by Jena Petrie
She'd been bored. Well, he should have guessed she hadn't come for him. Probably here to report on the regatta. "Grab a plate and some food. There's plenty left."
***
Bailey turned away from making small talk with another of her former crewmates to watch the boats on the water cross the finish line.
Next up, Connor's singles race. Three golds he'd won so far and two races to go. Beside her, someone pushed and she almost overbalanced but clutched Michelle's arm instead.
"Careful," her friend warned. "Can't have people thinking you're drunk already. Connor hasn't won his position back yet."
Bailey turned a frown on her friend. "What do you mean?"
"Didn't he tell you?" Michelle looked shocked and when Bailey remained silent, her friend explained. "Jeff has stipulated that as long as all the guys from the Four are selected, he'll take whichever one is fastest in this singles race as the stroke. No more changing the crew around."
For once, blasted Renton had told the truth! Bailey grimaced. "Is that right?" So why hadn't Connor told her? Why keep such an important issue secret?
Her friend chuckled. "You can rule Pete out. He doesn't like being stroke."
"But Michelle, is Connor capable of beating everyone else? I mean, he's never liked rowing a single."
"According to Pete, he is very capable, and apparently he's worked really hard on this." Michelle flashed a reassuring smile.
"Thanks. But now you've told me, I'm so nervous I don't think I can wat—" She broke off as the commentator's voice came over the loud speaker and automatically, her head swung towards the big screen and its display of the race start.
Twenty metres later, Connor had pushed past the slower two boats, leaving only his crewmates ahead. Could he gain on any of them? Bailey's hands fisted, nails digging into her palms but the pain hardly registered as she stared at the screen. Come on, Connor! Come on!
By the halfway mark Connor had moved ahead of Pete and as the crews came into view on the lake, Bailey pulled out her binoculars. Connor had caught up to Aaron! He'd have the same determination on his face that he'd shown during the Olympic races but could he keep up this pace? "Connor!" she yelled. "Connor! Connor!"
Somehow, she'd come to the edge of the lake with the other girls, the crowd at their backs pushing forward and everyone yelling support for their favourite rower. Bailey dropped the binoculars and cupped her mouth so her voice carried better as she continued to shout.
Slowly it seemed, Connor passed Aaron, leaving only Ken in front. Connor had to beat him. Just had to. How would he cope if Jeff kept him out of his favourite position permanently? Again and again Bailey yelled, her whole focus on the action of the two rowers.
Only a few metres left in the race and still Ken remained in front. But with a sudden burst of energy Connor surged ahead, past Ken and over the finish line in first place as Bailey's camera clicked a series of photos.
Numb, she could only stare as one by one, the rowers slowed their pace, allowing the boats to drift on the smooth water.
Connor had done it. In the event he dreaded. The boat he hated. He'd come through, proving to everyone he deserved the position of stroke in whatever boat he rowed.
Turning to her friends and Connor's mother, Bailey shared hugs with them all, laughing hysterically in her excitement and when her phone rang, she answered automatically.
"He'll be drug tested after that performance. What will they find?" Sleazy's voice contained its usual threatening tone but she'd had enough of the jerk.
"So what?" she yelled back over the noise of the crowd, hostility filling her voice at the ridiculous allegation. "There'll be no drugs in Connor's system, you can be sure of that."
Clicking off the phone, she dropped it in her pocket and turned to watch the rowers climb from their boats. Next minute she'd ducked under the tape erected to keep the public out, waiting for Connor to finish shaking the other competitors' hands, and Jeff's. After ignoring her all yesterday, Connor would acknowledge her support this time for sure.
Instead, she found herself shoved aside by the official photographer. Her ecstasy vanishing, she could only watch as the three place-getters shuffled into line and walked onto the podium.
Apparently the ceremony took Connor's full concentration because he still didn't look her way. Only his men's eights race to go but there was no point hanging around, running the risk of more rejection.
CHAPTER 21
"Jeff?" Since the man hadn't answered the knock, Connor pushed on the door and walked inside his coach's house, but still no answer. Where was the guy, for God's sake? Or Helen?
