by Layla Reyne
“You did the right thing,” Alex told her. “You call me anytime.”
“How’re things there?” she asked.
His gaze drifted again to Dane. “Getting better.”
“You get Big Red in line?”
The start of an impossible smile. “Working on it.”
“I’m sure he’ll want to hit that before the Olympics are over.”
For Dane’s sake, he resisted replying, Been there, hit that, and moved on to setting up a time to talk in a couple days, finishing the call with another round of goodbyes and love yous.
He pocketed the phone, eyeing Dane, who placed the last glass in the drip rack and pulled out the sink stopper, letting the water drain. “Your mom’s sick?”
Alex grabbed a dish towel and started drying. “Breast cancer, second time in three years.”
“That’s why you haven’t been at the meets lately?”
He nodded. “I did enough to remain active and competitive but otherwise stayed close to home. Spent more hours training at USOTC. I didn’t want to go far, in case . . .”
“Crap, man, I’m sorry to hear that. I remember seeing her on TV during the last Games. She seemed cool. Real excited for you.”
“Still is, just running low on energy these days, after everything.”
Dane dried off his hands and leaned a hip against the counter, angling toward him. “That’s why your sister called?”
“Mom just finished a chemo week, which tires her out. Can’t eat, can’t do much of anything but knit. I wish I could be there more.”
“I’m sure they understand. They must be proud of you.”
“They are. It’s just hard being a man down at the farm. I feel guilty, being here, doing what I love. I’ve had more of a life these past couple weeks, hell, the past couple days . . .”
Dane cast his gaze aside, blush hitting his cheeks, as he ran a hand through his hair, making an even worse mess of the tangles. “Listen, about last night . . .”
Alex bobbled the glass in his hands, almost dropping it. He didn’t want to hear this—the regret, the retraction, the rejection. He’d rather suffer in awkward silence and tuck last night away with the rest of his good Dane memories. “You don’t—”
Dane’s hand landed on his hip again, and Alex’s eyes darted up, meeting Dane’s sincere blue ones. “I’m sorry I passed out on you. It’d been a long day ending with a lot of shots.” He smiled shyly, attractive as hell. “I don’t even remember them all.”
“What do you remember?” Alex ventured, setting the glass and dishrag aside.
“Us getting hit on,” Dane said. “A lot. You wandering off to the dance floor. Please tell me I didn’t pass out facedown on the bar.”
Alex stared into those eyes, searching for any sign Dane was playing him. And saw none. Dane was genuinely worried, maybe a little embarrassed, and more than a tad apprehensive. And Alex didn’t see regret either. In fact, Dane’s thumb caressing his hip bone gave the exact opposite impression. His mind might not recall all of last’s night details, but some part of his body did.
A different sort of sadness settled in Alex’s gut. As much as he wanted to close the space between them and remind Dane of all they’d shared on the dance floor, a teammate could walk in at any second. And the last thing he wanted to do was spook Dane after things had gone so well with the team this morning. He had to let him off the hook, for now.
“Nah,” Alex said, and Dane blew out a giant breath. Alex couldn’t resist needling him a little, though. “You passed out on the steps outside, clutching the stair rail.”
Dane covered his face with a hand, groaning behind it.
“Our bouncer friend was rather amused,” Alex added.
Dane groaned louder, mortified eyes peeking through his fingers.
Alex laughed, jostling Dane’s shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get in the water. It’ll drown out how stupid you feel right now.” He stepped past Dane, only for the other man’s hand to clasp his arm and turn him back around.
“Thank you,” Dane said, eyes and voice soft. “I would never have done that last night on my own, and I needed it. More than I knew.”
It was getting harder and harder not to close that distance between them, not to jog Dane’s memory with words or actions. Alex bit his tongue and nodded.
“And thanks for being the bigger man and calling a truce.” Dane dropped his hold and swept his arm around the area. “Here, this morning with the team, that was a nice change.”
Alex could tell Dane his actions at the press conference had done more for him than Alex, but that’s not what Dane needed to hear right now. Dane needed that pride and team unity his father had planned to preach about. Dane needed to do what Dane did best. Swim. As captain, Alex could give him that, with the whole team standing to benefit now. “Well then, get in the pool,” he said, a playful challenge belying his smile. “And earn it.”
Earning it, Dane knew, wasn’t only about swimming hard. He also threw himself into being a teammate. Alex opened the door with his truce Saturday night. His teammates opened it wider Sunday morning. And Dane stepped through it, coming out on the completely foreign—and welcome—other side.
