The king of the swim - Sam

The cheers of the crowd rippled through the swimming complex, a rising tide of excitement that bounced off the high, humid walls. The sound seemed alive, amplifying with every shout, every clap, filling the air with an electric energy that prickled against my skin. The pool's surface lay still for now, a deceptive calm before the chaos of churning water and raw ambition that was about to erupt.

I adjusted my goggles, letting my fingers linger on the strap for a moment as I took in the scene around me. The familiar smell of chlorine hung heavy in the air, stinging my nose, but today it wasn't suffocating—it felt almost invigorating. The fluorescent lights above cast a sharp glare on the water, their reflection rippling like liquid gold. For the first time in what felt like forever, I wasn't weighed down by the invisible chains of expectations. The pressures that used to clutch at my chest, squeezing tighter with every step toward the pool deck, had loosened their grip. My lungs felt lighter, my thoughts quieter.

This morning's conversation with Mom drifted back to me, her words repeating in my mind like a mantra.

"Your dad's still going to stay with your uncle. He needs to figure himself out, and frankly, so do we. But Sam, I want you to know—I'm here for you. No matter what."

It hadn't been easy—there were pauses that felt longer than they should have been, awkwardness filling the spaces between sentences. But her tone had been different, softer. For once, she hadn't lectured me, hadn't tried to justify my dad's behaviour or sugarcoat it. She'd just listened. And when she spoke, it felt real, unpolished but sincere, like she wanted me to believe her as much as she wanted to believe herself.

The house had been calmer without dad around, the constant tension lifting like a heavy fog that had finally cleared. Mom had even asked if I wanted to pick what we'd watch on TV—a first in as long as I could remember. Maybe she was overcompensating a little, but for once, I wasn't drowning in the weight of trying to please everyone. For the first time in weeks, I felt like I could breathe.

I glanced to my left, spotting Eric, the lean otter who had been outpacing me in every other heat for months. He stood at his block, his stance relaxed but ready, his sleek fur glistening under the harsh lights. He was also in the 400m freestyle—his strongest event, just like mine. His consistent sub-four-minute times were almost legendary in our club, and I'd never beaten him. Normally, the pressure of having him in the lane beside me would have tied my stomach in knots. My paws would've been clammy, my thoughts spiralling into a loop of what-ifs and worst-case scenarios.

But not today. Today, I was calm. The result didn't matter as much as it used to. Winning wasn't about proving anything to anyone else anymore. There was no looming shadow of my dad to contend with, no lecture waiting for me on the ride home if I didn't meet some impossible standard. My stomach stayed steady; my focus sharp.

"Swimmers, take your marks!" Coach's voice rang out, cutting through the chatter. The complex fell silent in an instant, the crowd holding its collective breath.

The starting buzzer sounded, sharp and electrifying. I launched off the block with every ounce of strength I had, the muscles in my legs coiling like springs. The cool water wrapped around me as I entered with perfect form, my body slicing through it like a knife. Everything else—the noise, the crowd, even Eric in the next lane—faded away.

I fell into a rhythm quickly, my arms pulling me forward in smooth, powerful strokes. Front crawl was my strongest stroke, and I focused on every detail—keeping my movements symmetrical, flicking my tail hard at the end of each kick, holding my head as straight as possible to stay hydrodynamic. The sound of bubbles whooshing past my ears and the rhythmic pounding of the water filled my senses, drowning out everything else.

Eric was ahead of me by inches in the first few laps, his strokes cutting through the water with precision. Normally, the sight of him edging forward would have made my chest tighten with panic, but something was different today. My body knew what to do without my brain interfering. Each turn was sharper, each kick stronger. Coach's drills, the endless laps in practice, all clicked into place like a well-oiled machine.

By the fourth length, I'd pulled even with him. My lungs burned, my muscles screamed for relief, but I didn't let it stop me. Instead, I leaned into it, letting the pain fuel me. Lap after lap, I pushed harder, finding a rhythm that felt unstoppable.

On the seventh length, I surged ahead. Eric's presence in my peripheral vision faded as I hit the final turn, pouring everything I had into the last stretch. My breaths came in short bursts now, every one a battle, but I didn't care. I could feel the water rushing past my ears, hear the muffled roar of the crowd as I neared the finish.

When my paw slapped the wall, the force of it reverberated up my arm. I clung to the edge, gasping for air, the pool spinning slightly as exhaustion caught up with me. For a moment, I couldn't even look at the scoreboard, too focused on steadying my breath.

Finally, I glanced up. My heart skipped a beat. First place. A new personal best. A new club record.

The realization hit me like a wave. I'd done it.

"Way to go, Sam!" Coach's voice cut through the haze as he clapped me on the back, his grin as wide as I'd ever seen it. "That's the Sam I know—focused, determined. It's good to have you back, kid."

I nodded, still catching my breath. He didn't know how true that was. For so long, swimming had been a burden, a never-ending quest to win for someone else, to live up to someone else's standards.

But today? Today, I'd swum for myself. And I'd loved every second of it.

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The soft hum of the car engine filled the silence as my mom and I drove home, the fading sunlight painting the world outside in hues of orange and pink. The rhythmic whir of the tires on the pavement was steady, almost soothing. She glanced over at me, her expression soft but thoughtful, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

"You did great out there," she said, her voice warm but understated, as if she didn't want to intrude too much on my thoughts.

"I did," I replied, my gaze fixed on the window. The passing trees blurred together in a comforting way. "It felt... different. Better."

