Loving Coach

Drew was finding it difficult to concentrate. He knew the moment he hit the water, life would be bearable again. Everything made more sense off-land than it did on solid ground - life always did. He could still hear the crowd going wild, but it wasn't right. They didn't cheer for him. He could hear the quiet through the loud cheers. He knew that within the roaring crowd hid a few occupied chairs, people who didn't get up and cheer with the rest of the crowd, sitting quietly, motionless, as his dreams were shed to tethers.

Before he allowed his mind to drift back to that day, he ran the short way to the edge of the pool and made the jump. All the bad memories faded as water soon engulfed his being. He was home. Pushing his lungs to the limit, he stayed under for as long as his burning lungs would allow him. He forced his head to the surface out of pure need for oxygen. Drew made a satisfying gasp for fresh air before noticing his ASCA coach standing at the edge of the pool. Coach's arms were crossed across his swimmer-chest as usual, the omniscient scowl of disapproval peering at him from behind his black shades.

"Got that out of your system today?" said James.

Drew ignored him and dipped his head backwards, letting the water run through his hair again before making his way over to his coach. He took the swimming cap and goggles from James, trying not to notice the thin trunks stretched over his coach's bulky thighs. He instead, expertly put on the gear before shooting back into the pool.

"You know me, I'm always happiest inside the pool."

"Get it out of your system, we have work to do," James said.

His coach's all-business approach was one of the things he appreciated most of him, most of the time. Sometimes, though, like today, it got on his nerves, and not in a good way.

"Did you do your drylands?"

"Did you get out of bed this morning?"

"Well, if you're making quips already then you're halfway out of your funk."

"Who said anything about a funk?" Drew said as started his usual warm-up routine. "Get on with it," James said and blew his whistle a few seconds longer than usual, for extra emphasis it seemed.

Drew didn't need to be told twice. He got to work on his warm-up routine and got blissfully lost in the monotonous exercises he'd been doing for years and had been doing in his sleep for almost longer.

He was called out of his reverie by the shrill of his coach's loud whistle and finished his lap before taking off the goggles and catching his breath.

"Once you're done with the easy stuff, we can get started on the routine," his coach said.

Drew had gotten caught up in his warm-ups and knew he would probably have spent the entire practice session keeping to the easy stuff if he didn't have his coach to drill him. But he still didn't look forward to practising his fly.

"Get on with it," James said impatiently.

Drew shot back into the pool and started working on his butterfly stroke.

"I'm still not happy," James said as Drew made his way to the showers.

Practice was finished for the day but his time with coach wasn't done yet. It was time to rehash the day's practice, work on pointers, strategize, emphasize his weak points and work on a way to improve, develop, advance and finally place on the team.

"You and I both," Drew said before hitting the showers.

He stripped off his trunks and crumpled it at the entrance to the locker room. The hot water hit him like hot lava spewing from the shower head. While the pool was his main therapy, hot showers were his after-therapy. The hot water pounded his sore muscles and cleaned the chlorine off his skin and out of his hair. It burned his body and left him red hot, reminding him that he was still breathing. As the buzz of the practice session wore off and the shower was stretched to its end, the memories threatened to overtake his mind again and Drew could feel the cloud start to settle back over him. The last four years had been a waste, but he was determined this would be his time.

"Why are you so vested in him?" Alice asked.

James stared at his beloved friend and topped her wine glass in lieu of an answer. Her gaze didn't let up and he settled back into the recliner. "He's one in a million," he said eventually.

"He dropped you bad," she said. "But then everyone deserves a second chance," she conceded.

"Are you playing devil's advocate and representing the state at the same time?" he smiled, referencing to her tough legal persona.

"I just don't want to see you waste another four years of your life," she said finally.

He knew his good friend was only looking out for him. But he couldn't let it slide.

"Drew just barely missed out of the qualifier," he said. He knew he sounded defensive, and visibly relaxed.

