Flip Turn Read online

  Flip Turn

  Dean Cornwall

  Published by Dean Cornwall, 2020.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  FLIP TURN

  First edition. September 6, 2020.

  Copyright © 2020 Dean Cornwall.

  Written by Dean Cornwall.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Epilogue 1: One Month Later

  Epilogue 2: Seven Years Later

  Also By Dean Cornwall

  About Dean Cornwall

  Keep In Touch

  Chapter 1

  I clicked the button to increase the speed of the machine, and instantly felt the searing pain through my knee, grabbing the bars to stop myself collapsing onto the treadmill. “Fuck,” I muttered under my breath. “Get a grip. It’s not real.”

  Phantom pain. I’d been living with it for weeks now, ever since I’d recovered from the very real injury caused when I dove awkwardly into the pool in a training session and couldn’t recover quickly enough. Twisting my leg like that had led to a hospital visit and surgery, making me feel like a complete invalid for four weeks while I recovered and another two while I slowly built up my strength again.

  But that wasn’t where the phantom pain had originated.

  That was psychological, and I could trace the exact cause with ease.

  “Just run,” I told myself, cranking up the speed another notch and breathing heavy in the air-conditioned gymnasium at the back of my house, overlooking the ocean. It was a view I could have only dreamed of, growing up on a council estate in Birmingham. In my childhood, I think I only saw the sea two or three times in seventeen years. The only expanse of water I ever saw was at the local pool, which became a second home.

  The moment I had the money, I bought this little place for its view alone.

  Of course, that had been before I found out who the neighbours were.

  I glanced at the clock. Five more minutes and I’d need to take a shower. Before my injury, I could have managed more than a kilometre in that time, but now I would be struggling to do much more than half.

  “No pain, no gain,” I said to myself, grunting with each breath. “Come on, Juke.”

  The cardio workout was good, but I knew the real reason I was doing it was to avoid the pool. Down beneath the window, just visible from my angle, was the other, smaller expanse of water. I’d had it built soon after I moved in, and it had been my pride and joy. Right now, I just paid for it to be cleaned and heated, all while not going anywhere near.

  For the first time in my life, I was afraid of the water.

  My body had created an injury from nothing, to explain why I was suddenly too scared to go anywhere near the pool. I wouldn’t have believed it was possible if I hadn’t been the one experiencing it. The doctors couldn’t find anything physically wrong with me, which was when I started seeing a psychiatrist.

  Between us, we’d figured out the cause, not that it was hard once I knew it was related to my fear of the pool. As I talked to the psychiatrist about what had happened, how I’d fired my coach after I almost drowned, the leg injury flaring back up again and making me flail as I started to sink while he was too busy talking on his phone to notice, it was clear on her face that she was linking the two things. It made sense. Fearing for your life is the kind of thing that makes you reluctant to get back in the water again.

  “Four more strides, come on. Three. Two. One.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief as I slammed the stop button, wobbling a little but managing to stay upright as I wiped my forearm over my sweat-soaked face. I needed to be in better shape than I was. There was a swim meet in two weeks, and if I wasn’t fit I would lose my current ranking place. But all that would be pointless if I was too scared to jump into the pool.

  Stripping off my t-shirt as I went, I ascended the stairs to the rest of the house, then the next flight up to my bedroom. The place wasn’t all that big, but it was tall, built over three storeys that each had an amazing view over the tree-lined path that led from my back garden down to the water. The coast was beautiful this time of year, and I was lucky to be able to enjoy it. Not everybody could afford that kind of luxury.

  Before I headed for the shower, I picked up my notebook and flicked to the latest poem, crossing out “trees in bloom” and putting “trees in blossom” instead, then closed it, tucked it away in my desk drawer and stripped off the rest of my clothes, shoving them into the hamper before I stepped through into the en-suite.

  HALF AN HOUR LATER, I was dressed and sipping a can of Coke when I heard the shout; the unmistakable voice of my next-door neighbour, Ronald, throwing in a curse word three or four times a sentence. I couldn’t make out exactly what was being said, but from the gist of it someone was blocking the access road to our houses.

