Chlorine and Regret

The apartment complex pool shimmered at 2 AM, that tempting blue rectangle behind the locked gate. Marcus stood on his balcony, fourth-story vantage, vitamin D deficiency—a modern malady for a man who'd spent his twenties under stadium lights. Now thirty-seven, selling supplements for Pyramid Nutrition, and the most sunlight he got was walking to his car.

The baseball sat on his desk. Signed by Derek Jeter, 1998, genuine COA. His brother's, before the accident. Marcus had stolen it, smuggled it out of the hospital room in his pocket, and twenty years of guilt couldn't make him put it back. Couldn't make him throw it away either.

Tonight, the pool gate was unlatched. Somebody'd left it open—maintenance crew gone sloppy, or maybe another insomniac like him. Marcus stood at the edge, chlorine sharp in his nose, water lapping at the concrete like it was asking him a question he didn't want to answer.

He'd pitched for Triple-A. Two seasons, a 4.23 ERA, and then—nothing. Released, unsigned, and now this. Vitamin C packets and motivational posters about TEAM EXCELLENCE. The chlorine smell reminded him of locker rooms, of that specific locker room in Toledo where they'd told him to clean out his locker.

"You going in?"

Marcus jumped. A woman in the neighboring balcony, cigarette glowing in the dark. He'd seen her around. Never spoken.

"Just looking."

"It's better from inside." She ashed her cigarette, watched him with eyes that had seen too many 2 AMs. "You got that look. The one that says you're weighing the pros and cons of becoming the person you used to be."

Marcus laughed, short and humorless. "That obvious?"

"I'm a therapist." She flicked the cigarette over the edge. "And you're the guy with the Jeter ball on his desk. Third floor, right?"

"Fourth."

"Right." She stretched, joints popping in the silence. "You know what they say about vitamin D deficiency? It's not just about the sun. It's about admitting you need it."

The pool water rippled. The baseball upstairs sat on his desk, gathering dust. His phone would buzz in three hours with his Pyramid Nutrition alarm: MORNING ROUTINE. CHECK IN. BE YOUR BEST SELF.

Marcus took off his shirt. He dove in.