Some nights, I can’t help but watch Liam. I pretend to be resting, but I’m secretly observing his form as he cuts through the water. He’s an excellent swimmer, and fast. I know he’s not on the school’s swim team, and I begin to wonder why. He could dominate if he joined. A part of me wants to ask him, but I don’t dare.
I’m afraid of what might happen if the silent agreement between us is broken.
I find myself growing more and more curious about him, though. I want to know why he has so many tattoos when the school has a strict rule against them and piercings. I wonder if they have special meanings behind them, or it they’re all just random. I even wonder why he’s friends with Saint, and if he’s really the jerk I initially thought him to be.
After two weeks of swimming in silence together, my questions for him are burning me up inside. I pause in the middle of my current set, and stare over at him as he glides to the end of the pool I’m resting on. There’s a brief moment when he reaches the wall where he goes still, and I jump at the opportunity.
“Hey,” I call out.
He stops completely and turns to me with a deep-set frown. It’s more confused than angry, though, and I know I’ve thrown him for a loop breaking the understood silence between us.
“What?” he snaps back.
“Where’d you get all those tattoos?” I ask the first question that pops into my mind that I think he might answer.
He looks even more baffled, as though he can’t understand the language I’m speaking.
“Why do you want to know?”
I suck in my lower lip for a beat before releasing it along with a shrug. “Curious.”
“Well, it’s none of your fucking business.”
I’m disappointed by his response, but I know I shouldn’t be surprised.
“Fine. Was just trying to be nice.”
I turn and get ready to spring back into my laps.
“Nobody’s asking you to be nice,” he mutters, as if he can’t help himself. “Least of all me.”
I ignore him and shoot forward into the water.
I make it to the other end of the pool, then flip over and swim back. When I pop back up, I let out a squeak of surprise when Liam’s face is right next to mine.
“What the hell, Halloway?” I gasp.
He doesn’t say anything at first, just studies me with an unnerving intensity that makes me want to shrink away from him. I keep myself steady, though, knowing any show of weakness would just be more ammunition for him and his asshole friends.
“What’s your deal, Ellis?” he asked, his tone hard, but not necessarily cruel.
“I … I don’t know what you mean,” I murmur like a fool.
He rests his arms on the lane rope between us and leans closer. His biceps flex and I can’t help but notice. “Why are you so curious about me?”
I roll my eyes. “I was just asking about your tattoos, not digging for a background check.”
He narrows his dark eyes in turn. He doesn’t speak for several long moments, and I start to think that maybe I should just call it a night and get away from his weird ass.
Just as I’m about to move to climb out of the pool, he drags his hand through his damp black hair and grumbles, “I did most of them myself.”
I freeze, caught off guard by his actual answer to my question. My eyes sweep over his tattoos again, and I marvel at his skill.
“Really?” I look up to meet his gaze once more.
He nods. “Yeah. Some of the early attempts aren’t that great, but I’ve … practiced.”
I blink. “Shit … yeah. Some of these are really, really good.” That’s an understatement because every single one of his tattoos is a work of art. I swallow hard before continuing. “You’re really talented, Liam.”
He visibly tenses and stares at me like I’m a crazy person. Maybe I am. Why else would I compliment one of my tormentors?
“Thanks,” he replies slowly.
I can think of nothing else to say, so I decide it’s best for me to leave. Turning, I make my way to the ladder, climb up, and grab my towel, leaving the room without a backwards glance even though I feel his gaze burning into my back.
There’s a shift between our dynamic after that night.
We’re not friends, not by a long shot, but it doesn’t quite feel like we’re enemies anymore either. I keep going back to the pool, and he keeps being there. Now, though, he actually talks to me. Not full conversations at first, but small comments and the occasional compliment about my swimming.
After a few days, though, we start asking each other questions. He asks me where I come from. I give him the partial truth and say Georgia. I ask him why he decided to start tattooing himself. I’m pretty sure he also gives me a partial truth when he says he started doing it himself because his parents wouldn’t let him get one professionally done, and then he got hooked on the art. A voice in the back of my head whispers there’s more to it than his parents simply not allowing him to get inked, but I don’t push it.
I’ve got a tenuous understanding with Liam Halloway going on that could possibly make my life a little less terrible. I’m not going to do anything to fuck that up.
After two weeks of swimming and interacting and warming up to each other little by little, I feel like I can ask him for his help. I’ve been biding my time, hoping I can get him to like me—at least a bit—so he might start to feel bad when I’m harassed by his dipshit friends.
I wait until we’ve been swimming for about thirty minutes. We both stop to take a break, meeting in the middle of the pool, which has become our neutral zone. Nothing bad can happen in the middle of the pool.
We chat for a while, batting mundane topics back and forth as we navigate this strange companionship. It isn’t until he’s visibly relaxed, talking easily, that I ask him what I’ve been hoping to for a few days now.
“Hey, Liam, I have a small favor I was wondering if you could help me with?”
He tenses immediately, and I suspect I’m making a mistake.
“What is it?” His tone is low and suspicious. There’s a warning underlying it, as if he knows what I’m going to say.
I gulp, then press forward. “We’ve gotten to know each other over these last few weeks, yeah? I don’t think you hate me quite as much as you did when we first met.”
“Ellis…” The warning becomes more obvious.
“I’m not asking you to be my friend or anything,” I hurry to continue before he can stop me. “I’m just wondering if maybe you could … could you convince Saint to back off? Please? I’ve apologized for what I did, but it’s not enough and I don’t know how much longer I can take his bullshit without going off and losing—”
“Ellis, let me give you some advice when it comes to Saint,” he interrupts me, a shadow coming over his face. “He’s a stubborn bastard who’s used to getting exactly what he wants, when he wants it. If he wants you gone, you should just make it easier on yourself and go home.”
I stare at him, soul-crushing disappointment coursing through me. His words echo Saint’s, and I can see by the firm set of his jaw he’s not going to change his mind. Is he afraid of Saint? Is he just that loyal of a friend?