The Beautiful Game

Chapter Thirteen - Lou

The University pool had been deserted this morning, not a soul in sight. Unsurprising really, at eight am on a Saturday morning, the campus was a ghost town.

I'd decided to swim to clear my head and stretch out after I'd woken up from the world's worst sleep. Tossing and turning was doing nothing to help burn away the clawing, vivid memory of Carter with that girl, I'd felt like an awkward imposter in my own fresh sheets.

I swam two miles, barely stopping for rest; the more lengths I did, the calmer I'd felt. Something about the reflection of fluorescent lights on the pool tiles and the smell of chlorine soothed me. I felt free, weightless. Before climbing out to get changed I took one final dive down to the pool's deep end, enjoying the welcome silence of being underwater. It was gift of respite from the chaos of the upper world.

"Hear that, Lou? The sound their wings make as they fly?"

Please, no.

I splutter to the surface, breaking the frothing barrier; my chest burning as I try to desperately cough up the water I'd inhaled in panic at the memory which had broken loose from my control and punched me right in the gut.

Other swimmers had turned up in the time I'd been there, their concerned attention fixed on me as I latch on to the pool's edge.

Breathe. Control it. Push the memories down.

Don't let it consume you again Lou. It hurts too much.

***

"I just knew you'd be cool about it; you never have plans! I mean you're practically part of the crusty furniture at this point." Amber's shrill voice singsongs from where she stands, reapplying her coral lipstick and fluffing her hair in the chrome of the espresso machine.

Amber is another Michigan student, and fellow Burnt Toast staff, if you could even call her that. She flaked out of more shifts than Elvis did hip thrusts.

"I'll do one of your shifts next week!" She won't. "Loves ya!" She doesn't.

My shift should have finished at four thirty; instead, covering for Amber, who almost just knocked over an old lady to get out the door, meant I was here until close.

***

It had been hectic, almost impossible to keep track of the sheer volume of iced coffees, green juices, and oat milk lattes. Aching and dishevelled, I was definitely relieved when the place had finally emptied. People were no doubt exchanging their coffees for cocktails as the sun set.

I put my earphones in and begin the deep clean that we had to do on every weekend close. Billie Holiday crooned through my earphones as I swept and mopped the hardwood floors.

It was a welcomed distraction; I hadn't thought about last night once and I'd be damned if I was going to keep reliving the moment I'd coughed up a lung in front of Michigan's swim team.

Muscles sore and feet heavy, the only way I even noticed someone had entered the coffeeshop was when the flyaway hairs that had slipped free from my ponytail tickled my face as a breeze blew in from the open door.

"We're closed!" I call whilst moving to the last table.

Amidst my music I hear a mumbled response, deep and undoubtedly male. I reach up to take out an earphone, twisting to face the illiterate coffee fiend who clearly had trouble reading the 'closed' sign. "Sorry, we'r-" All words fail me as I see Carter, his huge frame filling the suddenly cramped and impossibly small coffeeshop.