"You spent four years getting him to the USA Swimming Olympic Trials Swim Meet and he messed it up in the worst possible way. He missed it by a millisecond. It was your shot just as much as his. He didn't just disappoint himself that day," she said. "He only has a short window left to compete, to really compete. You know this. He's got one more, at the most two more chances, then he's basically out of chances," she said.

James knew all this, better than his assistant district attorney friend.

"I can get him to the Olympics," James said finally.

He sounded confident, almost as confident as he really felt. He believed in Drew, and believed in his talent. If only he could get the kid to step out of his own head.

"I've seen hundreds of swimmers in my years Ally, gifted swimmers, but none like him."

"As long as you're sure," Alice said, "you're not getting any younger yourself," she finished.

"Is that another thirties joke?" he said.

He tried to scowl at her but was too tipsy to care and smiled instead.

"Once you hit the big three zero, it's just downhill from there," she said. "Believe you me."

"Well, we'll always have our Wednesday nights," he said and topped up his own glass of wine and smiled, oblivious to the sadness behind his friend's eyes.

*****

"You're late," James said.

"Barely," Drew said as made his way past.

"You know the rules," James said. He knew he sounded tough, but it was necessary too, he knew.

"Seriously, dude, I know you mean well, but back the hell off."

He could see something was up with Drew, but he was a firm believer in leaving your shit at the door and stepping up to the plate when needed.

"You couldn't let me know you were going to be late? Just because you're father's paying my fee doesn't mean I'm fine with having my time wasted. I've got a waiting list the length of my arm of serious athletes waiting for my call," he said.

"What the fuck? It's the first time I've been late all season," Drew said defensively while hurrying into his swimming gear.

"And it's damn well going to be the last," James said, annoyed by his charge's bad attitude.

Having a bit of a headache from the leftover hangover of the night before, he made his way over to Drew and grabbed hold of his toned shoulders, forcing him to look him in the eyes.

"What happened?" James asked.

He could see the struggle behind green eyes as Drew struggled with the question of opening up to him or not.

"My father pays you to coach me, not to play shrink to me," Drew finally said and shrugged off his hold on his shoulders before covering his chest with the soon to be drenched lycra tight bodysuit.

James had been noticing the outline of his swimmer's body more and more these days. The boy was filling out in his early twenties, and couldn't even be classified as a boy anymore. He was turning into a man, and the training was developing his body in all the right places. If only maturity came with these growth spurts.

"You're not doing it right," James said.

His coach sounded far more exasperated than usual. Normally he had to screw up a lot more than this before he got his coach to this level of annoyance. It must have been the stupid quip about the shrink that had set him off, he thought. He just didn't want to go there with anyone yet, especially not his coach. No use in berating himself further, he thought, and instead of showing vulnerability or remorse for his actions, Drew did what he did best and challenged the authority in his life.

"Well if you're such a goddamn expert, get in here and show me the perfect fly," he said.

James did an expert backward dive from the diving board.

"Show off," Drew said under his breath as James came up for air.

"The secret to the perfect butterfly stroke," James said, "is the body-dolphin. And speed. You can't hesitate. You have to know it off by heart," he said as his hands glided off Drew's body, helping him to get the posture right.

The guy was passionate, Drew conceded, and it was infectious. Soon the bad mood was lifted, and they got involved. James was so graceful in the water, more than he could ever hope to be. Drew felt most comfortable in the water, but he saw the deftness with which James carried himself inside the pool, the ease, the joy that came with being in his element, imparting his expertise. He also noticed his coach's muscular swimmer's chest, the water catching in his lightly furred chest, rolling down each time he lifted himself out of the water.

"Why didn't you ever go pro?" Drew blurted out while taking a two minute break from practice and doing freestyle strokes.

He saw the carefree expression on his coach's face replaced with a slight shadow of furrowed brows and the familiar, set crease lines. He instantly regretted the question. Readying himself for a rebuff, he was surprised by the directness of his coach's reply.

"I didn't have what it takes to make the big time," he said.

Drew watched him as he continued with his K-treads. He just imagined his coach's heavy glutes contracting and releasing underwater and felt his lycra start to stretch over a certain part of his body. He couldn't take his eyes off his coach, however.

