Deceit (Gallows Hill Book 1), page 3
Fear of being in trouble rips through me, as I quickly pull my legs out of the pool and go to stand.
“Oh, sorry. Sorry. I just…I’m new and I found this and—”
He walks over to me and holds his hand up to stop me from talking, which I appreciate because I didn’t really have anything to follow up with. His eyes trace over me, assessing, before he kicks off his shoes and socks. Taking a seat a few feet away from me at the edge. He rolls up his pant legs, much like I did before slipping his toned calves into the water.
I watch him carefully as I return my legs to the water. He stares out at the pool silently and I do the same, a sort of comfortability settling in the air as we just…exist.
I find myself stealing a glance in his direction and when I do, I find that he’s already staring at me.
“I’m Skyla,” I say, feeling the need to say something.
He watches me for several seconds, before he dips his head in what looks like a greeting.
“Coach Ronan.”
“Coach?” I ask. “Swim coach?”
He nods his head, but doesn’t speak for a moment. “Do you swim competitively?”
I open my mouth to respond before I stop short, curious on how much I could reveal to this man and if it would make its way back to my father. He doesn’t seem to have the persona that some of the other staff possess. He’s a little more…solemn, jaded maybe. I suppose that could work in my favor either way.
“No.” I answer, choosing the safer, more honest route.
His eyes don’t relent though, burrowing into me like he knows there’s more to it. How would he know? I have no clue.
“Why do you ask?” I question, mainly to get his intense stare off me.
“The way you looked when you put your feet in the water, it was like you were at peace. As if you were coming home. Only real swimmers, true athletes, get a look like that.”
My head tilts curiously.
“You saw me come in?”
He gestures his head towards another door that I didn’t see from around the corner.
“There are cameras in my office to keep an eye on the pool, make sure no little shits vandalize the place or something.”
I lean my head back, spotting at least two cameras instantly. Nodding to myself, I look back out at the water.
“It’s really beautiful, don’t you think?” I ask.
He looks at me for several seconds before looking out at the water.
“Extremely.”
His eyes cut back to me, and I can physically feel my cheeks flush. I wish I could will them to stop, but it’s impossible. His gaze is so serious, so focused, and completely trained on me. If I were to guess, I would say he looks to be at least in his late twenties, maybe early thirties. Definitely too old for me to be sitting here blushing over.
When my jerk of a fiancé flashes to the forefront of my mind though, I figure what’s the harm in a little inappropriate flirting, right?
“Do you swim competitively?” I ask with a small smirk, mirroring his words from before.
I don’t know why, but something about that makes him give me half of a smile. Just half of it is breathtaking, I can’t imagine the whole thing hitting you at full force.
“Not anymore.”
His smile slowly fades as that same look of confliction passes over his face. The nosy part of me wants to pry, but the respectable part of me knows better than to pick at what’s obviously a sore subject. So I stay silent, enjoying the crisp water on my toes and the gorgeous man before my eyes. Not the worst way to spend a morning.
We sit there for another few minutes in comfortable silence, before my alarm goes off, reminding me that my next class is starting soon. I give a wanting look out to the pool before I sigh.
“I have to get going,” I say with a sad smile.
He’s up and out of the pool in a flash, coming to my side and offering me his hand. I give him a brief look before I accept his gesture, sliding my palm into his as he wraps his fingers around my wrist. Butterflies race from the start of our contact all the way to my toes. It’s a feeling that has me gasping softly, as he easily helps hoist me out of the water and onto my feet.
I stumble for a moment and he catches me easily, stabilizing my hips with his palms as he looks down at me. The tension is palpable and so thick I can hardly breathe over it. Not that I mind at all.
I practically hold my breath as his eyes slowly roam over my face, starting with my eyes before going down my cheeks over to my mouth and up the other side. When he’s finished, those bright pools of blue stare back at me, his fingers tensing for half of a second before he quickly drops his hands and takes a small step back. All of the building tension slips away, fading into the air between us as he clears his throat.
“Sorry,” he says roughly, like it’s hard for him to speak.
Giving him a soft smile, I shake my head.
“Thank you,” I say before I move past him, slipping on my socks and shoes and grabbing my purse.
I could just head out the door, it’s right in front of me. Instead, I turn to face him and give him the barest of smiles as I speak softly.
“Thanks for letting me stay for a bit. I…I needed it.”
He dips his head in acknowledgement but doesn’t say anything, so with a small wave, I slip out the door. I head in the direction of my next class, wherever it actually is, all the while thinking of two bright blue eyes the entire way.
Chapter Four
Skyla
The rest of my day went by surprisingly well. Maggie and I met for lunch. She ended up taking us to this really cool hole in the wall sandwich shop that had to die for chili cheese fries. I had never tried them before. Carbs were practically banned at my school in London, which is a disgusting rule, I know. Oh my god, though. Change my freaking life– delicious. I could gain twenty pounds for all I care, as long as I can have an infinite supply of those fries.
