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24
AKARA KITSUWON
NOW
I hate watching this.
Banks white-knuckles the back of my shirt, standing a breath behind me and watching over my shoulder. Sulli swims like she was born in the water, but I can’t stand how close Frankie Hansen trails her in the 200m free.
“Fuckfuckfuck,” Banks curses, still clutching my tee. His jaw tics as he clenches his teeth. Breathing hard through his nose.
Press bleachers are packed to our right, and half the cameras are now on us. We’ve graced every major news and sports cover for simply caring about our girlfriend. Knowing she’d be hurt taking home her first silver. Knowing she’d consider second place a defeat like the world keeps spinning it.
It’s not.
She medaled at the Olympics. How many will ever get to say that? Banks is right when he read the magazines this morning and said, “Fuck everyone to hell and back who keeps acting like she’s not an Olympic phenomenon.”
Still, we want this win for Sulli.
So I’m wincing as Frankie closes in on Sulli’s lead. “Shit,” I curse out loud. Banks doesn’t even bother slugging me.
“Meadows at the turn,” the sports commentator says nearest me. “Hansen gaining at the final fifty, and at poolside, the boyfriends of Meadows are holding their breaths with the rest of the world.”
Yeah we are.
And we could morph into statutes. We’re experienced at that. Give them next to nothing to work with out of spite and duty to our jobs, but ultimately, Banks and I decided we’d rather be written in the history books as caring about our girlfriend than standing emotionless as bodyguards.
I love that I’m not poolside alone. I love that Banks is experiencing the on-the-edge anticipation of Sulli swimming for gold up close and with me.
I catch his shoulder, excitement surging as Sulli pulls out further. “She has this.”
“Come on, mermaid,” he whispers.
Everyone in the stands are on their feet. Roaring and cheering.
“The final stretch,” the commentator announces. “Hansen is closing in! Look at her speed!”
No.
No.
Banks is clutching my bicep. His fingers digging into my flesh while mine dig into his shoulder. No, no, no.
She’s can’t lose another one.
She can’t.
It’s going to kill her.
It’s going to kill me.
“Hansen and Meadows! They’re neck and neck now! Final twenty!”
Cheers and screams and horns blast off in the stands. I imagine her family are among the supporters with just as much lively fervor. I wish I could jump up and down with support, but I can’t move. Like if I make a single twitch, she’ll falter and lose focus.
“She’s going to do it,” Banks says in a last-ditch hope.
I blink, and it’s over.
It’s over.
“Hansen takes gold!” the commentator yells in surprise. “Holy cow! Meadows takes silver for the second time in Los Angeles. Another upset. Two silvers for Meadows at the Olympics. Zero golds.”
“Fuck.” Banks buries his head in my shoulder as he releases his grip. “Mother of fuck…” He growls into my trap, and I rest a hand on his neck.
“Shit,” I breathe out, chest tight.
We let go of each other and watch Frankie. Seeing the scoreboard, her hand flies to her lips and she immediately breaks down in uncontained, overwhelmed tears.
The Olympic commentators barely focus on Frankie. One near me says, “Everyone is wondering how Meadows will take this loss. Two nights ago, she was not happy about silver in the 400m IM—wait, it looks like she’s ducking under the ropes.”
Sure enough, Sulli swims under the lane ropes, crossing two lanes to reach Frankie. I watch our girlfriend put her arms around the young swimmer and give her a hug. Frankie cries harder, happy tears.
My muscles tighten, emotion surging. I know how hard this is for Sulli.
Banks has a softened expression, his lips slowly lifting. Sometimes I see how much Banks admires Sulli, and I think, shit, how long did I know he liked her? How long did I keep them apart?
It’s too late to change the past, but I also tend to believe this is how we were supposed to come to be. Us three.
“Meadows embraces Hansen and Hansen embraces Meadows—this is the Olympic spirit right here, people. Teammates supporting teammates.”
Sulli whispers something in Frankie’s ear. Frankie laughs into a big smile and they both exit the pool together.
Banks fixes his earpiece. “She’s Oscar Mike.” On the move.
“Yep.” We switch into a focused stance. The two of us head towards Sulli as she collects a towel and peels off her swim cap. We’re able to cut in front of reporters. Blocking press from cornering Sulli like last time.
Sulli catches her breath and slips us a look of thanks.
Banks touches the small of her back. “You killed it out there, mermaid.”
“And you nearly sent Banksy into cardiac arrest,” I add with a rising smile. I twirl a piece of her wet hair around my finger. She leans more into me.
“And Akara looked like Medusa eye-fucked him.”
