I planned to tell them. That was the intention. I had meticulously crafted the revelation that was to unfold today.
As dawn broke, I found myself rehearsing the narrative that would uncover the obscured truths about our unexpected qualification for the nationals.
It wasn't just our collective talent that had secured our spot, but also Marcus—not solely because of our talent, but because of Marcus.
Because of whatever it was between us that neither of us could properly name.
In the quiet solitude of my room, the morning sun casting gentle patterns across the floor, I practiced my speech.
"Guys, there's something you need to know about nationals..."
These words swirled in my head, each syllable weighed with the gravity of truth and consequence.
By noon, the internal rehearsal felt solid, ready.
Yet, as I approached our usual gathering spot in the vibrant courtyard, the reality of the situation began to press heavily upon me.
I saw Sasha, Carlos, and Lucy there, their faces alight with a mixture of pride and disbelief, their laughter and chatter filling the air with an infectious energy.
Their smiles were too real. Their joy too genuine.
“We really made it,” Sasha breathed, her fingers tracing the rim of her smoothie cup as she stared at us in awe. “After everything… we’re really going to nationals.”
Carlos grinned, tossing an arm around her shoulder. “Hell yeah, we are. They can’t ignore us anymore.”
Lucy leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “I heard we’re getting our official university uniforms and jackets next week. Can you believe it? We’ll actually look like a real team.”
That’s what broke me. Because it was true.
We fought for this. We pushed through every setback, every sabotage, every sneaky stunt that Stacey had pulled to tear us down.
I forced a smile, watching their excitement bubble over. They had fought so hard for this – we all had. Through every cruel joke, every sabotaged routine, every whispered insult.
We'd deserved this... hadn't we?
Marcus's words echoed in my head: "You did earn it." Maybe he was right. Maybe his motives didn't matter as much as what the team had actually achieved.
"Remember when Stacey tried to get us kicked out of the gym?" Sasha laughed, pulling me from my thoughts. "And we ended up practicing in the old gym that Marcus showed us?"
Lucy chimed in. "God, we must have looked insane."
"But we nailed that routine," Carlos said proudly. "Every single time."
I found myself laughing along, caught up in their enthusiasm. The weight of the truth began to lift, replaced by something warmer. These were my people. My team. My friends.
"Oh!" Sasha exclaimed suddenly. "And Coach Martinez wants us to start planning our nationals routine next week. She says we need something that'll blow everyone away."
"Something unexpected," Lucy nodded. "Something that shows everyone we belong there."
The guilt crept back in. Did we belong there? Or were we only going because Marcus had pulled strings? Because of whatever complicated thing was happening between us?
I found myself laughing along, caught up in their enthusiasm. The weight of the truth began to lift, replaced by something warmer.
These were my people. My team. My friends.
"Oh!" Sasha exclaimed suddenly. "And Coach Martinez wants us to start planning our nationals routine next week. She says we need something that'll blow everyone away."
"Something unexpected," Lucy nodded. "Something that shows everyone we belong there."
The guilt crept back in. Did we belong there? Or were we only going because Marcus had pulled strings? Because of whatever complicated thing was happening between us?
Before I could spiral further into doubt, everything went dark.
A pair of hands covered my eyes from behind, strong and sure. The conversation at our table died instantly.
My heart stuttered. The touch was familiar but... different. Not quite right.
"Who is it?" I asked, trying to keep my voice light despite the strange tension crawling up my spine.
No answer came. Just the steady pressure of hands over my eyes, the weight of silence around the table.
I heard Lucy inhale sharply. Carlos’s chair scraped against the floor. The table felt too quiet.
My pulse hammered in my ears. Who is it?
My brain screamed one name. Marcus.
For one, foolish, ridiculous second—I thought it was him. I thought maybe he had finally stopped hiding. That maybe he was done pretending. That maybe, just maybe—he was ready to claim me.
My fingers wrapped around the hands, hesitating for only a moment before pulling them away.
And when I turned—my breath caught, my chest tightened while my stomach dropped.
Because it wasn’t Marcus. It was Brent.
And he was wearing a university swim team jacket.