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“No.” He shook his head, looking out the window. “When your parents told me I could find you here, I pictured coming over and seeing you and it would just be the two of us.”
Then he looked at me with those light blue eyes and I swear, it pretty much felt like it was just the two of us, even as others milled around on the pool deck watching our every move.
“Do you have somewhere you have to be right now?” he asked. I could see his hand move as if he were about to raise it up to my cheek and touch me. But then, as if catching himself, he dropped it back to his side.
“Yes.” I gazed up at him, answering the wrong question. Yes, I wanted to go somewhere with him. But he hadn’t asked me that.
“Oh, OK.” He looked crestfallen. “Well, maybe later on? Or tomorrow? I’m hoping we can talk.”
“No.” I continued making it worse as now he looked hurt. “What I mean—” I shook my head. “I mean, no I don’t have somewhere I have to be right now and yes I’d love to talk with you.”
“Oh, OK.” That “Oh, OK” sounded a lot happier. He waited for me while I rinsed and changed into a sundress and flip-flops, my hair up in a ponytail as always.
We headed out to his rental car, bigger than mine, and sat in the front seats as if we were going to head somewhere. But he didn’t start the engine. He turned toward me.
“Emma, there’s probably a lot we need to discuss.”
“I know. I want to explain. I’m so sorry about so many things. I was so stupid.”
“Well,” he exhaled, not disagreeing with me. “Before I go any further, are there any other secrets I should know about? Are you secretly related to me in any way?”
“No.” A hint of a smile started tugging at my lips. Teasing was a good sign, wasn’t it?
“Are you currently, or have you ever been, a major league baseball pitcher?”
That made me laugh. “Where did you come up with that one?”
“Yeah, it’s unlikely. About as unlikely as I thought you being a secret blogger would be.” He looked at me, more serious. “I could barely believe it when I read that article.”
I felt a stab of pain at the mention of it. I could still vividly remember the sick lurch in my stomach when I’d seen it and realized that I couldn’t stop it. It was out there, and he’d already seen it, too. That had been a bad day.
“You’ve got to be honest with me, Emma. If you want to be with me.”
What was he asking me? Was there an offer on the table?
“I’m sick over it, Chase, honestly. The thought of hiding something from you ever again, I don’t even think I could do it if I tried.”
“Please don’t try.”
And that was it, I was over in his lap, in his arms, crying and kissing and apologizing and kissing again. “I’m so sorry. That was so awful.”
“OK,” he rubbed my back, kissing my mouth, my cheek, my eyelids. “I believe you.”
“I stopped having any plans to write anything about you so soon after we met, Chase. But I let it all go on too long. I should have explained everything to you straight away.”
“I wouldn’t have worked with you, if you’d told me you were a blogger, too.”
“No, you wouldn’t have.”
“So, I’m not exactly ready to say I’m glad you didn’t tell me the truth. But I am glad I met you.”
“You are? Really?” I couldn’t believe I was there with him, in his arms, touching him again. I could feel myself taking what felt like the first, deep breath of air I had in over a month, since I’d seen him last.
“Yes.” We didn’t talk for a little while then, letting our actions speak more than words, kissing, touching, holding. I shivered at the way his hand pressed against my lower back, held my waist, stroked my shoulder. He made every touch sensual, filled with promise.
“I don’t know what’s next for me, Emma,” he finally murmured. “I don’t have a plan.”
“That’s OK,” I reassured him. I understood how hard he’d been training, all focused on one goal. He hadn’t had time to wonder, “What’s next?”
“I’ve been kind of a mess lately, actually,” he admitted.
“Me, too.” Hello, moving back in with my parents and crying myself to sleep every night.
He kissed me again, then cupped my chin and gazed into my eyes. “Want to find out what’s next together?”
I kissed my answer, telling him yes with the nod of my head, the press of my lips, the caress of my hands, yes.
CHAPTER 22
Chase
Emma and I rented a place together in Vero, a smallish one but right on the water. I said yes to a few endorsements, with brands and products I actually used and liked. Sure, Speedo could use my image to sell their gear. I’d relied on the brand my whole life. It kept some money coming in to combine with Emma’s while we figured things out.
We took our time. After all the rush of training, getting ready for the games, all the pressure of secrecy and the looming competition, it felt amazing to just hang out. We lazed in bed, took baths, grilled out on our deck. We had a phenomenal deck. Not as big or entirely private as Liam’s—that was pretty hard to come by—it still made a sweet spot to sit out on and watch the sunset.
We were all good. As far as I was concerned, there wasn’t anything to apologize for or even explain. What was done was done. I believed her completely when she told me that she’d regretted her original intent soon after having worked with me, and shortly thereafter decided she could never betray my trust in writing a feature article.
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But Emma still wanted, or needed, to talk about it all. I knew what that was like. Guilt could eat away at you, corroding your sense of self, your confidence in your own abilities. I’d wasted years hating myself for what I could now see was an event beyond my control. What I’d had control over—and what I shouldn’t have done—was step on that stolen boat. After we’d gotten caught in a near-hurricane-level storm? I couldn’t judge myself for getting tossed overboard. I’d been a mere chess piece in the hands of an angry giant, tossing our game board around in fury.
I wanted to help Emma get to the same place. Yes, she should never have accepted the position with the intent of exposing my past in her blog. That was bad. But life didn’t end there. She’d made a bunch of choices afterward, and those I was much more interested in discussing.
Like what were we going to do next? I said we because even though she was gainfully employed and I was the one figuring out what the hell I was going to do with the rest of my life, we were having a lot of fun together coming up with ideas.
“What about a swim school?” she suggested one night, her toned legs across my lap as we sat outside enjoying the ocean breeze.
“I’ve thought about that,” I agreed. It seemed like a natural path. I’d been around swimming my whole life, surrounded by coaches. I was sure I could figure it out.
She held up her hands as if envisioning a sign. “The Chase Carter Swim School.”
“The Carter-Nelson Swim School,” I countered. She’d have to be a co-founder. I saw how much she liked giving those little kids lessons. That could be her focus. I could zero in on the older swimmers, the ones with drive and Olympic goals. I could train them, push them—
“But that might get too intense,” Emma interrupted my thoughts. “It might turn into a pressure cooker for Olympic hopefuls. But you know how few kids actually make it to the games.”
