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he way I’d pictured saying those words. Nor was it how I’d pictured him reacting.
“Emma, I don’t know what to believe right now.”
“Believe me,” I pleaded.
“I have been. But apparently you weren’t being honest.”
I paused, forcing myself to take the hard, high road. “You’re right. I wasn’t.”
He shook his head, fisting his hair in frustration. “You have no idea how much I want to pull you over here and tell you everything’s OK.”
I sobbed, wishing he’d do exactly that. Why couldn’t he just do that and this would all go away?
“But I’d be lying,” he continued. “I need some time to sort shit out. I feel like I don’t know you.”
“You do know me, Chase. I’m the same person I always have been.”
He listened, but shook his head again. “Give me some time, Emma. I feel like I’ve been clubbed over the head.”
There was nothing more I could say, not then. “OK,” I nodded, conceding defeat. I couldn’t batter him anymore, trying to insist that he buy my side of the story. He said he needed time and I could give him that. I had to.
“You should probably go now, Emma. I have to meet up with my mom.”
I nodded, trying to keep it together. I was supposed to go see my parents, too. I’d hoped Chase would join me and the four of us could have a celebratory meal before they flew back to Florida. Before Chase and I went off on vacation together, enjoying the romantic getaway of my dreams. Neither of which would be happening.
I couldn’t stop myself from sobbing one last, “I’m so sorry, Chase.”
He nodded, fixing his heavy gaze on the bedspread, acknowledging he’d heard my apology. But it didn’t seem to make a difference.
§
“I didn’t know you were still writing that blog with Tori.”
“We thought you’d stopped that years ago.”
My parents were upset, both by the news article and by the fact that I couldn’t stop crying. I’d gone straight to their hotel room and was a complete, hot mess, barely able to speak.
“I never liked that blog,” my mom acknowledged. “I never dreamed you were still writing for it. I thought you’d stopped in college.”
No, I hadn’t stopped. Yes, they were right. They were too cool to say it to me, the “I told you so.” But it was there, plain as day.
Back in high school when we’d started it, they’d warned me it was a bad idea to write anonymously. I should never do anything I didn’t want my name on. I should always be proud of what I wrote.
I’d assured them, I would do that. And I’d stuck to my promise. Every article I’d written I felt good about. I wrote features, I felt like screaming it from the rooftops. Feel-good features about the good in people!
But it didn’t matter what was inside the package. It was all wrapped up in something very different. I’d been lying to myself. When I thought about the blog from an outsiders’ point of view, there was nothing to distinguish it from all of the other ones out there feeding off of celebrity gossip.
“Well, you can’t change the past.” My father spoke the truth, even if it wasn’t comforting at all. “You can only control how you behave moving forward.”
I knew he was right, but moving forward at the moment seemed next to impossible. I could barely breathe, never mind pick myself up and begin the daunting task of living an exemplary life. Without Chase in it.
They convinced me to use my existing ticket to fly back to Florida that day. I wouldn’t be on the same flight, but they’d wait for me at the airport and we could all drive back to Vero together. Chase and I had mentioned travel plans to them, but we all knew those were now cancelled. They didn’t want me sitting around Rio bawling my eyes out, waiting and hoping for a guy to get in touch with me. They agreed I’d made a mistake, a big one, but they still wanted the best for me.
I didn’t deserve them. I’d really screwed up. It didn’t matter that I had excuses. That I’d been friends with Tori forever and it had clouded my judgment. That I really was a legitimate physical therapist, not just posing as one.
I’d done something wrong to the man I’d fallen in love with. I’d been so wrapped up in myself, first concerned with finding out his story, then worried about falling for him. I’d actually felt scared about whether he would hurt me. As if he might be the jerk in all this, screwing me over like my past boyfriends.
I guess I’d really turned the tables. I’d definitely been the one to fuck up this time. It didn’t matter that I’d fallen completely in love with him. I was the bad guy in this scenario. And Chase might never be able to forgive me.
CHAPTER 20
Chase
Back at my father’s house north of Boston, I rattled around like a ghost, keeping all kinds of strange hours, without a purpose. I had an apartment back in Tempe, but I’d decided to move my stuff out at the end of the month. I didn’t want to head back to my old life. Largely because my old life wasn’t there waiting for me anymore. I was no longer on the U.S. Olympic swim team. I’d become a former member of the team. It sounded crazy, but I didn’t really know who I was anymore.
