Water Marks

The ball hit the padel racket with a satisfying crack, bouncing off the glass wall and returning to Marcus's waiting hand. Sweat dripped down Ethan's back, plastering his shirt to his skin.

"Your form's off," Marcus called, wiping his forehead with the collar of his shirt. "Distracted?"

Ethan watched his friend—the man who'd been sleeping with his wife for six months, the man who smiled across the net as if nothing had changed. They still played padel every Tuesday. They still met at this club, surrounded by people who knew nothing.

"Just tired." Ethan returned the serve, harder than necessary.

The game ended 6-4. Marcus didn't gloat. He never gloomed anymore, not since knowing.

They walked together toward the pool area, towels over their shoulders. The evening sun cast long shadows across the water. A woman floated on her back, face tilted toward the fading light.

"You going to tell her?" Marcus asked quietly.

"Tell who what?" Ethan's voice was flat.

"Sarah. That you know." Marcus stopped at the edge of the pool, toes curling over the lip. "Or are you waiting for me to do it?"

Ethan looked at the water, at the ripples distorting the woman's body beneath the surface. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Ethan—"

"We're playing padel next week, right? Same time?"

Marcus studied him for a long moment. Then he nodded, almost imperceptibly. "Tuesday. Seven o'clock."

They didn't shake hands. Marcus walked toward the locker rooms. Ethan stood alone by the pool, watching the water settle into stillness, wondering how much longer he could keep treading water before his legs gave out entirely.