In the Fast Lane (Fast Series Book 1)

by Evie Anderson

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Jesus! Give it up already.”

  “Dalton, you need this, damn it!”

  “Um...thank you, Dr. Phil? Seriously, Sawyer—how many times do we have to go over this? I needed out of swimming. I got out, and I don’t want to go back. I’ve messed up here and there, and then picked myself up. You should be proud of me, not lecturing me. I’m a goddamn Hallmark story.”

  “God. Be serious for once, okay?”

  “I am. I’m not cut out for swimming.” It wasn’t just because of Jessi. Oh, she was one of the reasons he wouldn’t go near a competitive event again, but there was more to it than an old relationship gone bad.

  “Why? Because you couldn’t beat me at the Olympics? Big fucking deal, Dalton. You beat me plenty at trials. Who cares if you didn’t win a gold medal? It was years ago.”

  “Says the man who wears twenty of them.”

  “It’s not quite twenty—”

  “Don’t be an ass.” Dalton stood and put his hands on his hips. Head hanging, he glanced up at Sawyer. “For the last time, man, I had to get out. It was killing me. I didn’t know who I was anymore.” That last Olympics had broken him. He’d trained relentlessly for three and a half years just to finally beat Sawyer at the Olympic Games. He’d crushed every record at trials, only to have Sawyer win almost all of them back.

  “Come on, man, you never knew who you were. You never had the chance. Besides, you were twenty-five. Who knows who they are at twenty-five?”

  “You did.”

  “Yeah, but I’m a phenom.”

  Goddamn it. Dalton looked away, trying not to laugh. The man could always make him laugh when he didn’t want to.

  Giving up, Dalton punched Sawyer playfully in the shoulder. God, he hated the bastard...and loved him. He’d never understood exactly why, but when he’d done his damnedest to kill himself on a country road, Sawyer had shown up at the hospital. It didn’t make sense, considering they’d hated each other for most of their lives. The politics of amateur sports made them bitter enemies. But in a way, Dalton supposed, they needed each other.

  At first, he’d been pissed as hell to see Golden Boy’s face next to his hospital bed. Then, as the days went by and the asshole didn’t leave, he learned to like him...and eventually love him like a brother.

  Problematically, as Dalton was beginning to learn, brothers had the annoying habit of attempting to blackmail the people they loved into doing things they didn’t want to. “All right. Other than wanting to drudge up old, painful, and embarrassing memories and experience rejection, why are you here? You had to know I wouldn’t say yes to this thing.”

  “They’re doing an expo.”

  Now that got Dalton’s attention.

  “What? Who?”

  “The U.S. Olympics. In honor of my new position as head coach, they’re doing an expo on my career, and focusing on our rivalry.”

  Dalton stayed mute. It was supremely satisfying to see Sawyer squirm, but it didn’t come anywhere near to satiating the rage that was boiling up inside him.

  “Say something, damn it.” Sawyer kicked the ground with his shoe, looking just as nervous as he should.

  “No.”

  “Dalton. Man, come on. Just listen—”

  “How much of this was their idea, and how much of it was your plan—in your obscene tendency to think you know what is best for everyone—to get me back into swimming?”

  “You hate this job!”

  “It’s my job. And my life, damn it. You don’t get to decide how I live it.”

  “If we don’t do something, they are going to turn this into a hero versus villain story. They’re going to paint you in some skewed light—”

  “Note: They already have.” There was venom in his voice. Dalton was a hard man. He knew that about himself. However, to say that he was edgy in regards to reporters didn’t come anywhere near explaining what he felt toward the media and their relentless efforts to ruin his life.

  “—and it’s not true.”

  Well, his rage aside... “It’s kinda true, Sawyer...”

  “No, it fucking isn’t!”

  Oh, boy... Golden Boy was getting emotional. That never boded well. It was time to step in. Dalton sucked up as much anger as he could and looked Sawyer in the eye. “Sawyer, man, it isn’t your job to save me.”

  “Fine. Then consider this saving me.”

  “What?”

