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“Drink some water and get some sleep, Tori.” I’d said those words to her before. I’d have to talk to her tomorrow.
“Night bestie!”
“I’ll call you tomorrow.” I wondered if she’d still call me bestie after I pulled the plug. She was counting on my big story, my exposé, the type of feature I had right in my wheelhouse, capturing the heart of a gripping story.
It wasn’t going to happen. I couldn’t do it to Chase. But I still felt sick over it, and unresolved, too, since I hadn’t been able to actually talk to her about it yet. There was nothing I hated more than anticipating a nasty conversation. My stomach was all tied up in knots.
I folded my shirts and socks like I had a vendetta against them. They’d done me wrong.
“I hope it’s not me you’re angry about.” Chase walked into the laundry room, looking freshly-showered and devastatingly gorgeous. Those ice blue eyes and superhero shoulders did it to me every time.
“Hey.” I wrapped my arms around him, sinking into him in a deep kiss. Resting my head against his chest, I explained I’d just gotten off the phone with Tori. “She was off-her-ass drunk. I hope she’s all right. She was partying all night with some random guys in Rio.”
“I’m sure she’s fine,” he reassured me. “You’re always taking care of other people, aren’t you?”
I shrugged, not ready to accept his kind words. I had a secret I was keeping from him, and I hated doing it. But I needed to wrap things up with Tori before I confessed.
“Come on.” He tugged my hand. “Let me help you carry all this back to the room. You know you can have a service take care of laundry, right?”
“I don’t pay other people to do my laundry for me,” I snapped at him, somehow seeming to imply that he was spoiled. Nice, Emma. He picked up my laundry basket.
“Good thing my help comes free of charge.” He smiled at me, still nice even with me crackling with bitchy electricity. It brought a tear to my eye. “Hey.” He pulled me to him and gave me another big hug. “Let’s head up to the hotel room. I don’t know what’s bothering you, but everything’s going to be all right.”
I nodded, wanting to feel completely reassured by his words. But until he had complete information about what was bothering me, it wasn’t going to happen.
CHAPTER 14
Chase
Something was up with Emma. I didn’t know what, but she was jumpy and tense. She clearly had something on her mind, but I didn’t know her well enough yet to understand what it was. Something could have happened at home or back at her workplace. She could have gotten some bad news. But when I asked her, she said it was nothing and she was fine.
In my experience with women, and granted I didn’t have too much successful experience, that was the equivalent of issuing a massive storm warning. Nothing signaled trouble like a woman brushing you off because everything was fine. Oh shit, buy out the canned goods, the storm of the century was about to hit.
But it also could be pre-Olympics jitters. She wasn’t about to compete, but everyone on and associated with the team was feeling it. It was our last day in Atlanta and everyone was acting loopy. Most of my teammates were off-the-walls, randomly high-fiving, fist-bumping and chest-thumping.
But not everyone was caught in the throes of emotional highs. That afternoon I’d found a teammate of mine sitting on the floor in a hallway sobbing so hard she could barely breathe. She was only 16 and it was her first time away from home. She was covered in snot and told me she wished she’d never started swimming. It was the worst thing that had ever happened to her. The games were going to be an epic disaster.
I sat with her a while, giving her my jacket to blow her nose into. I didn’t need it anyway. I told her a couple of funny stories about my first Olympics in Beijing back eight years ago. I’d gotten lost in the Olympic village every single time I’d set foot out of my condo. And when we’d circled the main arena in the majestic, celebratory opening ceremony? I’d tripped, and it had been caught on camera, gawky 18-year-old me barely managing to prevent a full-body, face-first sprawl across the ground.
That seemed to cheer her up. “I can’t believe that,” she shook her head, as if she clearly thought me above all mortal actions like getting lost or tripping. “I mean, you’re Chase Carter!”
“Well, you’re Lizzie Christopher.” I elbowed her, trying to get her to smile. “I’ve seen you in the pool. You’re going to kill it in Rio. I think you’re ready to be on a cereal box.”
“Really?” she asked, eyes wide, bloodshot and puffy.
“Absolutely.” She’d probably have to wash her face first. But, honestly, I knew a great competitor when I saw one and the kid was a natural. She just needed to work on handling all the stress, channeling it into adrenaline to fuel performance.