They spent the day off having fun, a word Dane had to be reminded the meaning of. Lazy laps in the pool, a whale-turn competition judged by Jacob, once he and Bas escaped from film hell, then marathon-watching The X-Files in the hotel lounge with the rest of his teammates. The fact that his hidden geek could guess any episode by name and number from only a few seconds viewing probably earned him more cred than anything he’d ever done in the pool.
And when practice resumed the next day, and Jacob faltered, the first time Dane had seen the remarkably mature kid off his game, he shouldered mentor duties with Alex and Bas, offering encouragement and staying within Jacob’s orbit at all times. Every swimmer had off days, but the rook was putting so much pressure on himself to keep up with the vets that one missed mark turned into two, and compounded until he was spiraling, cursing the weekend off and suggesting his backup should swim the relay instead of him. More like he probably needed another day off, the grueling training catching up to him. If Dane had thought training was tough, he couldn’t imagine what Jacob was going through. Texas was a top collegiate team—sure, Jacob trained hard there—but this was another ten or so levels more intense.
Dane listened, observed, and told Jacob a few of his own worst-day stories, which usually ended with Mo whacking him upside the head. Dane didn’t follow his mentor’s lead there, but he did let the pup know he wasn’t alone in his struggles. Dane hadn’t been oblivious to Jacob in his periphery last week when no one else would approach him. Knowing he hadn’t been totally alone had kept Dane treading water. The least he could do was act as the pup’s nearby life raft now. Which he thankfully only needed for a day. Passing out early that night, Jacob was back to his usual self the next day, pirate quips and all, the wonky day before a blip on the radar.
After that, everything, and everyone, in and out of the pool, clicked. Dane was grateful, and more than that, relieved, to be a part of the solution and not the problem. Press, visitors, and sponsors excluded from practices, he could focus on pleasing his coach, captain, and teammates, taking and, when asked, giving advice, contributing to the overall increased productivity. Coaching Ryan on the freestyle leg of his IM runs. Coordinating the free relays so Alex had one less thing on his plate. Shuffling along the pool deck timing his captain’s backstroke laps, the sight and speed too captivating to miss. And at the end of each day, he declined his parents’ and sponsors’ dinner invitations, not wanting to hear the lectures about Saturday and preferring to finish his day with his team instead. They ate, discussed the next days’ practices, then downshifted in the lounge watching more TV, Dane with his computer on his lap, coding or hacking. He’d even helped Kevin, a crypto master’s student at Michigan, with a summer coding project.
Dane did everything he could to earn his spot on the relay team, th
e acceptance of his teammates, and the attention of his captain. His and everyone’s efforts paid off. They became a team, Dane included. More so than he’d ever felt at SwimMAC, or even at Carolina under Mo’s wing. He’d always been separate and apart somehow. This was a different, better experience. Knowing that this experience was what Alex loved most about the Olympics, seeing the light in his eyes and upturned corners of his mouth, made earning it even more worthwhile. Dane wasn’t just giving the team his all; he was giving his all to Alex. Having failed to do so in the past, he was making up for it now.
Alex’s regard, his appreciation, were a handsome reward. Warm brown eyes staring across the pool or hotel lounge at him. Hips and shoulders brushing whenever they stood close in the kitchen or sat side by side on the bleachers. Lingering handholds when one pulled the other out of the water. Longing gazes aside, he could explain away the others as teammates and two six-and-a-half footers in tight spaces, but for Dane, the casual touches were more. A past and a future coming into focus.
And with each touch, another memory from Saturday flashed behind Dane’s eyes.
Hands threaded together on Alex’s hips.
Glitter, music, and hot, sweaty bodies.
The ends of Alex’s curls tickling his nose.
His face buried in Alex’s chest, lulled to sleep by the comforting smell.
A kiss dropped softly on the back of his neck.
Most of the night was still a blur, but together with the mess he’d found in his jeans the next morning, Dane was increasingly certain more than a truce had been struck.
He hated that he couldn’t remember every detail and was too embarrassed to admit his memory lapse to Alex.
“What do you think, Ellis?” Ryan asked from halfway down the hall ahead of him.
Snapping out of the fuzzy outtake reel, Dane moved from where he stood, still holding open the locker room door, and caught up with his teammates.
“We challenge the girls to a swim off,” Ryan said.
“Why?”
“Because I’m fucking tired of early morning practices,” Bas griped.
“Maybe if you slept at night,” Alex replied. “Where were you last night anyways?”
Bas waved him off, and Alex slapped down the hand, laughing. The sound warmed Dane’s insides, pooling low in his belly.
His belly . . .
“Let’s totally blow their minds,” Dane said, an idea forming. “How about a challenge out of the pool? A cook-off.”
Ryan shook his head. “Mo was our best cook, and he’s gone. Now, we’re stuck with Disgusting Smoothie King over here,” he said with a jut of his thumb at Bas.