Once I was in for the night, I called Steph and we talked for a few hours. I told her about my ‘lovely’ fiancé as well as Maggie. I even mentioned the pool that I had found on campus. Conveniently, I did leave out the whole sexy swim coach part. I’m not sure why I didn’t tell her, we tell each other everything. Maybe I didn’t tell her because honestly, there was nothing to tell. God, he was so hot though.
I set my alarm for a few hours before my first class today, because ever since yesterday I’ve only had one thing on my mind. I slip into my swimsuit, grabbing my cap and goggles before throwing on a t-shirt and baggy sweatpants. If my father saw me looking like this, out in public no less, I think he would die of a heart attack. I refuse to get all done up only to submerge myself under water, though.
The way to the pool from my dorm is actually pretty straightforward, and I get there in minutes. The sun still hasn’t risen, and the courtyard is quiet as I sneak inside the building. Crossing my fingers that the door is unlocked, my heart does a happy little flip when I pull the door and it gives way to my hand.
I make my way through the hall before pulling open the door to the pool. I’m smiling to myself, excited to have the pool to myself, except I’m not the only one here. There is somebody already in the pool. I can’t tell who it is, not like I really know anyone here anyways. All I can see is a back covered in what looks like tattoos. They stretch down the length of both of his arms and his back, stopping just above his swimsuit.
His moves are so fluid, so graceful. He practically glides through the water like he’s a part of it, as if it was as easy as simply existing. He’s making the breaststroke look that easy at least, as he rises up and down from the water, taking only enough breath to push him one more stroke. I have to admit that he’s incredibly fast as well, I’m dumbstruck just watching him go.
Suddenly he stops, ripping off his goggles as he levels me with a stare that feels capable of incinerating me right here, right now.
“The pool is closed,” he practically snarls.
My head jerks back, as if his words physically struck me before I raise an unimpressed eyebrow at him.
“Doesn’t look closed.”
“It is. You can’t be in here,” he bites out.
God, this man is absolutely infuriated. Like my proximity offends him on a cellular level, and he’s two seconds from decimating everything and everyone near him.
Unfortunately for him, he’s not even close to one of the most intimidating men I’ve ever met, and the worst thing I could do is show weakness in front of someone like him. So, I don’t.
I keep my eyes on him the entire time I set my bag to the floor before taking off my sweatpants and shirt. I don’t even break our stare as I pull my cap out. Somehow, I magically keep my eyes in his direction, as I bend over to tuck every piece of hair inside and slip my goggles on before I stand up again.
His nostrils are flared, and his mouth pulled up into an ugly sneer that doesn’t do anything for how surprisingly good looking he is.
Seriously, what is it about this college? I don’t think I’ve seen a single bad looking man or woman since I’ve gotten here. Genetic lottery or something? I’m definitely not complaining, I just wish some, or most, of them had better attitudes to compliment those good looks.
I walk past him, keeping my head high and not having a care in the world that he’s watching me as I do a perfect dive into the opposite side of the pool. Instead of doing a warm-up lap or jumping straight into a workout, I dive down until my belly scrapes against the bottom before I cross my legs and sit.
It doesn’t matter that I can’t physically breathe down here, metaphorically, emotionally, spiritually, whatever you want to call it, I finally have breath poured into my lungs. A soft peace falls over me, and the stillness of the water heals something inside me that I’m not sure is even broken.
I’ve missed this. So much.
Sadly, my lungs begin to burn, and I feel the warning signs that I need to return to the surface for air, but I’m so desperate for this peace that I want just another second or two.
Unfortunately the next thing I know, two strong arms are wrapping around me, hauling me to the surface. When we break through, I inhale a greedy breath, allowing my chest to heave as my breathing begins to normalize.
Once it does, I’m furious. I spin around to face my ‘savior’ splashing a large amount of water into his face. His goggles are still off and I get him right in the eye. I wish I could be sorry, but I’m not.
He winces, rubbing at his eyes, before he levels me with a murderous look.
“What is your problem!? Why did you grab me?” I snap.
His gaze becomes almost crazed.
“What the fuck is wrong with you? You trying kill yourself down there?”
I roll my eyes at him.
“Did it look like I was trying to kill myself? No. I was just taking a moment. I was about to come up for air.”
“Whatever you say, Siren,” he scoffs.
I frown at that and am about to ask him what he means by Siren, when something catches me off guard. His eyes are so grey they look like slabs of slate. They’re a perfect combination between dark and light grey. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life.
God, what is it with me and noticing everyone’s eyes? Do I have an eye fetish? Is that a thing? I think it might be.
Some of the anger begins to fade in them as I continue to stare at him before he looks away, practically shoving out of the water as fast as he can. He easily lifts himself out of the pool and onto the concrete walkway, grabbing a towel and a duffel bag in the corner, as he heads for the locker rooms.
Shaking my head, I begin with some warm-up laps before I line up on one end. Though I was never given the chance to actually compete, me and some of the girls at my school and in my swim club would race. It made it all the more fun, having someone push you, someone to compare yourself to and setting new goals to strive for.
