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Banks frowns. “I think you’re too hard on yourself, Sulli. You don’t need to prove anything to anyone. Least of all a baby that’s not here yet.”
“It’s too much pressure,” Akara adds.
Tears rise. “I don’t know how to release it.”
“Just breathe, Sul,” Akara whispers against my ear.
Banks places a sweet, soft kiss against my cheek. I like how he caresses my face, holds my jaw and wipes the last of my tears. I like how Akara’s thumb rubs circles around my hip. Easing me. I’m not even sure I deserve this.
Their comfort, their love and support.
The reporter intimated that they were my distractions. That Akara and Banks were the ones that tilted my focus and caused me to lose. I wish I could shield any hatred directed their way, but I don’t know how.
I don’t want the world to hate them or be disappointed in me because of them.
I have four more chances to win gold. And it’s not their fault if I fail.
It’s only mine.
23
BANKS MORETTI
4 MONTHS BEFORE THE OLYMPICS
MARCH
Three in the morning at the muggy Aquatic Center, and I’m wondering if I should pull the mermaid out of the pool. She’s been in there for hours. Longer than usual. And that was after her total ass kicking during “dry land” training this afternoon.
When Sulli announced that she’d be coming out of retirement and returning to the Olympics, Akara warned me about her strict training regimen. I thought I geared myself up for it—but the reality is different. I nearly doubled over in shock when Sulli told me she was skipping her sister’s sixteenth birthday tonight to train instead.
I overheard their FaceTime call this morning. “It’s the Olympics. I get it, Sulli-Bear,” Winona said. “I’ll have other birthdays.”
Sulli forced a smile and nodded. Maybe she hoped her sister would beg her to miss out on training, but most of her family shower her with support and understanding. It’s almost like they know what she has to do, and they’re trying to make it easier on her.
But hell, I see it affecting her in some way.
I watched her all day. Quieter. More focused than usual as she dove into the pool tonight. Now she’s staying in the water late, and I wonder if it’s to make her sacrifice worth it.
My phone beeps.
Here. Open door. – Akara
The smell of chlorine permeates around me. I grew used to it as a floater on Maximoff’s detail. Back when he taught little kids how to swim at this Aquatic Center.
Sulli would be on the rooftop pool at the penthouse if it were regulation size. But she rents out the Aquatic Center pool most nights.
Akara stands outside in the dark, illuminated by the streetlamps and lingering camera flashes from paparazzi. He carries a bag of takeout. My stomach grumbles seeing him through the glass doors. I unlock them.
“I love you,” I tell him like he was sent from heaven.
He lets out a laugh, his smile rising as he slips inside while I brace the door open. He keeps an eye on the paparazzi. “You don’t even know what it is.”
“Only thing I care about is if it’s edible.”
One foot through the door and he says, “Well, according to Greer, you eat crayons.”
Fuck. He heard that?
His expression is full of pent-up annoyance.
I lock the door behind him. “That was a month ago, Akara. How long have you been stewing on that?”
He takes a tight breath. “For a month. I didn’t get it until I looked it up.” He shoots me a look. “You’re not dumb enough to eat crayons.”
He’s pretty serious about it. Like he wants to make sure Greer didn’t get to me. I’m not sensitive enough to let that insult sink too deep, but I appreciate Akara’s concern.
“I know that. Greer knows that. He was just grabbing at the low hanging fruit.” I steal the takeout bag from his hand. “Are we going to have problems with them?”
Akara stares at the ceiling. Scratch that—glares at the ceiling. “Probably.”
“Which one?”
“All three.”
I groan. “Mother of Christ. Price, Wylie, and Greer. Throw me off a bridge.”
“Don’t say that,” Akara says.
“Lightly push me.”
He gives me a harder look. “I love you, Banks, but I’m not pushing you off anything higher than the ground, even if you beg.”
I laugh a little and pull out a container and pass the bag back. And then an icy chill trickles and snakes down my spine as a stomach-turning, pulse-skipping memory washes over me.
“Banks?” Akara studies me. “Hey, you okay?”
“Yeah.” I try to shake off the eerie discomfort that I unearthed. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“All the color drained out of your face.” Akara thinks back. “Is it something I said?”
“Something I said,” I mumble, hoping my appetite returns. ‘Cause right now, I feel like upchucking in the nearest shitter. Quick glance to Sulli—still swimming—I focus on the container.
