Then we stood. Neither of us reached for the other. We weren’t about to hold hands for photographs. We walked out together while reporters kept shouting questions after us, cameras still flashing.
For us, the Olympics had ended hours ago.
Now we had to figure out what came after truth.
Luka
The door closedbehind us with a click, and the sound settled deep in my chest like the end of a long-held breath.
Mark had followed us out.
“Okay, boys… breathe.” He patted our backs. “You are both brave men.”
“We told the truth,” I said simply. “Is that brave?”
“It is when most people never make it that far.” Then he straightened. “Now, I hate to burst your bubble, but you’ve both got the gala to prepare for on Saturday. Don’t forget to give yourselves some breathing space.” He looked me in the eye. “While you can. Becauseyouknowthe story isn’t going to end here, right?” Then he pulled out his phone. “And now there’s somewhere I have to be.” He smiled. “The Olympics have finished for you guys, but not for Harper and Ava.” He gave Dean’s shoulder a squeeze. “You gonna be there tonight to cheer them on?”
Before Dean could reply, I got in first. “We both will.”
Mark smiled, then headed off.
I watched him disappear down the hallway. “I like your coach. He’s nothing like Sokolov.”
Dean laughed under his breath. “That’s a very low bar.”
“True.”
The corridor had finally emptied, and the sudden absence of people felt almost as strange as the press conference itself. I leaned against the wall and shut my eyes for a second. The adrenaline was wearing off now, leaving exhaustion in its place. My legs felt heavy, my head heavier.
When I opened my eyes again, Dean was studying me. “You okay?”
I was too tired to lie. “I think I could sleep for three days.”
“That bad?”
I smiled. “That good.” I glanced back to the media room. “Half the time I was waiting for somebody to accuse me of something.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s usually how these conversations go.”
Dean pushed one shoulder against the wall beside me. “Nobody seemed interested in accusing you of anything.”
“No, they weren’t.”
I’d spent years building those moments into monsters in my head. Then I’d walked into a room, answered questions, and walked back out again.
Dean brushed his fingers across the back of my neck. “Come here.”
The second I stepped into his arms, the noise still rattling around in my head eased a little, as if it had moved further away. Peoplepassed occasionally at the far end of the corridor, dragging suitcases or carrying accreditation lanyards. Nobody paid us much attention.
“This still feels weird,” I said eventually.
“What does?”
I tilted my head back enough to look at him. “Having a terrible day and then... not having it become worse.”
That earned me a laugh. “Your standards are tragic.”