I’d spent the last week partying with my teammates, and we hadn’t even left Rio. We’d kept on renting the house and turned it into a crazy party pad. We were lucky, our events finished up early. Everyone else looking for a place to hang out found their way over to our house. No curfew, no coaches, nothing but debauched letting-loose.
To be honest, I didn’t remember much of it. My tolerance was low since I’d barely drunk alcohol in almost a year. My spirits were even lower. And it turned out, some of my teammates had hidden talents as bartenders, keeping the party flowing at all times.
I had women draped all over me at all times, too. I didn’t seek them out. It just happened. But I didn’t hook up with anyone, even though my teammates nearly locked me in a bedroom trying to make it happen. They thought it would help me get over Emma.
“Exorcise the demon!” Chris had told me, pointing out that blonde, or that one, or the gymnast over there. “She won a freaking silver, dude! Do you know how flexible she is?”
I don’t think I ruined their party—I was a big draw, after all—but I didn’t crank it up a notch the way they wanted. I knew fooling around with someone else wouldn’t help. Hell, it would probably make it worse.
That chemistry I’d felt with Emma? It was off the charts, like we were made for each other. That didn’t happen every day. In my 26 years of experience, it had happened exactly once.
I knew I’d told her I needed some time to sort things out, and I’d get around to doing that, but first I spent an entire week drunk. Then I spent a week in pajama pants eating pizza and playing video games at my dad’s house.
I had much more glamorous and, well, social options. I hadn’t spent any real time in the Boston area since high school, and I hadn’t kept in touch with former classmates that well, but I knew I could reach out and get some instant responses. All I’d need to do was hop on Instagram and I’d start a party at any bar of my choosing. Everyone wanted to hang with the reigning Olympic champion.
There were a whole bunch of marketing opportunities for me to pursue, too. I had offers for sponsorships, commercials, MC-ing events. ESPN even wanted to talk to me about doing commentary, testing out how telegenic I was. Schools wanted to book me as a motivational speaker. Corporations wanted me to come talk about work ethic.
My father, of course, wanted me to say yes to all of it. “The window’s going to close!” seemed to be his favorite expression. Now was the time to make money off of my brand. It wasn’t as if I was going back to the Olympics again and winning more gold medals. The public’s memory was short. Right now, I was a household name worldwide. But football season would start up soon, then the World Series would capture everyone’s attention, and swimming would go back to the shadows. Because no one really cared about swimming. That was another chestnut he dropped every now and then.
I knew I should strike while the iron was hot. But I didn’t feel so hot. I felt tired. When I’d been training hours upon hours every day, I’d had boundless energy and drive. Now, with no reason to wake up at any particular time? I found myself climbing back into bed a lot. I thought having a lot of time on my hands, without a schedule, would be great. I thought it would feel like freedom. Instead I felt a strange mixture of aimless and trapped.
My mom called and invited me to stay with her for a while. She lived twenty minutes away in another leafy green and sedate suburb of Boston. Back in high school, I’d divided my time between the two houses. But really I’d spent most of my time at the pool. By senior year, I’d earned most of my credits, and fulfilled the majority of my remaining requirements with tutors and exams so I could train 24/7, unrestricted by class schedules, in preparation for the 2008 games. My coaches had become my parents, my teammates my family from a young age.
I’d never really spent a lot of time hanging out. I’d spent even less time hanging out with my mom. On Sunday morning, we gardened together in her back yard. She had a large garden with flowers, herbs and vegetables. I hadn’t even known she liked to get her hands dirty like that.
“I didn’t start until about ten years ago,” she recalled as we weeded. “I was always so busy.”
That was how I remembered her, always tense, always on edge waiting for some new missile to get launched at her from my father. He had the tendency to spring new, young girlfriends on her at vulnerable moments, like big swim meets or back-to-school nights. She seemed so much more relaxed now, with almost an easy way about her. I hadn’t noticed that at the games, but then again watching your son swim in the heavily televised Olympics while sitting next to your ex-husband might make anyone tense.
“This is a great yard.” I paused, wiping sweat from my brow. She had a bunch of seating set up in shady spots, and a nice, wide lawn.
“Thanks.” She looked around with satisfaction and pride. I’d always loved my mom and known she loved me, in her way, but basically I’d thought of her as an uptight socialite. She looked different with a smudge of dirt across her cheek and a genuine smile on her face.
