, I looked up into the stands.

Scanning.

Searching.

Where are you?

Where did he sit? What expression did he wear when they called my name? Did he smile? Did he stand?

Did he see me?

My chest tightened, not from exhaustion, but from something else entirely. From the need to see him. Hold him…kiss him…even for a second.

***

The locker room was buzzing with victory energy, wet towels flying, someone blasting a remix of “Good as Hell” from their phone, and the sound of pure, unfiltered girl joy.

I was already dressed, sneakers tied, hair still damp from the shower, when I pulled out my phone and saw his

name pop up on my screen.

Atlas: I’m so proud of you.

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