Mercer laughed once. “Competition is supposed to be hard.”
Dylan twisted the towel tighter.
“You told Mason to give him the wrong count before the turn. You told me to move his cap. You said if he kept missing things, his dad would finally stop complaining about times.”
Aaron’s father looked at his son.
Aaron had never complained to him about times.
That was what made the sentence hurt.
He had complained about wanting to leave the team.
His father had translated that into disappointment about losing.
Now he understood how much he had filled in because the truth had seemed less likely than an ordinary sports problem.
Mercer pointed at Dylan. “You are trying to save yourself after admitting you sabotaged a teammate.”
Dylan flinched.
Mara stepped between the bench and the coach.
“He is admitting what he did,” she said. “You should let him finish.”
Mercer stared at her. “Your contract ends next month.”
Mara’s face changed.
Aaron saw it.
So did his father.
Mercer realized too late that the threat had been spoken in front of everyone.
Mara set the towel bag down.
“Yes,” she said. “It does.”
Her voice shook once, then steadied. “And I am still telling you to stop.”
Dylan drew a breath.
“It wasn’t just the starts.”
Aaron’s stomach tightened.
The missing cap.
The laughter near the lane boards.
The practice order that always seemed to place him beside boys who splashed water into his face while Mercer looked away.
Dylan named each one.
Sometimes Mercer had given direct instructions. Sometimes he had said things like, “Make him earn it,” and the boys had understood what kind of behavior would be rewarded. When Aaron reacted, Mercer called him soft. When he asked for directions again because the coach shouted across a noisy pool, Mercer used the question as proof that Aaron was not focused.
“Why?” Aaron’s father asked.