  “This story is just part of it. The committee is trying to control my life. They’ve always controlled my image. I want some say in how my story is told. Yeah, you and I fought. No, we didn’t like each other. But we pushed each other. I won at the Olympics, but you won at other meets. When you weren’t swimming at a meet, I wasn’t training hard. When you swept the medals at trials, I was scared shitless. Without you, Dalton, there was no me.”

  “Are you saying I complete you? ‘Cause I don’t know if I’m ready for that kind of relationship yet.”

  “Fuck you.” Sawyer pushed him.

  Dalton laughed and gathered himself. Humor was his go-to when he was pissed. It was either that or hit something. The latter seemed to upset Sawyer more than the former. “Okay. I’ll be serious. Thank you. You were the ying to my yang too. But I really don’t see how anything you’ve just suggested could possibly justify the unparalleled disaster that would be the result of putting me and Jessi Pruitt in the same room.”

  “I want to show them how you and I work together. How without one you can’t have the other. The media always wants a friend or enemy story. We’ve got something way better than that. And I need you. Jessi aside, this coaching stuff... Man, I could use you. I seriously don’t know what I’m doing.”

  “Yes, you do.” Dalton rolled his eyes. Sawyer was always taking shit way too seriously.

  “I need you, man. Yeah, Jessi’s not the only flyer on the team. And yes, there are other coaches out there. But you are the only one good enough to coach her. Plus, if you don’t do this, they’re going to run your name through the mud. You’ll be the villain of U.S. Swimming for the rest of your life, and as much as you say you don’t care, I know you do. Come on, man, rewrite your story.”

  Amazingly, Dalton found himself thinking about Sawyer’s stupid proposal. He knew he was taking too long though. When Dalton started thinking about things too hard, he started to wander.

  “Do you take medication?” Sawyer’s words brought him out of his mind’s tangle of thoughts.

  “What?”

  “I’m the head of U.S. Swimming now. I’ve seen your files. So yeah, I know about the ADHD. I always assumed you were just an asshole who never cared what anybody was saying. Then the coach’s notes told me if it looks like you aren’t paying attention, it’s because you’re worrying about a question that’s popped into your head. Swimming kept you focused, but God knows you aren’t doing that anymore. So, I’ll ask again, are you taking medication?”

  “No, you nosey fuck. I am not. I don’t need it.”

  “Yeah, you do. Go to the doctor, figure out what will work best for you, and get a prescription. Then get your ass to the Olympic training center. I’ve got a new team, and I need you. But I need you focused.”

  Dalton closed his eyes and gave his all toward concentrating. God, he did not want to do this. He didn’t know if he could look Jessi Pruitt in the eye. Maybe that made him less of a man, but there were some things that weren’t worth the embarrassment of rehashing.

  Eight years ago, he’d been attracted to her, but she was just a kid with a crush. He knew on sight that he would chew her poor little heart up and spit it out. Rather than leave her alone like he should have, he’d been a dick and hung out with her on couches, sat by her at dinner, kissed her in a hallway. Crap.

  He’d been devastated by his losses in the pool, but that didn’t make up for the way he’d treated Jessi. So maybe Sawyer was right. Maybe he could make up for some of that by helping her win gold now.

  As muc
h as it pissed him off to admit it, Sawyer was right about other things, too. Dalton was going through the motions of life and always would be as long as the world saw him as nothing more than the asshole who stood next to Sawyer during the national anthem. That damn song would never play for him...but it could play because of him. Working with Jessi might just be worth it if it meant showing the world he was more than a playboy, sometimes athlete. It might also let him prove the same thing to himself.

  “I haven’t said yes. You realize that, right?”

  “Yeah, but you will. Don’t beat yourself up about it. You can’t help yourself. I’m that charming.”

  “I hate you. I want you to know that.”

  “No, you don’t. You just like to flirt.” Sawyer had a cocky grin pasted on his face that a younger Dalton would have punched off.