I look up at the clock, waiting for the hand to hit twelve before I begin. I’ve always been a fan of the butterfly stroke. Though it is arguably one of the most challenging strokes, it’s the most fun in my opinion. If I could have competed, this is definitely what I would have chosen.
My arms glide through the water and my shoulders burn as I bring my head up to the surface, gasping in a breath before doing it again and again. My legs are burning as they fight to continue propelling me. God, it’s been a while that’s for sure. Like riding a bike though, it starts to come back to me. I can feel each stroke getting more fluid, more synchronized as I make it to the end of the pool, flip and do it all the way back.
As soon as I surface, my head whips around to see my time– sixty-eight seconds. Damn. I mean, it’s not bad but it’s not great. When I was an avid swimmer, I was comfortably under fifty-nine seconds when doing the butterfly 100 meter.
“You again,” a deep voice rumbles from across the pool, forcing my eyes to land on the figure above.
Coach Ronan is wearing basketball shorts today and a sleeveless tank top. His forehead is dotted with sweat, and it looks like he just got done with a run if his shoes are anything to go off of.
I don’t say anything, mainly because I’m not sure what to make of his statement. He let me stay yesterday. Was that just a one-time thing? Did he not want me to come back again? I really hope it isn’t the latter.
He stares at me for several seconds, looking up at the clock before his eyes come back down to me.
“100?” he questions.
I nod quietly as he lifts the bottom of his shirt to wipe off the sweat from his forehead, gifting me with the view of gorgeously toned abs.
When he drops the material, I can’t lie that I’m disappointed. Would it be so bad of me to tell him that he missed a spot?
“What was your time?” Ronan pants, taking a slow controlled breath, forcing his chest to settle.
Embarrassment nips at me, he’s a swim coach for an elite college. I’m sure he has swimmers that are cutting my time by ten seconds at least. He continues staring at me as if he won’t accept my silence, though.
“Sixty-eight,” I say softly, lowering my head so I don’t see the disappointment on his face. God, I hate being a disappointment. Chalking it up to whatever kind of mommy-daddy abandonment issues you want, I hate being in trouble and I hate being a letdown. Like, to an absolute extreme.
“When was the last time you trained?” he asks, his tone curious with no judgment.
I glance up to him carefully before I shrug.
“Five years.”
His eyebrows knit together. “You haven’t swam in five years?”
“No, I have,” I say. “Just not in a serious sense. Not outside of doing laps in my friend’s pool.”
“Well, shit. With a time like that and virtually no training in over five years, that’s impressive.”
“Really?” I ask. “What are your other girls’ times?”
He shakes his head. “We only have a men’s team.”
My face screws up at that as I take off my goggles, tossing them to the side as he slowly starts walking towards me.
“Why?”
He shrugs, choosing not to fully answer which I find odd. His steps take him all the way up to me, crouching down so he’s closer to my eye level as he speaks.
“You should start training again. You could be really good.”
I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face, even if I try. I do try to bite it back, but it’s no use.
“Why are you trying to hide your smile?” he asks, that half smile of his own tugging at his lips.
“I’ve just never heard that before. It’s nice,” I say softly, cringing at how insecure I sound.
His hand reaches out to my cheek, cupping it tentatively, like he’s giving me space to pull away. Yeah, like that’ll happen. I lean into his touch and his thumb pulls at my lip, freeing it from my teeth.
“You should hear it more.”
There was nothing I could do, no way it could have been prevented. My smile turns megawatt, as I grin up at this deliriously good looking older man, cupping my face tenderly and giving me all the words I’ve longed to hear from anyone before.
We stay like that for several seconds, just staring at one another before I speak.
“Are all teachers as caring as you?”
Something flickers behind his eyes as he lowers his voice, still holding my face as he does.
“If any of them are to you, you let me know.”
With that, he pulls away, standing up to his full height as he turns on his heel. I don’t let him go that easily, though. I lift myself out of the pool, climbing to my feet before I start after him.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.
He continues walking for several steps and then he pauses, causing me to bump into his back before he turns to face me.
“It means, if a teacher is looking at you the way I am, you should definitely report them.”
My stomach flips at his words as I look up at him curiously, doing my best to keep my tone light.
“Doesn’t that mean I should report you?” I test.
He shrugs.
“You could, but I’m a coach, not a teacher.”
“Is there a difference?”
“Definitely,” he nods.
I let out a laugh at that as I nod.
“I’m not sure my father would see things that way.”
“I don’t know, I can be a pretty charming guy,” he says with a smirk.
“Oh, I don’t doubt that. Regardless, you’re definitely too old to be flirting with students, Coach.”
“Who said I was flirting?” he asks, that flirtatious smile speaking volumes.
I got the vibes a little bit yesterday, but I wasn’t sure if I was making it up in my head or not. Now I know, without a doubt, I was absolutely not making it up and I don’t even want to question it. So, I take a step closer to him, brushing my chest against his in a way that makes him skip a breath, before he looks down at me. His eyes flick over his shoulder as if he were checking to make sure no one was coming, before he turns back to face me.