"Jeff?" Again, nothing, even though Connor had yelled louder. No-one in the lounge when he pushed the door open. No-one in the kitchen. In fact, the place looked: odd. Half empty. One single, worn chair in the lounge, an old TV and a stereo. No photos. No extras. No clutter, even.
Like a bachelor pad.
Dread squeezed Connor's hands into fists and he yelled louder. "Hey, Jeff!" After a pause he tried again. "Santa, where the dickens are you?"
A noise behind him made Connor turn.
Bloody hell, what was this? Rushing forward, he leaned a palm on the dining table, gripping the back of Jeff's chair with the other.
The brown bottle in Jeff's fist looked like it would shatter if he clutched any tighter. Connor glanced at the label; beer.
Shit. By the look of him, the guy was pissed already, but acting like he needed the drink to save his life.
Or end it.
Christ. "Where's Helen, mate?"
Jeff's laugh made a scoffing sound that grated against Connor's eardrums. "Oh, she left. Taken most of our stuff with her." He nodded towards the door of the almost empty living room. With his face twisted in pain, he held up the bottle.
Far out. Connor rested a hand on the table and the other, ready to grab the bottle before Jeff threw the thing or downed its contents. "When?"
"Las' month. You weren't s'posed to find out."
"Last Month? Jesus, man! Why didn't you tell us?" Connor gripped the coach's shoulder. "We're mates, aren't we? And what are mates for if it's not to support each other, huh?"
"Doesn't matter. Bloody woman wasn't worth keeping anyway."
Connor frowned. Worth keeping or not, Jeff sounded more crapped out than Connor had after leaving Bailey for Nationals.
And he still didn't know where he stood with her. After she turned up at nationals he thought she'd come back to him but she hadn't even stayed for his last race. What if—? Shit! His body jerked upright, cold. So cold, he had to stretch his fingers to make sure they still worked.
"Beer?" Jeff shoved his chair back and walked towards the kitchen, his gait wobbly and uneven. There, he paused to tip his bottle up and drain the contents.
Bloody hell, this was bad. How long since the man had drunk so much alcohol?
"Help me celebrate." Jeff dumped the bottle in the bin and retrieved two more from the fridge. One, he offered to Connor who grabbed it off him.
Non-alcoholic. Thank God. He shoved the bottle back in the coach's hand.
Frowning, Jeff turned away."She's divorcing me. Soon I'll be rid of the damn woman. Had nothing but complaints for weeks before she left so I should have seen it coming."
"Hang on." Connor stepped in front of Jeff. "How come you're still here? Don't you have to sell?"
"Sure. Got some tidying to do first. Estate agent's orders." Again, Jeff offered the bottle but Connor shook his head.
"Can't stay, man. Sorry." He turned to go.
"What'd you come for then?" The aggressive tone stopped Connor on his way out.
Woops. Almost forgot. "Wanted to ask. Why you kicked me out of stroke seat and wouldn't put me back in."
"Oh, that." Jeff flicked his hand in a dismissive gesture and wandered unsteadily back to the dining room. "Started off with giving you all a change. Didn't like that though, did you? Had a problem and needed to sort it out and until then, you weren't best for
the job." Using his belt buckle, he flipped the top off his bottle. "Bailey knew you had a problem with not being stroke; tried to get me to put you back—"
"She did?" Bloody hell.
Jeff chuckled. At least, it was an attempted chuckle. "Didn't you know? Refused, of course. Got you in a single instead, even though I knew before she told me that you hated it. Still, had to get your enthusiasm back somehow. Got it too, didn't we?" Grinning, he punched Connor on the arm. "Bailey gave me the idea for that, and for the challenge. Smart cookie, your girlfriend. Better keep her, huh?"
How? When she'd disappeared from Nationals and he didn't have a bloody clue if she'd ever come back?
"All worked out, too," Jeff's grin widened. "Not at the start of Nationals, though. Only after she turned up." He tipped the bottle and drank. "You beat your crewmates in the singles race because of her, you realize that, don't you?"
"Sure do." Connor turned to go.
