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“She made a mistake because she’s human,” Liam continued. “But I bet she regrets it now.”
“I bet she does.” The tone of my voice conveyed my mixed emotions. She might regret it for a lot of reasons. Like because her identity got unveiled and she couldn’t blog anonymously anymore. Or maybe she was catching some flack for it back at work.
“That girl likes you.” Liam looked over at me. “A lot. She wasn’t faking that.”
I looked out at the dark horizon, the sun down but still leaving the darkest shade of purple above the black ocean.
“You stay here and have some deep thoughts.” He stood and clapped me on the shoulder. “I’m going to head in. I’ve got to be at the station at five tomorrow. You’ve got the couch there for you when you want it.”
“Thanks,” I grumbled. But I did mean it.
“That couch is wicked comfortable,” he added over his shoulder. He’d added in the “wicked” for me. As native Massholes, we felt it was our birthright to use the word from time to time.
“I know,” I answered. I’d slept on that wicked comfortable couch many times before.
He left me out on the deck with my beer, the ocean and my deep thoughts. I only had one thought, really. I missed Emma. I missed the way she laughed and the sweet blush she’d get when I talked dirty to her, but she’d always flush with arousal, too. I missed making her smoothies, hearing her tell me about her family or the run she was going to do that day. I missed the feel of her hands on me, kneading, massaging, stroking. I missed the way she looked when she came, glistening with sweat, panting, her mouth open with pleasure. I missed everything about her.
I gazed out on the water, where I’d nearly died 12 years ago. Right off of that coast. That was the worst thing that had ever happened to me. I still had nightmares about it to this day.
But it had also given me purpose. It had fired up an iron resolve that had powered me through all of my achievements, driving me past normal human limits to achieve something no one had before. I’d set a world record. All because I had to prove it to myself. I wasn’t the weakling who’d gotten tossed off the boat, letting my friend get trapped in a fire. The worst disaster had helped bring about the best achievement in my life.
Maybe disasters didn’t have to stay that way? Maybe the world wasn’t as black and white as I’d thought. And maybe the best thing that had ever happened to me wasn’t my gold medals or my world record. Maybe it was Emma.
I stood up and headed inside. I had an email sitting unopened in my inbox. It was time to read it.
CHAPTER 21
Emma
“How’s that? All right for you?” I gently helped my client into a seated position. She was close to 80 and recovering from hip replacement surgery. It was a tough road, especially for those without a history of exercise. I was working with her twice a week, and she was seeing a therapist in the pool the days she didn’t work with me.
“I think you’re coming along nicely,” I assured her, helping her get to standing. She still had a long way to go, but she could do it.
“Thank you, dear.” She patted my hand. “You’re a real godsend.” I held the door open for her, wishing I believed even half of the compliment.
It had been three weeks since the games, and I still felt like something scraped off the bottom of a shoe. I usually liked September, the temperatures in Florida starting to cool slightly, the kids with their new school backpacks. But this year I wasn’t enjoying myself too much.
I’d moved back in with my parents, on a temporary basis. It was time to find my own place, not living with Tori anymore. That had gone on for too long.
I wasn’t even angry at Tori. She’d behaved in exactly the same way she always did, impulsive, emotional and a little careless. She hadn’t been trying to do me harm. She wasn’t malicious, but she wasn’t always a good friend. I didn’t plan on cutting her out of my life, but I wasn’t going to let her in as close anymore. The best friends forever thing had worn out its welcome. Probably several years ago, if I was honest.
We’d had a couple of conversations as I’d packed up my things, officially moving out at the end of August. She’d even attempted to help, a little, but sorting, organizing and folding wasn’t exactly her thing. One afternoon, she’d come and sat at the end of my bed.
I was a big believer in weeding out your closet. I’d rather have a few, simple things that fit me well and made me feel attractive than a closet full of random stuff. I was trying to get rid of things, bring them to Goodwill instead of just pile everything into suitcases and lug it around with me. I wasn’t a big new-agey person, obsessed with chakras and auras and all that, but I did feel like I needed a fresh start. New karma in my life, I guess you could say. Out with the old, in with the new.