  At first, I tried to ignore it, but as Ronald’s voice took on another pitch, I decided to take a look. Putting aside my Coke, I turned to look out the window, and through the gap in the trees I could just about make out Ronald’s back as he stood outside his Jeep, waving his arms in the air as he screamed at someone in a beat-up old Volvo estate. I could just make out the words “private road” and “asshole”, and then “motherfucker”.

  It was that last word that seemed to do the trick, as the driver’s side door of the Volvo swung open and out stepped...

  “Damn, nice view...” I muttered to myself.

  I couldn’t see his face, but I didn’t need to. My gaze trailed up over loose grey tracksuit trousers that gave way to a yellow vest top that clung just well enough to hard abdominal muscles to make my mouth go instantly dry. I swallowed against it, taking a deep breath as I watched the mystery man take a step towards Ronald, who had fallen silent as he pulled back just a little. I could imagine the way his ordinarily rage-coloured face had probably taken on a paler hue, and it made me grin until the stranger pointed right at me, and I realised who it must be.

  He was half an hour early, but it had to be Nick Dante.

  “Fuck, I’m going to have to get involved,” I muttered to myself.

  If there was one thing I hated, it was confrontation. But if that really was my new coach, I had no choice. It wouldn’t give a great first impression to leave him to deal with this on his own.

  Slipping my feet into sandals by the door, I headed out onto the driveway and started towards the two of them.

  “If you just reverse a few feet, I can get past and you can be on your way. Come on, man, be reasonable. It’s quarter of a mile back that way to the first pull in where I can let you through.”

  “Fuck you, dickhead, I literally own this road. It’s mine. You’ve got no business being on it. Now get back in your piece-of-shit car, put it in reverse and get back up the fucking road.”

  I sighed as I came around the corner, confronted with Ronald’s back. “It’s my road too,” I said. “And I say he can be on it.”

  Ronald swung around, his face going darker red as he saw me, like gammon that’s been left in the sun. He was taller than me, but less muscly, and with a neck beard that made me itch just to look at it. “It was my road before you moved in, fuck head. That makes it more mine than yours.”

  I shook my head. “Not how it works, Ron-”

  I was about to try to calm the situation down, but when Ronald stepped to the side and I finally got a proper look at Dante, I forgot how to talk. I mean, I’d seen photos on his website, but they did not do the man justice, and I wasn’t above appreciating forbidden eye-candy. Coppery hair that just covere
d his ears, blue eyes, a little bit of grey in his neatly-trimmed goatee. Shoulders that looked powerful enough to crush me like a nut. And it wasn’t like I was soft and squidgy. I was a professional swimmer, after all. But Nick Dante looked like he could bench press twice my weight without breaking a sweat.

  Distantly, I knew I was being called names. Some general-purpose insults, some that made fun of the fact that I kept my head shaved bald, some homophobic slurs, but I knew Ronald wasn’t aiming them at me for any reason other than he thought it would get a rise out of me. I knew there were rumours about my sexuality. I also knew that nobody had any real idea, as I hadn’t been publicly linked with anyone in my life, of any gender.

  The reason for that being, I hadn’t been in a relationship with anyone in my life.

  “Hey, leave him alone.” Nick Dante’s voice brought me back to reality. He stepped forward and put a hand on Ronald’s shoulder to pull him back to face him, and Ronald swung around with a growl.

  “Don’t fucking touch me, you filthy little prick. Do you know how much this shirt cost? Probably more than you make in a month.”

  “Ronald, just back your car up a few feet. It’s not going to kill you.”

  “I’ll do no such thing! I’m entitled to drive on my own fucking road.”

  I huffed. “Right, that’s it, I’m calling the police. Nobody should have to put up with your shit. You have a problem with me, take it up with me, not with my friends.”

  I pulled out my phone, and started dialling, fully intending to call the police. Let him try to explain to them that he wouldn’t back up a few feet to let Dante through.