  Taking a deep breath and remembering his age, Dalton continued. “Fine. I’ll think about it. In the meantime, I’ve got to get these walls up by tonight, and unless you’re going to grab a nail gun—” Dalton nodded at the one in his hand then returned his gaze to Sawyer “—you’d better go get a hotel room.”

  Much to Dalton’s chagrin, Sawyer walked over to the workbench and grabbed a nail gun. “Where do you want me to start?”

  “You know how to use that?” Dalton replied dubiously.

  “Yup.”

  Of course he did. Great.

  “Fine. Start on that end. And make sure everything is square, dammit!”

  They worked in surprisingly companionable silence for the rest of the day.

  “I remember this.” Sawyer wiped sweat from his eyes and looked over at Dalton.

  “Remember what?”

  “The way we swam lanes together for hours with no one else getting in the way to mess it up. It was nice. Okay, not exactly nice, but it was good, you know?”

  “I am not going to make out with you, Sawyer Jameson, so quit asking.”

  Sawyer chuckled, and Dalton went back to pounding. He continued to think about their time as competitive swimmers. They really had worked well together, despite the rivalry. They pushed each other, made sure the other was holding his end and setting a good pace for the rest of the swimmers. They didn’t like each other, but that had been because of the competition, Dalton’s crap attitude, and Sawyer’s annoying tendency toward overall greatness.

  “All right, dude. You’ve had enough time to think. I want you to come help me train this year’s team.”

  “No.” Dalton wasn’t ready to make a commitment. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do yet. He wouldn’t be suckered into anything until he was.

  “Why? Do you really like what you’re doing here? This isn’t you, man.”

  “It’s quiet.” He looked at Sawyer and raised an eyebrow to emphasize the sarcasm that he’d infused in that one word. “It’s also something I’ve done on my own, and I’m proud of it. So... yes, I like it.”

  “All right. I’ll give you that. But you need to be in swimming. You are one of the best at what you do. You are the best at the butterfly.”

  Dalton started to interrupt.

  “And don’t even mention the fucking medals again. That’s your go-to, and I’m sick of it.”

  “It’s kind of a big deal, Sawyer. You know that.”

  “I sure know it’s the same old, tired, lame-ass excuse you always use. Your Omaha record still stands, despite all the juicing that’s going on right now. That’s some amazing shit. I want you beside me when I take this group to Canada. The money’s good, and the endorsements are there afterward. And then there’s the chance to flip off the media. Take back your story. Let them see what we can do together. Redeem yourself, man. Show the world that my medals are just as much yours as they are mine.”

  So they’d finally come to it. Sawyer wasn’t going to leave without an answer, whether Dalton was ready to give it to him or not. “Why don’t you tell them? They listen to you.”

  “Because I’ve already told our story a million times and no one wants to hear it. We show them a team that can’t be beat—that we built? Man, that’ll shut them up and put you in the history books.”

  “Right next to you—in second place.”

  “Not if you coach the flyers. That is all you. I didn’t hold a candle to your butterfly.”

  “I’ve got a business to run.”

  “You’ve got one fucking client, asshole!” Sawyer hadn’t really meant to yell. He usually left that to Dalton.

  Dalton nodded his head. “You’ve had enough of me, haven’t you?” He grinned at Sawyer.

  “I fucking swear no one pisses me off like you do, McKinney.”

  Dalton winked. “You’re welcome. So, you’ve been checking up on me? It’s gotten so bad that you know how many clients I have?”

  Sawyer sighed. “Yeah, I checked. I needed to know what I was up against. Lord knows you aren’t forthcoming, so I did a little digging. You’ve got one hell of a buyer here, and this is going to be a shittastic house, but seriously, how much business can a one-man show really do? How do you get things done anyway?”

  “I have help.” Dalton nodded toward Sawyer to prove his point.

  “Dick.”

  Dalton chuckled. Then he tilted his head back to look at the clear blue sky. It was the color of crisp, cool, Olympic blue pool water. Fuck. “You know this is going to be hard for me, right?”

  “I know.”

  “I really don’t want to see her again, Sawyer.”

  “I know that, too.”

  “So it’ll be just her and me?”

