Author Note: I think it's about time I update...
Just wanted to say a massive thank you to all who supported me on the last chapter! Appreciate you all so much❤️. Also a shout-out to the original people that supported this story, I wouldn't be here without you. Anyway, enjoy the story...
***
Oliver is mad. Eye twitching— hands clenched—body tense, type of mad.
He doesn't say anything for the first few minutes, he checks my hand and intently scans me for any other injuries. He's unusually quiet while he does so, his lips pressed into a firm thin line. When he comes to the conclusion I'm alright, he takes an angry step back.
He lets out a puff of air, rakes a hand through his hair, narrows his eyes.
"You, a so fucking immature, Beau," he grits, then louder, "so IMMATURE!"
I stay silent, like a child being scowled.
"You need to control your god-damn anger!" He yells before swearing, and then again. "FUCK! What were you thinking?"
He paces some more, raking a hand through his hair, tugging hair, jaw working until he finally says, "You're on a scholarship Beau! You are in no position to be getting eliminated from races let alone competition finals like this!"
I sit quietly, watching him pace the bathroom tugging the ends of his hair. It's like a prey watching its predator's moves, assessing how much of a threat they are—seeing how much shit I am in.
If there is one thing I know about Oliver from the past two years of swimming with him, it's that he doesn't lose his cool. That's what makes him a good captain. He is always the man of control and regimen. He's calculative, he analyses the full situation before acting. He's smart and collected. He's calm.
He's not so calm now...
This would be a monumental moment if I wasn't the one caught in the crossfire. Maybe in a sick twisted way, the 'old me' would feel proud. Proud, that I made Oliver Fowler lose his cool, that I was the one to make him snap.
But that's the old me, new me feels sick—feels anxiously guilty. Feels like shit.
New me sucks.
He grabs my collar, roughly pulling me towards him and effectively out of my thoughts.
"Why? Why did you do that? Why would you self-sabotage yourself like that?" his eyes flicker between my own.
I look away avoiding his eyes. I mutter under my breath, "It's not like I was going to beat you anyway."
He shakes his head in disbelief for a second before he responds. "You're right." He says honestly. "You wouldn't have beaten me."
The arrogance of this man, someone needs to knock him down a notch or two, or ten?
"Or not," he shrugs. "Guess we will never know."
I grind my teeth.
"Whatever, Golden boy." I try to shrug off his grip but he doesn't let me go.
In fact, his grip tightens, eyes darkening. "I thought I told you not to call me that because I'm more than willing to change your mind on that."
I pause.
I don't think we are talking about the same thing anymore...
His eyes flick back to mine. "You can't pull shit like this."
I roll my eyes, ignoring the irregular thumping of my heart. "Why do you care?"
He ignores what I say and lets go of my arms taking a step back. "Pull that shit again Beau, and I won't be this easy on you."
I scoff, arching a brow. "This is easy?"
He chuckles leaning back in my space, standing to his full height and those few inches feel like a lot. "Yes, this is easy."
There's a loud banging on the door. "Oi Beau, get your arse out here!" Coaches voice yells.
Coach is next.
He yells at me and I take it. Again. I sit there and take all the shit he gives me. I don't even bat an eye. All I want to do is crawl into bed and never get out. Screw swimming. I don't even care that I got disqualified from my last race, that I risk losing my scholarship. I don't care at all. And that would worry me—if I cared.
After a few good minutes of Coach yelling at me, he sees me.
Really sees me.
He sees how broken I am. I may have landed more punches on Josh, but I'm the bruised and battered one. I'm the beaten one.
I'm the broken one.
Coach stop yelling at me when he sees it gets no response out of me. His eyes soften for a second and he sighs deeply before sitting down so he is eye to eye with me.
"We're going to talk about this later." He touches my shoulder, a comforting touch. "Let's get the team back to the hotel now and get ready for our team dinner tonight."
He gets up, pausing at the door to look back at me. "Don't worry kid, you're going to be okay. Everything is going to be alright. "
I sigh, rubbing my palms on my pants and getting up.
I hope so Coach. I really hope so.
***
Fries always lift my mood. They always have and I always thought they would... except, it's not.
Not tonight.
I stab my fork into my food almost aggressively, shuffling it around on my plate.There's nothing wrong with the food, in fact, it looks so fucking good. I know it is from the multiple moans of the swim team and the shovelling of food in their mouth.
But I don't have an appetite tonight.
I feel sick.
My knuckles are bruised, the skin split, red and raw. I get a sick feeling in my gut every time I see them, so I try to keep my eyes focused on the plate.
I think I single-handedly fucked up our team's chance of winning overall points for this race, and everyone knows it.