  “Fine!” Ronald threw his arms in the air like it was all too much trouble. “Get out of the fucking way, neighbour, or I might just back into you.”

  I rolled my eyes as I stepped back, watching Ronald get into his car. He slammed it in reverse, pulled back and sounded his horn. Dante met my eyes, and for a second I forgot how to breathe. There was something in that look, something we shared, but I had no idea what it was. A joke between friends? Camaraderie over a common enemy? Or something else? Whatever it was, it lasted for the briefest of fleeting moments, and then it was gone. Dante shook his head with a grin, then climbed into his Volvo and took his time manoeuvring around the tiny gap Ronald had left. Then he swung the nose of his car into my driveway and I followed behind him.

  As he shut off the engine, I came up alongside his driver’s door and waited for him to get out before thrusting my hand his way. “Juke Henderson. Mr Dante?”

  He smiled, squinting against the bright sun behind me, casting deep shadows where his cheeks lifted with the grin. “That’s right. Who was that charmer?”

  I drew a deep breath. “Ronald Peters. My neighbour. Who also just happens to be the cousin of Neal Hewitt. You know him?”

  “Oh, I’ve heard of Neal. Never met him, but Jesus, what possessed you to move in next door to any relative of his? From what I hear, you two aren’t exactly buddies.”

  I turned and started walking back to the house, with him beside me. “That’s an understatement,” I said. “I can’t stand Neal and he can’t stand me. The media likes to think it’s a friendly rivalry, but it really isn’t. He hated me from the word go, thinks professional sports should be the reserve of the upper classes and people like me should know our place.”

  Dante laughed as we went in through the front door. “And you moved in next door to his cousin, why exactly? Just to piss the guy off?”

  I laughed. “I wish I could say yes. Truth is, I just want a quiet life. When I moved in here, I was told that the neighbours were living in South Africa. A young couple with two kids were renting the place and they were great. We got along really well. Then Ronald and his wife moved back in.”

  “Jesus, could you have worse luck?”

  “I know, right?” I picked up my can off the table. “Can I get you anything to drink before we begin?”

  Dante frowned. “You’re not actually drinking that, are you?”

  “Um, I was going to.” I hesitated with the can paused at my lips, and he shook his head.

  “No. That’s going to change. No more soft drinks. Today you can drink water, tomorrow I’ll bring you something else.”

  I laughed. “You got it. I’ll finish off the cans I’ve already bought, then it’s water from here on.”

  If I expected him to be amused, I was mistaken. He actually took the can out of my hand, shaking his head. “Uh uh. We need to get you fit enough to enter a contest in two weeks time. This stuff represents a lack of commitment to that goal. Are you committed, Juke?”

  For a second, I hesitated, bristling against the audacity of someone I was paying telling me what to do. But then, wasn’t that what I was paying him for? Wasn’t he just doing his job? And could I really argue against the idea that drinking cans of soft drinks was bad for me?

  And could I deny the way my heart thundered at him taking control like that?

  I nodded. “I’m committed.” I felt my face flush as I glanced around him to the kitchen. “There... are another eight of those in the fridge. I’ll get rid of them.”

  “Good,” he said, clapping his hand on my shoulder. “I’ll meet you out by the pool.”

  “YOU HAVEN’T FORGOTTEN what I said about the water, have you?” I asked as I came down the steps to the side of the pool. Even being this close made my stomach tense with dread.

  Dante shook his head. “No, you were quite clear. Obviously, we’re going to have to get you back in the water if you’re going to compete in a swimming contest two weeks from now, but we’ll build up to that slowly. For today, I think we can simply assess your speed and strength out of the water, and see what we need to work on. And then I can look at your technique in the water another day, and make changes where they’re needed. That OK?”

  “Yeah, that sounds good. Thanks.”

  He nodded, smiling. “I think you’ll find me to be pretty fair. I don’t subscribe to the ideas of some other coaches, with the whole tough love thing. So long as you follow my very simple rules, we’ll get along.”