Tori started offering advice, which ran diametrically opposed to my own instincts.
“You have to keep that!” she insisted, at the exact moment I was tossing something into the giveaway pile. I tried not to see it as symbolic, but it happened anyway. We were so different, she and I. Maybe we always had been. I’d been holding on to our friendship, but at the expense of moving on, myself.
“You’re sure you want to move out?” She looked wistful as she asked, and I was sure part of her felt that way. But I also knew she already had another roommate lined up, a friend from the restaurant where she waitressed. Her new roommate was the type who would stay out all night with Tori, instead of suggesting she switch to water around two a.m. when she realized she’d lost her panties. Without me as her emergency break, Tori might get into a lot more trouble. But she needed to sort that out herself. It didn’t really make either of us happy when I played that role.
“Are you still mad at me?” she asked, biting her nails. I’d assured her on several occasions that, no, I was not mad at her. I’d been angry when I’d first found out. But since then? The only person I was really mad at was myself.
I’d been so stupid. And Tori was right, the whole idea of scooping Chase had been my idea in the first place. Months and months ago we’d been sitting around, eating nachos late at night, playing the “who’s hotter” game. Chris or Liam Hemsworth? Buster Posey or Jonathan Lucroy? (Shout out to the catchers so hot they burned up their face masks!) I’d posed the question, who’s hotter, the Aussie swimmer James Magnussen or Chase Carter?
“Who?” Tori had shocked and appalled me by asking. She followed baseball, not swimming. That had led to some Google searches, which had led to some drooling, and the idle statement by me, “lucky physical therapist who gets to work with him.”
Tori had given me that look, the one that said, “that’s not such a bad idea.” And once I’d remembered he had that mysterious, untold backstory, it was all over. We were on the idea like white on rice. She’d gotten her job in PR, I’d started pursuing mine with the team, and the rest was history. I couldn’t pretend I hadn’t had a full part in coming up with the scheme.
My father had said it to me, back in Rio. I couldn’t change the past. All I could control was my behavior moving forward. It was up to me to decide how I was going to handle things in the future. Better, I ho
ped.
Which was why I’d brought up the whole thing with my boss. She was a big, intimidating woman who’d played water polo in college and still enjoyed hammering her opponents in supposedly “recreational” game play in her master’s league.
Hesitant, guilty, I’d asked if I could meet with her on my first day back in the office. She’d been eating a large pastrami sandwich while we spoke, the multiple layers of tomato and lettuce dropping out as she took bites.
“Spit it out,” she’d said to me, spitting out a few things, herself.
“Um, it’s about something you might read about me online. On a blog?”
“Have you broken the law?” She locked me in her steely gaze.
“No! No, nothing like that.”
“Then I don’t care.”
“Well, you might.” I didn’t want to push. She’d just given me a get out of jail free card. But I didn’t want any more unfinished business, any more worries about untold truths. “It might affect your opinion of me as a professional working for you.”
“Are you still the same person you were when you left here a month ago?”
“Yes.” Honestly, I felt pretty different. But as far as she was concerned, I had the same skills as a physical therapist.
“Then we’re good. Let me eat my lunch.” She motioned to the door. She wasn’t being rude; she was just to the point.
“Hey,” she called after me as I got up to leave. “What happens in the Village, stays in the Village.” And she gave me a wink.
Maybe she had seen that article after all.
§
I wanted to spend a lot of time crying. Behind closed doors, in bed, covers drawn up, shades pulled down. That was part of why it was good that I was between apartments. My parents weren’t having it. Up early every morning, they usually let me sleep until around eight. But that was it.
I’d hear a tap, tap on my door. “Hey honey, I’m heading to the Farmer’s Market. Let’s go pick some corn for dinner.”
Or, “Come on with me to the center. They need someone to help with the littles.” The facility where my mom worked had a large pool, and to make some extra income they offered community swim lessons. With the younger learn-to-swims, they needed to keep the student-to-teacher ratio low, and they were always happy when I could help out. A little extra cash in my pocket didn’t hurt, either.