She hesitated, the silence stretching just long enough for me to notice. Her hands gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, and she drew a breath before speaking again. "Sam, I want to say something, and I need you to listen, okay?"

I tensed instinctively, my shoulders stiffening, but I nodded. "Okay."

"I'm sorry." Her words were measured, careful, but genuine. "For everything. For not noticing how much you were struggling. For not being the parent you needed me to be when you came out to us. And for how your dad reacted."

Her voice wavered slightly, but she steadied herself, her fingers tightening on the wheel. "I told him he's not welcome back until he can accept you for who you are. Fully and completely. No conditions, no compromises."

My chest tightened, a swirl of emotions hitting me all at once. Relief, guilt, sadness—it all tangled together, leaving me unsure of how to respond. Part of me felt responsible, like this was all my fault. I hadn't asked for this, but somehow my existence, my truth, had fractured something that already felt fragile.

But another part of me pushed back against that guilt. I couldn't change who I was. And if I was honest, it wasn't just about me being gay. My dad and I had always had issues, long before I came out. The pressure, the constant expectations he heaped on me, they'd been suffocating me for years.

My dad was a former athlete—an Olympian, even—and his glory days seemed to overshadow everything else. He'd been driving me so hard to live up to that legacy, to be as good as he was, that he'd taken all the joy out of it. Swimming and football weren't just sports to him; they were his measuring sticks for success. I couldn't even remember the last time we'd had a conversation that wasn't about practice, competitions, or strategies. It was all he knew how to talk about, and I'd grown to resent him for it.

"And about swimming..." Mom's voice broke through my thoughts, bringing me back to the moment. "I know it hasn't been the same for you lately. If you don't want to do it anymore, that's okay. It's your choice, Sam. Not mine, not your dad's. I just want you to be happy."

Her words hung in the air, heavier than I expected. I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat making it difficult to respond right away. "Thanks, Mom. But... I think I do want to keep going."

She glanced at me, her expression unreadable for a moment, waiting for me to continue.

"I mean, maybe it's not my future," I admitted, my voice quieter now, "but I want to keep going for now. I like swimming. I just don't like... competing. Not the way Dad sees it, anyway."

She nodded, her eyes softening again. "That's all I wanted to hear."

That was the thing my dad could never come to terms with—I didn't want to compete at the highest level, didn't want to chase medals and records for the rest of my life. Sure, I was good at it, but the pressure to perform took all the fun out of it. Maybe I just wanted to enjoy swimming, to have it as a part of my life without it defining me.

The car turned into our driveway, the headlights sweeping across the house as we pulled in. The engine's hum faded to silence as she shifted into park and turned to face me with a grin.

"By the way," she said, her tone lighter now, almost teasing, "if this Jay is going to be part of your life, I should probably meet him properly sometime."

Her words caught me off guard, and for a moment, I just stared at her. The casual way she said it, like it wasn't a big deal, made it even more humbling.

"Yeah," I said finally, a small smile tugging at my lips. "That... that would mean a lot. Thanks, Mom."

She reached over, squeezing my hand briefly before grabbing her bag and stepping out of the car. As I followed her inside, I couldn't help but feel a small spark of hope, like things might actually be okay for once. Maybe better than okay.

Once I was in my room, I grabbed my phone and opened a message to Jay.

Me: "Today was wild. My mom and I had a real talk about everything—about my dad, about you. She's being super supportive, and she even said she wants to meet you  properly someday."

Jay's response was almost instant.

Jay: "That's amazing, Sam. I'm so happy for you. How was the swim meet?"

Me: "I crushed it. First place and a new personal record."

Jay: "That's my boyfriend"

The word "boyfriend" made my chest tighten in the best way, there was so much more I wanted to tell him, how everything was feeling somehow better but it was all too much for text messages

Me: "I can't wait to see you again. There's the winter college campus party coming up. Want to go together?"

Jay: "Most of the school will be there, though. We'd have to be careful."

Me: "I know. but ...it'd be nice to go with you."

Jay: "I'd like that. I should have enough money to grab some drinks on the way if you want, although I should probably be saving it for the college ski trip!'"

Me: "You're going on the ski trip?!"

Jay: "Yeah! Why?"

Me: "Because I'm going too!"

It would be good to spend a week with Jay, somewhere different the very thought of it got me excited, originally, I had planned to share a room with Kyle, Ben and Brad, as the rooms were split into groups of four, it did leave us with a bit of a problem.

Me: "have you decided who you're staying with yet?"

Jay: "well they won't let boys and girls mix so it was just Alex, Eli and me up until now, we were kinda dreading who we would get paired up with, but this is perfect!"

We made plans to group up together I wasn't looking forward to telling the guys but since we hadn't submitted any formal requests nothing was set in stone anyway, room groups were allowed to be chosen right up to the day before, anyone not in a group was then assigned by the teachers, and to be honest I didn't want to share a room with kyle anymore anyway, it would just ruin the trip.

And Alex knew about us too meaning we could be ourselves at least in the room, but then what about Eli...

Me: "it would be easier if Eli knew about us... maybe your other friends too."

His reply came after a pause.

Jay: "You sure?"

Me: "Yeah. At least that way, we can all hang out together. Maybe I can even come to one of those movie nights you're always talking about, maybe I could tell them there??."

As I lay back on my bed, the conversation still buzzing on my screen, I felt a sense of peace I hadn't felt in months. Things weren't perfect—far from it. But for the first time, it felt like they were moving in the right direction.