At ten laps, he decides to call it a race. He’s won, there’s no doubt about it, and he pulls himself up out of the water onto the side of the pool with arms that tremble close to exhaustion, but he feels vindicated. He feels good. Pushing up his goggles, he pulls them off, swim cap, too, and tosses both onto the starting block beside him. Water drips from his shoulders and neck and chest, tiny rivulets running between his thighs back into the pool beneath his legs. As he catches his breath, he watches Chase in the lane beside his, those powerful arms churning through the water, still playing catch up even though Rory has already won.
When Chase reaches the wall, he surfaces briefly and grabs the lip of the gutter, his whole body already angling back to launch into the lane again. But he s