"...but you do," Drew said, and within a split second his coach had made his way to him from the other side of the pool.

"Enough with the small talk," James smiled. "Time to get to work again," he said.

Drew found it difficult to concentrate for the rest of practice, with his coach spending the rest of the session in the pool with him helping him with his technique, but he gave it his best shot.

"Aren't you hitting the showers?" James asked.

"Not today," Drew quickly said as he gathered his things and headed to the door. He was still dripping wet and in his practice clothes.

"Or at least change?"

"I have to run. See you tomorrow afternoon," he said and dashed out the door.

James was worried about his swimmer. Turning up late for practice, it must have been the first time he could remember it happening. He didn't want to push the topic as he could clearly see something was up with Drew and pushing it would have just made it worse. There was a time while in the pool where he felt a real connection with the kid, like before the Meet and before his and Drew's Olympic dreams had taken a beating. But more than that he could have sworn there was a few times where he caught Drew checking him out. It was more than just a lingering gaze, he was sure, since he knew when someone was cruising him, albeit if on the sly.

There was no doubt his swimmer was good looking, pretty even, his blond hair framing his cheekbones boyishly. But he couldn't go down that road, even if it was mutual. He reminded himself mentally as he dropped his swimming trunks that Drew's father was paying him so much to help get his kid to the Olympics that he had dropped all his other clients. Drew was his only client, and his only income now. While toweling his legs, he looked at his body in the full length mirror of the locker room. He critically studied his posture, his narrow swimmer's hips and buff chest, muscled thighs and toned arms and let the towel drop to the floor. He hardly ever allowed himself to go there, but when he did, he allowed himself to feel it all the way.

Drew's off the cuff question about why he never went pro had hit him out of left field. He hadn't anticipated it, and those in his personal life knew not to ask him about it. He trailed his hand over his pectorals and let it slide down to his heavy sex. He had tried, he had worked so hard to make it, but in the end he had conceded defeat, the defeat that comes with knowing that you're just not as good as the best. He felt cold moisture hit his chest and realized as he stood staring at his ageing body that tears were falling from his face and cascading down his chest.

Drew just had to get away from James after practice ended. He had grown so aroused being that close to his coach, with the intimate touches during practice and knowing he was so close to his coach's obvious heavy sex. The last thing he needed was to share a shower with his coach, naked, with steamy hot water...

He threw back another shot of heavy liquor and tried ignoring the big screen in the bar that was reporting on the build-up to the summer Olympic Games. Games he should have been at... He hit the shot glass on the counter to get the barkeep's attention and motioned for another. He was going to have a bitch of a headache in the morning, but what the hell. You only live once. A fact he was made aware of again today. He threw back another and told the bartender to keep them coming. He saw the lack of enthusiasm of the bartender to keep on serving him, but he knew his reputation as a generous tipper would keep him well-oiled for the rest of the evening. A shrill sound made its way across the bar, and Drew felt his ears become annoyed by the female shriek. He labored to turn around in his chair to stare into the direction where the annoying laugh came from, and saw a desperate looking bottle blond hanging off an even more desperately macho, short man, a lot shorter than her in fact, with a lot of excess testosterone. Catching his eye, she made eye contact and decided that Drew must be a better catch than her present date, and started sending him flirtatious looks, which wasn't lost on her shorter companion.

Drew knew it would piss off her date, so he picked up his shot glass and saluted her before chugging it back in one fell swoop. The sear of the liquid down his throat was a welcome burn that made its way down his stomach.

Short Man picked up on this blatant gesture and his testosterone overridden nature couldn't let the slight stand. The man shrugged off the loosening grip of bottle blond around his shoulders and staggered his way to the bar area, where Drew was already awaiting his next fill.

"Hey, faggot!" Short Man slurred, "why would you disrespect me like that? Checking out my girl like that in front of everybody," he demanded.

He poked an accusatory finger in Drew's face.

"Either I'm a faggot," Drew said, "or I'm cruising your girl. Can't be both I'm afraid," he said, also slurring his words.