"I expect nothing less than one hundred per cent commitment when you're back as stroke," Jeff warned, his voice steadier now, more controlled. "I was dead scared you weren't going to make the grade but now you've got the position again, don't let me down. Okay?"
Connor gulped. Great news but it meant nothing if he didn't have Bailey. "Right. Thanks, mate." For a moment he hesitated, then spread his arms at the bare room and blurted out his next concern. "Why'd she leave? Did she say?"
"Yeah, she did." Jeff drained the bottle. "Lonely, apparently. Moved back to Auckland where there are plenty of people. As if crowds are going to solve that particular problem. More like the bright city lights lured her back, and the prospect of finding herself a more interesting partner; one who doesn't leave her for several months every year."
"Shit, man. That's rough. Leave Kelly with you?"
Jeff turned his full attention to the other bottle in his hand. "Helen's daughter. Not mine."
"Oh. Didn't know." Connor backed away. "Well, if you need company sometime, just call, okay?"
And the moment Jeff nodded, Connor left. Had to find Bailey and stop her doing a runner like Helen.
***
Back in Connor's house Bailey stared at the big queen-sized bed. It'd never be occupied by the two of them again. If she'd made more of an effort to let go of the pain Sam had caused and make love with Connor earlier, would it have made a difference?
Shoulders slumped, she gazed at his belongings, scattered around the room as if he no longer cared about tidiness. At least the painting she'd given him from the market still hung on the wall. If he didn't want to remember her, wouldn't he have taken it down?
Unless he'd kept it there for show in another lie to his mates, pretending their relationship still existed.
Her head shook. Not likely, after almost ignoring her at Nationals.
In her own room she opened an empty suitcase and threw clothes in at random. The sooner she left the better, before Conner came back and she had to face him. Might be cowardice but too bad.
With both suitcases full and closed, she wheeled them into the lounge. Stopped. Why did his musky aftershave fill her senses now more strongly than before? Regrets knocked her on the head and she stumbled; would have fallen except strong arms gripped her.
"Bailey."
No! Not an attacker! Not here, in the safety of Connor's home! The threatening tears vanished and she lashed out, arms hitting a hard wall of muscle, feet hardly connecting as he dodged away.
"Bailey."
This time, the tone sounded softer. Gentler. Familiar.
Connor?
She looked up. There he was, solid and strong and his face coming closer as he bent towards her, concern obvious from the creases between his brows.
"Don't leave, honey. Please. I've been terrified you weren't coming back but now you're here, you mustn't leave." His hand touched her upper arm, dropped again. "I've been a one-eyed selfish bastard but if you can forgive my faults, I'll try and do better in future."
"Your future doesn't concern me." The statement should have come out strong and determined but instead, sounded shaky and hesitant. "I tried and tried to show my support but it was never enough. Anyway, I've got my car now so I'm independent. Moving out." Her head shook as the meaning settled inside her, wrapped in disappointment and failure. "You kept saying you needed me at Nationals. Well!" Her foot stamped the floor. "I went, didn't I? Thought you wanted to show me off but you didn't come near; hardly even noticed —"
"Yes, I did. Several times in fact, even though you're not easy to see in a mob of tall rowers."
"Oh." Had she misjudged him after all?
"Honestly, honey, rowing in five events had to be one of the stupidest things I've ever tackled. After three races on Friday, exhaustion had started to affect me and hanging around the fans, chatting to them as they expected, just added to the problem. So I concentrated on resting whenever I had spare time and just hoped I'd catch up with you after the next race."
"But you never did."
"After the singles race I was exhausted. Elated, too, at finally winning, but I didn't get a chance to speak with you. After the eights race you weren't even there. Didn't show up to the after-regatta party—"
"Why would I? I'd had enough by then. Wasn't as if you needed me, which you proved by winning four golds and a silver. So I'm outa here." Again, she headed for the door. "Good-bye, Connor."
With lightning speed, he blocked her exit. "You're wrong about Nationals. Having you there made all the difference." He held her arms, gently, so as not to frighten her. "After you arrived I rowed better than I had all season. Couldn't help it because with every stroke, the oars whispered to me; Bai-ley's he-re, Bai-ley's he-re." A tentative smile covered Connor's face but she could only manage a frown.