  “Mostly. You’ll be in charge of all of the flyers, but you’ll have staff to help you out there. Your main focus will be Jessi.”

  “Does she know that?”

  “Yes and no. She knows I’m bringing you in to fix her stroke. I’ve strategically left out how much time she’ll be spending with you.”

  He wanted to say no and leave it at that. There were too many things keeping him from doing it though. The first was the man next to him. He was a brother and a friend and was probably not lying when he said he needed him. The second was the desperate, burning need to do something that earned him a name. Something that cleared his past failures and maybe, just maybe, earned him a gold.

  The last, and infinitely more disturbing, reason for him to say yes to Sawyer was to ease his guilt—even if just a little—over the way he’d treated Jessi all those years ago. He’d been a grown man, if a young one. He had known better. He had just been too much of a cocky dickhead to care.

  “Okay, fine. You want me? I’ll come. But I have conditions. First, don’t start trying to get into my head again.” Dalton fixed his stare on the boards in his hands. He couldn’t look at Sawyer for this. “You’re right. I need to rewrite this story. You knew that coming here.”

  “Dude, it’s just that—”

  “I know. And you know that I’ll never rest easy until I win a gold. I can’t do that physically anymore. But maybe I can win in other ways...through other swimmers. I guess it might as well be her. Maybe that’s my penance.”

  Sawyer stayed quiet, so Dalton continued. “And yeah, I’m ADHD. And I’m bored. When I get bored, my mind wanders, and that really bothers me. I don’t know how long I’ll last if I’m bored. But I’m not taking medication. My ADHD isn’t that bad. Especially around the water.”

  “Listen man, there is nothing wrong with taking medication—”

  Dalton cut him off. “I’m not saying there is. I just don’t like how it makes me feel. If I start to get restless, I’ll look into it, but for now, it’s off the table.”

  “Fine. You ready to sign?”

  “You brought the papers?”

  “Yup.”

  “Shit. All right then. Get ‘em out, Golden Boy. Let’s do this thing before I come to my senses and shoot you with this nail gun.”

  Chapter 3

  Dalton watched the swimmers from his perch in the observation deck. While he did his best to take in the whole group
, his eyes had a tendency to hone in on one swimmer in particular. Jessi had always been an attractive girl, but she’d grown into a beautiful woman.

  Not gorgeous. That term was reserved for a completely different type of woman. Jessi had been, and still was, girl-next-door pretty. Now however, that definition had changed into the long, smooth, carefully-toned lines of womanhood.

  “Oh, fuck.” Dalton’s eyes popped wide open as Jessi made a turn to start her last fifty. The one glaring exception to Jessi’s perfection was her swimming. Upon closer inspection, Dalton saw that Sawyer was right. Her butterfly was shit. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he muttered. He was the worst person to have to tell Jessi she was sucking. This was not going to go well.

  “Might as well get it over with,” he muttered and proceeded to walk out the door and down the stairs to the pool. He tried to warm himself to the task on the way down. Surely she knew she needed help, right? This couldn’t be that bad.

  “Jessi.”

  Wrong. Jessi looked up from where she stood in the pool. She was squirting water into her mouth from a bottle and spitting it into the drain. At the sound of his voice, her body tensed. For a moment, her eyes widened in shock, but she quickly composed her face into a mask of cool indifference. “What?” she said succinctly.

  “Finish up your practice, and then meet me in the film room after team breakfast. We need to go over the tape of your fly. There are some things we need to work on.”

  “No.”

  God damn, it was too early in the morning for this. “Pardon?” he clipped out, trying not to get angry over the fact that she would start this here.

  “I said no. I have a physical therapy session after morning practice.”

  “Reschedule it for later. We need to look over that tape and get started on fixing your stroke.” Dalton was both impassive and firm. He’d been around coaches his whole life. He knew that to be successful a coach he needed to be direct. Sometimes that translated into being a complete dickhead.

  “Go to hell.” Jessi started to put her goggles on.

  “Jessi, get out of the water and meet me in my office.”