  “And what are those rules?”

  “You’ve already found out rule number one. No junk food.” I hesitated, for just a second, but I saw his face darken in response. It sent a shiver up my spine. “Go ahead. Talk. Think of this as a kind of amnesty.”

  I laughed. “If you look in my recycling bins, you’ll find pizza boxes, soft drinks cans, tomato ketchup bottles—”

  Dante sighed. “Seriously?”

  “Cartons from Chinese takeaway. Bags from fish and chips—”

  “Whoa, OK, I get the picture. Like I said, this is an amnesty. No more, got it?”

  “What can I eat?”

  “Fruit, vegetables, fish, meat, so long as it’s all home-cooked meals we’re good. A salad once in a while wouldn’t kill you.” He held up a hand. “Look, there’s nothing wrong with the occasional treat, and I’m not one for shaming people. But you’re a sportsman and eventually all that junk will catch up with you. Your body might be able to take it at the moment, but later on down the line we’re looking at problems.”

  I had a sudden moment of dread over the words home-cooked meals, but I managed to keep it out of my face. I’d figure it out later. “OK. What are the other rules?”

  “No fraternising with the other students is usually my rule number two. Sorry, I normally work with larger groups.” Dante chuckled, and I felt myself tense. If he knew the thoughts that had been running through my mind since I first saw those beautiful bright-blue eyes, imagining him pushing me up against the wall of my home gym, covered in sweat, his body crushing mine... “Juke, you still with me?”

  “Huh? Sorry, yeah, I zoned out for a second.”

  He looked concerned. “Does that happen a lot?”

  “No.” I shook my head, not adding only when there’s a hot guy standing right in front of me who clearly has no idea of the effect he has on me.

  “OK. Rule three is
, if you’re not sure about something, you ask. I don’t want any accidents here.”

  I nodded. “That’s a sensible rule. My last coach...never mind.” It wouldn’t do to bring up the past like that.

  Dante was silent for a moment, then shrugged. “That’s it, those are the rules. I’m here for you and you alone. But I expect commitment in return. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  “Then let’s get to it. How is your running?”

  “Not as good as I was two months ago.”

  “Ever seen Rocky Three?”

  I shook my head. “Sylvester Stallone, right?”

  “You’ve never seen Rocky Three? Seriously? I’ve got to get myself some older students. OK, well, in that film Rocky trains by running along the beach. Sand is tough to run on, it takes a lot of stamina. And guess what?” He grinned, turning a little to wave an arm at the beach. It wasn’t a private beach, exactly, but the only way down to it was a long walk, except for those of us that owned houses right on it.

  I raised my eyebrows. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  Dante grinned, and for the second time that day our gazes connected and I forgot how to breathe. I didn’t want to turn away. I couldn’t turn away. The movement of his throat as he swallowed was mesmerising. Did he do it because his mouth was as dry as mine, or was it just a normal human movement? I felt myself being drawn into him, not physically but visually, somehow, as if the distance between us was shrinking by itself. I opened my mouth, ready to say something, not entirely sure what, but before I could utter a word, he spoke.

  “Well, get to it. Let’s see how far you can go before you get tired.”

  I nodded, suddenly glad of the distraction, and headed for my back gate and the steps down to the beach, my skin prickling as I passed him.

  Chapter 2

  Running on the beach was every bit as difficult as I expected, and by the time I’d gone from the house to the opposite end of the beach and back again, I was too exhausted to go any further. I explained about the phantom pain, and Dante frowned at that, asking questions to try to establish where we were with it and how we were going to address it. I told him about the doctor and the psychiatrist I was seeing, and he seemed happy enough with that, then asked if I would be able to do more right now without that pain. I hesitated, then told him that I wouldn’t, trying to explain that I’d already been running on the treadmill, so might not be back at a hundred percent yet, but in the end I had to admit it: I was out of shape. I should have been able to do that run easily, and the fact that I had struggled was a sign of how much work was needed.