It’s not just a splash. It’s a whole-ass event. Some wiry demon-child hurls herself off the diving board with the grace of a possessed goblin, landing in a geyser of chaos while her mom cheers like this is normal and not, in fact, a waking nightmare.
Every atom in my body screams no. My soul does a backflip, my heart hits factory reset, and I yeet myself directly into the metal fence like a tragic, trembling pinball. Full-body clatter. Dignity? Missing, presumed drowned.
And then Benji appears out of nowhere. A shirtless, sun-warmed guardian angel with golden retriever eyes and swimmer’s shoulders that make my mouth malfunction. His hands are on me, one on my back, one catching my arm like I’m breakable and worth catching. Which is frankly unfair.
“Delilah,” he says, voice low, concerned, sweet as vanilla and sin. “Are you okay?”
Oh no. That tone. I can’t. His concern slides under my skin. I blink up at him, dumb and wet-brained, because his jawline is doing unspeakable things to my central nervous system.
“No,” I say, honest and breathless. “I thought I could do this. It’s just water, right? But also, no. Hard pass. Brain says no. Body says nope. I think I’m going to evaporate.”
His brows pull together, beautifully confused. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I,” I try, but words fumble out like half-melted crayons. “It’s pools. Just... pools. I was left in one. When I was a kid. Drowned a little. Not like the fun metaphorical way. The actual way. Lots of bubbles. Less air.”
“Oh,” he says, and he doesn’t flinch or pity me or look away. Just steadies me like I’m not too much. “Okay. Thank you for telling me.”
My throat wobbles. “I’ll just go. I ruined it. This was dumb. You should go teach your mermaid class and I’ll go eat cereal aggressively somewhere.”
“Delilah,” he says, gentle but firm, “this is what I do. I help people get comfortable in the water. You’re not ruining anything. Let me help.”
“Help how?” I croak, suspicious and hopeful in that stray dog with trust issues way. “Can we sit? Not in the pool. Like… over there. Opposite side of the fence. Or just emotionally adjacent to the pool?”
He smiles. And holy hell, it’s like sunshine beamed directly into my ribcage.
“Sure,” he says. “We can start wherever you need to. Even if it’s just talking. Even if you don’t want to get in today.”
When did this man get so perfect?
Somehow, somewhere in my meltdown, our hands found each other. His fingers are warm and calloused and gentle. He’s not pulling. Just there. Anchoring. Waiting for me to decide.
I nod.
He leads me, slowly, sweetly, to the shallow end. “What if we sit on the first step together?” he says, crouching beside it. “Youdon’t even have to let the water touch your feet unless you’re ready.”
I want to joke. Want to say something unhinged about drowning in his arms or choking on chlorine and fate, but my mouth won’t go full feral. Not right now. Not when he’s this sincere, this safe.
I sit beside him, knees drawn up like a terrified Victorian orphan, toes just barely brushing the surface.
Benji grins and dips his feet in too. “See? Just water. Nothing scary when we do it together.”
My heart is doing stupid things like hoping, fluttering, and trying to fight its way out through my ribcage in a doomed escape attempt.
“You’re kind,” I whisper, and I absolutely did not give my mouth permission to say that out loud. Traitor.
Benji’s smile goes soft around the edges, like a warm cookie still gooey in the middle. He bumps my shoulder, light and playful. “You deserve that.”
And maybe I do.
Just for now. Just for this warm, stupid second where he hasn’t seen the blood yet. The teeth. The parts of me that bite.
But he will.
They always do.
And then they run, and I chase, and that’s the part I know how to survive.
We sit on the pool steps together. Just enough water to threaten my dignity but not quite enough to drown in, so... progress. He talks to me. Asks questions as if I’m interesting, and the answers matter. It’s awful. Wonderful. Panic-inducing.