"That helped?"
"Like magic. Honey, all my finals successes were because I knew you were watching. Yelling. Supporting me. Even Jeff acknowledged your contribution to my success."
"But-"
"And now I'm back as stroke in the Men's Four, due to you. My dream, Bailey. Now, what about yours?"
She shrugged. "Probably skittled any chance of writing for either mag—ever. Elderly guy was so ill the interview was almost a waste of time, and I left Napier before I'd seen much."
"So try a different magazine. Different story."
Another shrug. "Maybe I've already found something else."
As if hit by a giant's fist his big body jerked backwards. "So you were reporting on the regatta. Then why lie and say you'd come to support me? I saw you on the phone immediately after my singles final."
"That was Sleazy Renton!" she almost yelled. "Insinuating that your success must be due to performance-enhancing drugs. Don’t worry though; I put him in his place. Renton doesn't get the better of me any more."
"You stood up for me against him?"
"I did."
"Well, thanks, honey. That's..." A sigh huffed out of him. "Well, it's awesome, but I still don't understand what made you give up on Napier part-way through."
Did he have to drag every tiny detail out of her? Every stupid mistake? Why couldn't he just let her go? "Missed you." Her breath hitched. Damn. Total give-away. "I finally woke up to the fact that one of Sleazy's best attributes is lying. It made me realize his threat was nonsense and that's when I changed my plans."
"Which you wouldn't have done if you didn't believe we could have a future together. Right?"
With one finger she poked him in the chest. "Wrong. I went to Nationals to prove my support since you never acknowledged the other things I'd done." Another poke since it felt better than giving in to the otherwise inevitable tears.
"I believed in you, Connor." With two hands together she shoved at his chest but she still couldn’t move this rock. "Always had. But after all I've done for you, if you still don't want me, I'll go."
He stroked the pad of his thumb down her face in such a gentle manner she wanted to cry with the beauty of it, the need for him to go further and kiss her, and make lo
ve with her again.
"Oh, I understand, honey. I understand you really want to stay."
She flicked a hand against his bare arm. "Why would I? You can't even include me in your future!" Her voice wobbled but she persevered. "Your landlord's not renewing your lease yet you didn't see fit to tell me? Come on."
"Like you didn't tell me you'd been trying to persuade Jeff to put me back in stroke seat."
"How do you—?"
"When you didn't come home I checked your room for clues, saw the mural and started to realize..." Hands slid deep in his pockets. "Course I'd noticed the pages before, but from the doorway they looked like job records. Never occurred to me you were supporting me behind the scenes but Jeff's just confirmed everything you did."
"Guess I should have told you the real reason I'd spoken to him, except I worried it might raise your hopes."
"While I was too self-centred to acknowledge a problem. Not to you, anyway. Not when it was caused by my thinking of you while I rowed, and the reason I kept stuffing up our practices. Won't happen again though, if you stay."
"You reckon?"
"I love you, Bailey. You're so good for me, I need you to stay."
Really? Oh, man. "Does this mean you'll take me with you when you move?"
"I'll have to. You're the only flatmate I could find who fitted all my criteria and the house I'm hoping to buy—with your approval—is too big for one."
Oh! "The meeting, when you called a halt–?"
"With my bank manager, yes." He caressed her head.
"Then I should tell you, you've been good for me, too. You gave me the strength to ignore Sleazy's bullying and finally stand up to him."
"One reason I should put a wedding ring on your finger and show him his threats mean nothing." Connor rubbed his thumb over her ring finger. "Marry me, Bailey. I love you too much to ever let you go."
"Oh, Connor." Her head shook. Cripes, her whole body was shaking! Slowly, deliberately, she lifted his hand and kissed the calluses on his palm. "Of course I'll marry you. I used to hope you'd love me and I've loved you for so long..." She turned away, embarrassment creating a give-away shake in her voice. "Didn't know for sure, until you made me complete in the most beautiful manner possible."