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anymoreâ¦heâs a stranger.
She took another sip of tea, climbed down from her chair and paced the long way around the pool, taking her time, so that when she came around to him, he was exactly in the middle of his lane.
Think of him as just another swimmer.
She took refuge in the corner, where she kept a sharp eye on everything, even on this quiet morning where it seemed nothing could go wrong.
Sheâd learned the hard way thatâs when devastation happenedâwhen you least expected it.
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His leg was killing him, but would he show weakness? No way. Not in front of anyone, especially Cadence. Clutching the wall, he paused long enough to catch his breath and watched her out of his peripheral vision.
Every fiber of his being seemed aware of the way she moved like sunlight around the huge Olympic-sized pool. Her uniform, a lifeguardâs nylon windbreaker and matching shorts over her swimsuit, madethe moment loop oddly back in time. They had both spent a lot of time in this pool as teenaged kids.
Weâve both traveled long, divergent roads since.
As he kicked away from the wall, feeling the water slide over his skin, he stretched out into a steady breaststroke so he could keep his eyes barely above water level and watch Cadence as she circled the pool.
How weird was it that she was working here? Working. As a lifeguard. What had happened to her big plans to get out of this backwater place? What about the fame and riches of her diving career? Why wasnât she in broadcast sports?
Good questions. He remembered what the doc had told himâthe one heâd nearly blown a gasket at because he hadnât liked the diagnosis. You canât always get what you want, hotshot. The M.D.âs words haunted him as he touched the wall and began another lap. Had the same thing happened to Cadence?
It troubled him all through his laps. When white-hot pain was shooting through his calf and he was clenching his jaw so tight he couldnât breathe correctly between strokes, he had to call it a day. Done.
And after only a quarter of a mile, too. He swallowed the disappointment as he climbed out of the pool, ignoring the stabbing pain and the throbbing burn of injured muscles and tendons. He hadnât pushed as hard as heâd wanted to, and he was beat. Recovery might not be as quick as heâd hoped.
You have to be tougher, thatâs all.
Ben ignored the way his leg was shaking so hard, it wouldnât support any weight. He was glad Cadence was at the far end of the poolâheâd timed it that way. She stood by the diving pool, separated by a concrete bridge from the regular pool. The diving boards towered behind her, the springboard and platforms empty and still.
For an instant the image of Cadence on TV accepting her medal was superimposed on her standing poolside in her jacket and suit, with her silver whistle hanging around her neck.
He still couldnât reconcile the two images as she moved on ordinary, discount-store flip-flops along the deck, squatting down with the grace of a gymnast to speak with the elderly lady whoâd passed him about six times in the next lane.
Whatever happened to Cadence is none of your business, man.
Ben snatched his crutches and settled them into place. The deck was aggregate concrete, which provided decent traction for his crutches, but it was slightly wet in places from folks dripping on their way from the showers to the pool. He went slowly.
More devoted swimmers were arrivingâit looked as if heâd stopped at just the right time. Heâd been all right swimming slowly and steadily, but heâd been ina lane by himself. If heâd stayed in the pool longer, he wouldnât have been able to keep pace.
His pride burned as he headed to the locker-room door on his crutches. Heâd remember to be here the same timeâwhen they openedâtomorrow. And Cadence, would she be on duty?
Keeping his face down, he risked