He could have apologized and walked away, it wouldn't have mattered. No matter what his response was, Short Man had already decided to bash his head in. But Drew was quicker on his feet, even drunk as he was. He grabbed the ashtray and cracked it against Short Man's head before the raised fist could connect to his head. He might have avoided the drunken guy's fist, but he was unprepared for the army of other, less drunk, equally testosterone fueled friends of Short Man who pounced on him a second later. Soon everyone was throwing punches, and blood mixed with snot and sweat as pandemonium broke out. The last thing Drew remembered before waking up in a police cell some time later was seeing the bottle blond egging everyone on while perched safely on top of a bar stool.

*****

"What the fuck man," Drew said as he sat up far too quickly for his sore head.

As his eyes focused on his surroundings, the smell of putrid puke and stale piss hit his nostrils, before seeing the metal rails that made up the cell he was locked in. He sighed softly as he tried to collect his thoughts. He remembered arriving at a bar, ordering a lot of shots and wanting to forget what he'd had to do that morning. Images came back of him being dragged down the street by police and thrown into a police van. It all became far too clear to him now.

"Hey," he called as he made his way to the bars. "Who's in charge here?"

A police officer made his way over to the cell and greeted him. He told Drew that he was being released on his own recognizance.

"Do you want to call someone?" He winced as he made his way down the hall. He thought about whom he'd call at that time of night, or morning, and only one person came to mind.

*****

"Seriously?" James asked.

"Dude, I can't take this now."

"What the fuck is happening with you?" James said.

"I only needed someone to fetch me because the cops wouldn't let me leave by myself," he said. "I'm sorry to have bothered you this late. You can just drop me off at the robot and I'll catch a cab home," he said.

"I'm not dropping you at the side of the road," James said, his annoyance obvious.

His concern had made way for unconcealed anger.

"Put your safety belt on," he said as he locked the doors and slowed to a stop at the robot.

"I'm taking you home," he said.

"Thanks," Drew said and settled his head back.

"What were you thinking?" James asked again.

"I said not now," Drew said.

In their five years working together since Drew was seventeen, never had he seen him this bad. Sure he'd had his rough patches, especially after dropping out of the Olympic qualifier, but nothing like this.

"You actually have what it takes to go all the way you spoiled, prissy little bastard," James said.

He couldn't help himself. His anger was boiling over, even though he knew this was not the time. "What are you on about?" Drew said. "And who do you think you're talking to?"

"Obviously not the man I thought you were," James said.

He accelerated the car as his anger rose to the top.

"Phone call half past three in the morning, 'fetch me at county.' What the hell were you thinking? Getting wasted and involved in a common bar brawl? Do you realize what could have happened? If your hands or legs or arms had been injured? You're an athlete for god's sake!"

"I know," Drew said a bit too forcefully and bit back a grunt as his head throbbed.

"What is wrong, Drew?" James asked. He was getting to the bottom of this, right now.

"What is wrong with you?" He stared at Drew and waited for a response.

He could see something was plainly causing him a lot of pain.

"I thought we'd gotten over the qualifier, we're just going to work harder and try again in four years..."

"Oh my God dude, it's not about the fucking Olympics," Drew said, exasperation obvious in his voice.

"Well then talk to me, please. I don't know how to make it more obvious. I wouldn't be asking if I wasn't invested," James said.

He wanted to achieve a breakthrough and get through to him.

"I need food first," Drew said in response.

"You want to come up for an early breakfast?"

"Fine," James said.

He turned into the long driveway to Drew's home, or mansion really.

This guy had everything, and still he was miserable.

"Won't we wake your dad?"

"He's in Europe," Drew said. "It's just my brother and me, the staff comes in early morning."

James hung his coat and followed Drew into the living room.

"Do you want to get things started? I'm going to take a quick shower. There's bacon in the freezer and banana and eggs in the fridge," he said.

"You'll find everything you need in there," Drew said and motioned in the direction of the kitchen. "I'll be quick," he said.