Not to mention risking my spot on the team and scholarship, the consequences of my actions have well sunk in over the last few hours. God—I can't believe I sucker-punched Josh.
I mean... yeah, he deserved it. But there is such a thing as wrong timing, and thinking back—I could have picked a better time.
"You going to eat it, or just play with it all night?" Sophie nudges me with her elbow beside me.
"Play," is my short blunt answer.
Andy grabs my fries with his bare hands and relocates them on his plate, then continues to eat them with a self-content expression on his face.
I glare at him. That bitch.
He gives me an innocent look. "What? Play with the salt, pepper, and shit. These chips are too damn good to be wasted."
I sigh, looking back down at my plate.
My temper is short, I know this. I am always angry, I have anger in me that built up since I was a kid. It's a burning red inside of me that started from my Father, and that shit has only ever grown.
I have to unlearn the anger. I'm tired of being angry all the time.
It doesn't help watching Tasha flirt so shamelessly with Oliver. I don't know why I care so much, I hate the guy, right? I mean it's a hate, but I-want-to-kiss-you-sometimes, kind of relationship. Totally normal.
I try to ignore the hand Tasha places on Oliver's arm. I really do. But my eyes are unwillingly dragging back. I stare daggers at her hand.
I never knew I could feel such hatred towards a hand.
I try to suppress the shiver of anger that runs through me, I forcibly unclench my fists and take a few deep breaths. Chill Beau. No more anger.
I silently listen to the team chatting away, to Tasha talking Oliver's ear off and Ryan blaming his bad race start on slipping.
I clear my throat, interrupting their conversation. "Look, guys, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking straight today and it probably cost us places."
Oliver nods, his expression hard. "You're right, you weren't thinking straight."
"Ha, opposite of straight," Andy chuckles to himself.
I shoot him a dry look.
Tasha shakes her head, "yeah, well our team could have placed first on points if you didn't get disqualified."
I grimace.
"And our team could have placed first if you didn't butcher your last race too," Sophie rolls his eyes.
Tasha narrows her eyes on her.
Sophie shrugs, "yeah, Beau did get disqualified from the last race. But if any one of us placed a litter high on some of our races, excluding Oliver, we could have won as well."
I smile at Sophie and she winks back.
"Yeah, but we didn't place higher because we weren't good enough. Beau got eliminated because he was being dumb," Ben scoffs.
"You know, I think what Beau did was cool," Ryan speaks up from across the table, surprising everyone, including me.
"Cool? How is beating the shit out of someone cool?" Oliver counters with an eyebrow arched, not looking impressed.
Ryan shrugs and I hold my breath, hoping he keeps his no-filter-mouth shut. "Josh is a dick, he had it coming for him."
"If you don't like the guy, beat him. Preferably in the water and without fists," Oliver grunts, chucking another fry in his mouth.
The team snicker.
"As if that will satisfy, Beau" Andy scoffs. "He only cares about beating you."
Oliver's eyebrows raise and he suddenly looks intrigued.
My face burns.
Fucking Andy.
"Is that so?" Oliver questions, paying his full attention to me now.
I ignore him and shove a slice of, now cold, pizza in my mouth, despite having no appetite.
"You only want to beat me, hmm." He drums his fingers on the table, looking thoughtful for a moment. "What would you give me if I let you win?"
I feel the heat of his words sink in, burning through layers of my skin right to the bone.
"You can't possibly let him win!" Ryan splutters in outrage. "That ruins the whole point of winning!"
Oliver shrugs, not taking his eye off me and not letting mine leaves his. "Not if the deal is good."
I shake my head, annoyed at the thought. "When I win, and I will win, it will be because I am better than you! Not because you let me."
I'm insulted he thinks I can't beat him. I only a little behind his times.
Oliver leans back in his chair looking amused. He crosses his arms across his chest, showcasing his muscular arms and veins stretching up his forearms. He reeks of confidence and arrogance, it irritates the fuck out of me.
I press my forearms onto the table leaning closer, eyes narrowed in anger. "What, you don't believe it?"
He tilts his head to the side. "I didn't say that."
"So you think I can beat you?"
He looks thoughtful for a moment, rubbing his slight stubble as he thinks. "I think you will, one day. But not for the reasons you think." His voice is low. Too low.
I lean closer intrigued. We are in our own world now, only us. Everyone else's conversation blurred into the background. Everyone else out of focus and Oliver is the only thing I am seeing.
He leans closer in return grinning, like he is enjoying this game we are playing.
"You won't beat me because you are better than me, because you're faster, or even have better technique than me. You'll beat me because my mind will be more focused on the competition than the race."