The Jock & The Wallflower

Chapter 7: Bryson

Bryson’s POV

A week.

A full week of complete radio silence, and I was losing my mind.

I'd tried everything. But every single time, she’d shut me down without even looking my way. I'd even decided to approach her at lunch yesterday.

Before I’d even sat down, she'd taken one look at me, stood up, and walked away. Threw her entire lunch in the trash without a word.

That's when I knew I was screwed.

The respectful approach wasn't working. Hell, the disrespectful approach wasn't working either. Nothing was working, and I was running out of time before I did something really stupid.

Like what I was doing right now.

I stood at the edge of the Whitmores' backyard, hidden behind the old oak tree that used to be our secret meeting spot when we were kids. The pool glowed blue in the late afternoon light, and I could hear the rhythmic sound of someone swimming laps.

This was insane. Completely insane. If her parents caught me, if any of the neighbors saw me, if she called the cops...

But I'd been thinking about her every second for seven days straight. I couldn't focus in class, couldn't complete a pass at practice, couldn't even hold a conversation with my own friends without my mind wandering to her.

I used to know everything about her schedule, back when we were friends. When we mattered to each other. And so it wasn’t hard for me to find myself paying attention again.

Third period study hall in the library.

Lunch at the table by the far window.

Chemistry after lunch, then straight to the pool for P.E. I knew she had the option of volleyball but there was no way she was choosing that over being in the pool.

Avery had always loved swimming.

Even as a kid, she'd rather be in the water than anywhere else.

Now, from what I could see through the fence, it looked like it had become something more than just fun. The way she moved through the water was different. She was more focused, more intense. Like she was swimming away from something.

Or someone. Me most likely.

The smart thing to do would be to leave. Go home, play some video games, hang out with the guys, and pretend like I hadn't come all the way here to climb over her fence like some lovesick stalker.

Instead, I checked to make sure the coast was clear and hoisted myself over.

My feet hit the ground on the other side, and for a second I just stood there.

The pool area was private, surrounded by tall hedges that blocked the view from neighboring houses. Just her and me and the sound of water lapping against the sides of the pool.

She was doing freestyle laps, her dark hair streaming behind her as she cut through the water.

She hadn't noticed me yet, too focused on whatever rhythm she'd found. I could see the lean muscles in her shoulders and arms, the way her body moved with a grace that definitely hadn't been there in sophomore year.

Two years had changed her in ways that had nothing to do with contacts and better clothes.

I sat down on one of the lounge chairs, acting like I belonged there, despite the fact that I'd just broken into her backyard. When she reached the shallow end and surfaced, pushing her hair back from her face, I cleared my throat.

"Your form's gotten a lot better."

She spun around so fast that water went everywhere, her eyes wide with shock that quickly morphed into fury.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded, treading water near the pool's edge.

"Waiting for you to talk to me."

"So you decided to break into my backyard?"

"I didn't break in. I climbed the fence. Totally different thing." We both knew it wasn’t.

She stared at me for a long moment, and I could practically see her deciding whether to scream for her parents or handle this herself.

"Get out," she said finally, her voice deadly calm.

"Not until you hear me out."

"Bryson, I swear to God—"

"Five minutes," I said, standing up and moving closer to the pool's edge. "Give me five minutes, and if you still want me to leave, I'll go. I'll stop trying to talk to you at school, I'll leave you alone completely. But I need you to listen to me first."

She climbed out of the pool, water streaming from her hair and body.

She grabbed a towel from a nearby chair and wrapped it around herself, and I tried not to notice the way the wet swimsuit clung to curves that definitely hadn't been there sophomore year.

"You want to apologize?" she said, wringing water from her hair. "Fine. You've got five minutes."

I'd rehearsed this conversation a thousand times in my head, but now that she was standing there waiting, I couldn't remember a single word of it.

"I know I messed up—" I said, taking a step closer.

She backed up slightly, her shoulders tensing.

"Which part?" she interrupted, her voice sharp. "The part where you just stood by and did nothing? The part where you just watched while everyone called me a slut?"

I took another step forward, drawn by the pain in her voice, needing to close the distance between us.

She moved back again, but this time her back hit the pool house wall. She was trapped between the wall and me, and I could see the moment she realized it.

Her eyes widened slightly, but she didn't tell me to back off.

"I didn't just watch," I said, my voice lower now that we were so close. I could see the water droplets still clinging to her eyelashes, could smell the chlorine in her hair mixed with something that was purely her. "I stopped it. I did. It was just—"

The words stuck in my throat. How could I explain that I'd tried, that I'd done something, said something, but it was too little, too late?

"Just what?" she whispered, but there was steel underneath the quiet.

"Too late. By the time I... you were already gone."

Something flickered across her face, hurt, maybe, or disappointment. She pushed away from the wall and past me, diving cleanly back into the pool before I could react.

When she surfaced at the far end, treading water, there was distance between us again. Safe distance.

"It doesn't matter," she said, her voice carrying across the water.

"You could’ve done more. You should’ve done more. Why are you even pretending, Bryson. How you acted, didn’t start that day. It started years before,”she continued bitterly.

“And besides you had two years to try and fix this. To apologize oh so badly.Two years to call, to text, to show up at my door. But you didn't," she finished.

Without thinking, I kicked off my shoes and jumped straight into the pool, clothes and all.

The water was shockingly cold, my jeans immediately heavy, my shirt clinging to my chest. But I didn't care. When I surfaced near her, she was staring at me like I'd lost my mind.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"You said five minutes. I'm not wasting them with you on the other side of the pool."

"You're insane."

"Probably." I moved closer, both of us treading water, close enough to see the way her breathing had quickened. "I tried to find you. Your number was disconnected. Your parents wouldn't answer my calls."

"You could have tried harder."

"You're right. I could have. But what do you want from me, Avery? You left. You disappeared. You didn’t want me to find you." The words came out rougher than I’d intended.

I was close enough to touch her now if I wanted to, close enough to see that my words had affected her. "I was fifteen and scared and stupid. And I convinced myself that you were better off without me. The best thing I could’ve done for you, Avery, was leave you alone."

She stared at me for a long moment, and I could see her weighing my words, deciding whether to believe them.

"Well," she said finally, swimming backward to put distance between us again, "you’re right. It was the best thing you could’ve done. It still is.”

The words hit like a physical blow, but I couldn't argue with them. She had been better off. She'd gotten stronger, more confident, more herself than she'd ever been when I was in her life.

"Time's up," she said, swimming toward the ladder.

I hauled myself out after her, water streaming everywhere, my clothes plastered to my body. She was already wrapping herself in a towel, but I caught her watching me as I stood there dripping on her deck.

"Avery," I said.

"Don't." She held up a hand, but her voice was quieter now. "Just... don't."

She grabbed her clothes and headed toward the house, but when she reached the back door, she glanced over her shoulder.

"Go home Bryce," she said.

Bryce. Not Bryson. She probably didn’t even realize she’d said it.

I watched her disappear into the house, then stood there dripping for a moment longer, replaying the moment when we were close enough to touch in the water, when her mask had slipped just enough for me to see the girl I used to know.

It wasn't forgiveness. It wasn't even close. But for the first time, it felt like progress.