After all the talking, plus I had to head back up to my room to change my shirt, I was late for the team dinner down in a conference room. Everyone was at round tables, assigned seating, and I saw an empty space for me up near the front. Emma was next to her buddy in PR, Megan, toward the back of the room. We gave each other a brief nod, but I had to head up to my place. I knew coach was going to talk to all of us tonight, and he wanted me to say a few words as well. Public speaking was not my thing, but I’d do it. I understood the team saw me as a leader, and I needed to step into that role.
Making toast after toast, everyone was amped up. It was really happening! We were heading to the Olympics! A microphone got passed around and most of the coaches plus half my teammates grabbed it, talking about how they couldn’t believe it, after all those years of hard work, all the plans and hopes and dreams were all now ours to reach out and grab.
Once we’d finished dessert, our head coach stood up and called all of our attention. I figured he was going to give us his standard motivational speech, reminding us how we needed to keep our heads down and push it. But, instead, he told us a story that had all of us wiping our eyes and clearing our throats.
Coach talked to us about a kid in California who’d spent his childhood in and out of the hospital with a rare genetic blood disease. While most kids had been out running around, invited to birthday parties and playing sports, he’d spent his days in isolation, wracked with pain, his growth severely stunted. He hadn’t felt much like living until his mom had heard about something called the Special Olympics. She’d called up the organizer, gotten him in the pool and there he’d found his reason to live, with teammates, experiencing the joy of moving through the water, and a remarkable freedom from pain when he got caught up in the excitement of swimming.
“That’s what the games are all about,” he told us, barely a dry eye in the room. “The Olympics are a celebration of the human spirit. There’s a lot of focus on medals and podiums. But I’ll tell you what it’s about. The games are about hope. They’re about challenging yourself to do the impossible. The games are about being the best you can be.”
Damn, did he know how to make us feel pumped up. I felt it, deep in my bones. I’d trained my whole life for this moment and I was ready.
After coach spoke, he looked over at me. I nodded, understanding what he wanted. I stood up and took the mic.
“I want you all to know,” I said from the front of the room, all eyes on me. “I’m proud to be your teammate.” I took a moment to look around, seeing the faces I’d grown so accustomed to every day, every morning, noon and night as we trained. “I look around this room and I see some of the hardest working people I’ve ever met.”
Lizzie, looking a lot happier than I’d seen her in the hallway, started the applause and I gave it a moment before it died down. I
pointed to the shirt I now wore, our USA team jersey. “It’s a pretty amazing opportunity to head to the games wearing these colors. It’s a privilege. Let’s do it right. Let’s show Rio our best. Respect the other athletes. And bring it. Let’s go represent!”
Everyone jumped to their feet, clapping and cheering wildly. There were hugs and tears and all sorts of emotions as we all wished each other well. Our head coach, the toughest ex-military son of a gun I’d ever known, came over and gave me a bear hug.
“That’s my boy.” He ruffled my hair, though I had a good four inches of height on him. He’d been like a father to me over the past few years, pushing and demanding but always with the understanding he did it because he believed in me. Now it was time to make it happen.
By the time the room started to clear out and I was able to disengage myself from conversation, Emma had gone. Without coming over to talk. Something was up with her. I was going to find out what it was. I didn’t do this whole avoid and deny thing. When I saw an issue that needed to be addressed, I went for it.
I took the stairs. Elevators could wait for when I had more patience. She answered her door after the first knock, likely expecting my arrival.
“Hey. That was a great speech you made.” She looked shy and slightly nervous, stepping to the side and looking down at the carpet.
“Thanks. We need to talk.” The four most dreaded words in the English language. Her attention snapped right up. Yeah, I didn’t like it, either. There were many things I’d enjoy doing more that could still involve our mouths and occasional words like “yes” and “more.” But we had some less fun stuff to get out of the way first.
“Is everything OK?” She sounded anxious.
“I don’t think so.” I took her hand and led her over to the couch. At least we could sit together while we talked, preferably with her on my lap. I loved the feel of her ass against me, so round and tight but soft, too. I pulled her onto me and she settled in like we were made for each other. But she still held her body tense and rigid.
