I follow the sound into the living room.
Mia’s there. Barefoot, wearing a tank top and shorts, hair a messy twist on top of her head, moving like she’s got sparks under her skin. There’s this tight coil in her body, like if she stops moving, she might snap in half.
“Morning,” I say, voice still graveled from sleep, leaning against the doorframe locking one ancle over the other.
She stops. Turns. Her eyes land on me, and I swear, I feel it all the way to my spine. “Morning.”
“You okay? You look like you're about to crawl out of your skin.”
“I'm fine.” She runs a hand through her dark hair, pulling it tighter. “Just restless. I usually swim every morning. It's been days since I've had a proper workout.”
I nod, understanding dawning. She doesn’t have to explain. I get it. For her, water isn’t just sport, it’s a burning need her body craves.
“The Wellington community pool doesn't open until noon on Mondays”
“I know.” She sighs, resuming her pacing. “It's fine. I'll survive.”
But the look on her face says otherwise. Her body is tense, her movements agitated. Swimming isn't just exercise for her—it's oxygen, necessary for survival.
“Want breakfast?” I offer. “I make a mean omelet. No pepper, I promise.”
That earns me a small smile. “Sure. Let me just change first.”
As she disappears down the hallway, my phone buzzes. Lily.
Lily: How’s it goin’ with swimmer girl? You scare her off with your lovesick puppy eyes yet?
I roll my eyes, thumbs tapping fast.
Me: She’s climbing the walls. Needs to swim. Pool’s closed.
Lily:The river, dummy.
My thumb hesitates mid-air.
The river.
Jake’s river.
Just reading the word makes my stomach lurch. It’s been eight years since I set foot in that water. Since I lost my brother to it. Since I watched my world shatter, piece by piece, and never figured out how to glue it back together.
The thought of Mia swimming there makes my chest tighten.
But then I picture Mia’s face last night. The way she smiled. The way she let herself laugh like she hadn’t in days and how being in the water, hell even just talking about swimming, lights up her entire face.
I can’t let her keep unraveling like this.
The thought of her suffering without her routine feels worse somehow. Another text comes though.
Lily:She's a champion swimmer.The current's not strong this time of year. And it would mean a lot to her.
She's right.
We eat breakfast in silence. She picks at hers, not quite able to fake an appetite. I tell her I need to do something outside, and I leave before she can ask too many questions.
Out back, I grab gloves and a machete from the shed. The old trail down to the river’s been swallowed by weeds and overgrowth, nature reclaiming what I couldn’t bear to look at.Jake and I used to race down this path barefoot, hollering like idiots. After he died, I avoided it like it was cursed.
The blade swings. Branches fall. My breath hitches every time I get closer. But I keep going, thinking of her. Of the peace she finds in water. Of the way she’s been carrying tension in her shoulders like she’s afraid to let go.
