“You’ve got this, pet,” he says, voice low and rich and warm as summer honey. He smooths a hand over my spine and leans in to kiss my cheek, soft.
My knees wobble. My whole brain resets.
He sees me. Really sees me. My fear, my nerves, the way my hands are shaking even though I’m pretending they’re not. I want to crawl into his lap and beg him to lecture me. I want to earn his approval like a star pupil on the edge of an A+ and a spanking.
“Sure,” I say, voice cracking a little. “Thanks.”
Benji’s already at the edge of the pool with his arms open. His smile is tender and patient and filled with so much knowing. He doesn’t push. Never has.
“You don’t have to today,” he calls. “Just ‘cause lessons are over doesn’t mean we can’t keep coming. There’s no rush. You can always wait. I’ll always be here.”
Fuck.
“I’m ready,” I say.
It might be a lie. It might be the truth. It might be the wild chaos of all three of them watching me and wanting me and believing in me so hard I can’t bear to disappoint them.
But my legs move. My feet touch the water. My chest rises and falls. And Benji is still there. Like always.
The water touches my toes and my heart tries to claw its way up my throat.
It’s warm. Familiar. Benji-heated. Benji-loved. There’s no chlorine sting, no kids screaming, no slippery bottom. It’s the same pool I’ve been coming to for weeks. I know the feel of Benji’s hands around my waist, his voice coaxing me, his touch safe and wide and steady.
But my lungs don’t give a shit about facts.
My ribs cinch tight. My body stutters.
I’m suddenly a child again, legs slick with pool water and panic, screaming. I remember the burn. The choke. The way the water became a mouth and tried to eat me whole. I remember flailing for air and getting laughter instead.
Benji’s voice cuts through the spiraling. “Hey.” He’s still waist-deep, arms open, expression calm. “You’re alright. You’re here. I’ve got you.”
My foot slips. Just a little. Enough to remind me this isn’t solid ground.
I let out a choking little noise and step back. My hands shake. My whole body feels wired wrong.
“I can’t,” I whisper. “I can’t.”
Benji doesn’t move. Doesn’t scold. Doesn’t crowd me. “You’re doing great,” he says gently. “You can stop here if you want. We can just sit. You’re already in. That’s a win.”
No.
That word flares in me like fire. No, I don’t want to stop. No, I’m not done being brave. No, I didn’t drag myself through hell just to lose to a fucking pool.
I take another step.
Then another.
Benji steps back with me, slow and careful, giving me the space to follow or not.
My breath is shivery and I hate how shaky my legs feel. I hate that I’m crying. I hate that even after everything I’ve survived, this still gets me.
“I’m right here,” he promises.
I reach out instinctively, grabbing onto his shoulders.
They’re warm. Strong. Steady.
I cling. I press my face into his neck and let the ugly little sobs break free. Just a few. Just enough. Just long enough to remember I’m safe.
