“I’ve missed this,” I whisper to him when we stop.
“I missed it too.” His hands trace my collarbones. “I won’t mess this up again, Kath. Please believe me. I’ll grovel for an eternity. I know I have to make this right.”
“You don’t need to grovel,” I tell him. “You just need to promise never to push me away again. No matter what happens.”
“Pinky promise. And you know that those are binding,” he says as he leans forwards and catches my lips again.
Chapter 51
Twenty-seven years old
Kath
You got this, Champ.I text Sam on the morning of his last race before I get on my bike to go to the hospital. It’s the European Acquatics Championships, and he’s racing in Birmingham. I didn’t manage to get time off work, because I’m saving my leave for the World Championships, but I should be home for his final. Josh and Claire are coming over to watch it with me, and Tom might swing by if he feels like it. Claire’s new boyfriend is also coming for a professional relationship evaluation between bowls of crisps and intense swimming commentary. Apparently, she gave him some pre-race swimming homework.
Sam swam well in the heats. But more importantly, he looked happy. And he sounded happy when he called me from his hotel room. He wasn’t anxious like back in Rio, or on the verge of panic attacks like in Tokyo. Instead, he just sounded like he was having a good time.
Sometimes I forget that we’ve only officially been together for six months. When you’ve been friends with someone for over half your life, and in love with them for most of that time, it can become difficult tountangle the timeline. Despite all his training, Sam manages to find time to meal prep the week for us, and to collect me from the occasional shift that’s overrun. He also helps me with my medical exams. Mainly by pretending to be an eighty-year-old during a cardiovascular exam, or a concerned relative when I’m practising for the communication skills station.
Life feels lighter with him around. The exams don’t feel as overwhelming. It’s easier to set boundaries, to socialise, with him beside me.
When Claire arrives, bottle of wine in one hand, boyfriend pushed through the door with the other, the races have already started. I’m just plating up our pizzas when Sam’s race is announced and we stop talking to watch.
He’s still not as fast as he was at the Olympics. But he did take several months off. And most importantly, he isn’t beating himself up about the fact that his times aren’t as good. He’s swimming because he loves swimming, rather than because he has something to prove.
“Where did Sam place in the freestyle yesterday?” Claire quizzes Dan, who looks panicked.
“Come on, man,” Josh teases. “That’s the most obvious question.”
“I was memorising world records,” he mumbles. “I know this. Give me a moment.”
I laugh. Poor guy. I’m not sure he’s Claire’s type, but she said her mother set them up.
“Silver!” he says and Claire cheers and gives him a high five, but it looks forced. I file that thought away for later. Tom just rolls his eyes.
We pause our conversation to watch the medley. Claire shrieks and nearly knocks over her wine when he pips the French swimmer to the wall.
“Oh my god, he won!” She shouts loudly enough that I’m worried my neighbours will have heard. Dan looks perturbed with the chaos… not boding well for his final score on the relationship evaluation.
I’m still in shock. I didn’t think he would get gold at this meet. He’s been doing well. But notthatwell. He’s grinning as he congratulates the other swimmers before turning and pumping the air. That’s another thing that’s changed. He actually seems to celebrate his wins now.
“I can’t believe it,” I tell the others.
“Ye of little faith,” Tom scoffs. “It’s Aquaman. He only knows how to get gold.”
“That’s such a stupid nickname,” Claire tells him.
“Whatever.” He shoots her a look. “You think of a better one then, Buttercup.”
I elbow him and he gives me an annoyed look.Be nice, I mouth at him.
A few minutes later, Sam is talking to Mel Braithwaite on the side of the pool. His face is still pink, and goggle marks ring his eyes.
“I know you took some time off swimming, Sam,” she says. “But you’re racing like you haven’t. You must be really pleased with the results today.”
“I did take some time out,” he nods. “After Tokyo, I just needed some time to reset. Some time to think about why I was doing this and whether it was still something I wanted to do. But I’m really grateful for that break. It made me fall in love with swimming again and remember what it was like to be that boy who just loved the pool rather than the one who felt the weight of expectations.”
“The expectations must be difficult,” the reporter says, and I nod along from home. I know she isn’t the perpetrator, but it’s often the media who put those expectations on him.