Dane grinned. “Mo was my mentor, in more than just swimming.”
“Motherfucker!” Bas punched his shoulder. “You’ve been holding out on us.”
Us.
Said like he was one of them.
Included.
He shared a smile with Alex, those dark eyes molten, and Dane recalled seeing them like that on Saturday. Up close, so close, swirling with heat under the club lights. If they’d been that close . . .
Ryan’s teasing tone interrupted once more. “Well, you’ve been shoving appetite-killing shakes under our noses every morning. What’d you expect?”
“All right, then.” Bas slung an arm around Dane’s shoulders, a laughable impossibility two weeks ago. Now, it felt right, like maybe Dane had found a place with this team. With Alex and his friends. “Kitchen’s all yours, Big Red. Prove yourself and we’ll challenge the girls.”
“My son does not have to prove himself to you. And he will not be reduced to team cook.”
Dane stumbled at the sight of his father sitting in the team kitchen, one knee crossed over the other, nose in the air like he owned the place. Bas was the only thing that kept him upright, tattooed arm clasping his shoulder tight. The fly specialist also found his words faster, as irreverent as ever. “Your boy offered.”
“Bas,” Alex mumbled low, but loud enough to draw his father’s glare.
Ice-cold. Unnatural. Dangerous.
From the same eyes Dane had inherited. Did his shoot icy daggers like that when he was angry? Had he leveled Alex with those imperious glares? Regret formed a knot in his gut, but the one in his chest, growing out of fear for the reason behind his father’s appearance, his obvious wrath, was magnitudes larger.
Fear for Alex more than himself.
Dane stepped forward, into his father’s line of sight, shielding Alex. “What do you want?”
“The car’s waiting outside.” His father stood, buttoned his suit coat over his vest, and adjusted his tie. “You’re coming with me.”
“We need to eat,” Ryan said, rallying to his side. “Then we have a team meeting.”
His father ignored him, addressing Dane. “I’ve cleared your absence with Coach Hartl.”
Translation: He’d gone over Dane’s head like he was a child who couldn’t run his own life. Like he and his mother always had. Pulling his strings.
Indignation dissolved the knot of fear in Dane’s chest. “But you didn’t clear it with me.”
Bas stepped to his other side, mirroring Ryan’s defensive stance, while a more familiar heat hit Dane’s back, Alex’s body close.
“Dane,” Alex whispered behind him, wary.
If there was a warning there, Dane didn’t heed it. “Unless it’s an emergency,” he told his father, “I’m not going with you.”
“You’ve ignored our invitations every night this week.”
“Because I had more important things to do, with my team.”
“It’s no longer an invitation. Roger would like a word about your sponsorships.”
Dane flung out his arms, branded jammers and track jacket on display. “I’m not wearing enough flair for him?”
A hand pressed lightly against his lower back. “Dane, let’s go,” Alex said, tight and with caution. “You can call Roger from your room.”
“This is serious, son,” his father chided. “Your actions Saturday could jeopardize your sponsorships and the team’s.”
The hand on Dane’s back shook, as did Dane’s insides, fear slamming back into him, heart beating triple time. On the outside, though, he forced himself calm. Did his father mean the press conference or the night out with Alex? “What actions?”
His dad cut another dangerous, icy glare at Alex, before his gaze drifted back to Dane. “I’ll discuss those with you in private.”
“Anything you have to say to him, you can say in front of us,” Ryan fronted. “We’re a team.”
“You stay out of this,” his father snapped, the icy exterior cracking, revealing white-hot anger underneath.
Alex must have seen it too, because his hand curled in the fabric of Dane’s shirt, tugging him slightly back.
Dane glanced over his shoulder, meeting his captain’s wary gaze.
“He knows something,” Alex said. “Stay here and call Roger. See if there’s really a problem.”
The fear in Alex’s eyes was Dane’s tipping point. “No,” he said. “I’m gonna go see what they think they know.”
Bas stepped closer. “You sure about that, Ellis?”
Dane nodded, and the wariness in Alex’s gaze gave way to pride, making Dane’s heart trip for an entirely different reason. Ryan and Bas nodded as well, the both of them puffed up, bodies hard, defensive on his behalf. So this was what it was like to have friends, teammates, who had his back. No matter what his father said, he’d do anything to keep this.
“You’ll fill me in on what I miss at the meeting?” he said to Ryan.
“You got it.”
“And I’ll be sure to make that bet on your behalf,” Bas said, rubbing his stomach. “Look forward to judging that contest.”
His father made a disgusted grunt and stalked out, barreling down the hall toward the exit.
Alex thumped Bas’s shoulder where they stood. “Don’t poke the angry troll.”
Dane chuckled, the joke
just what he needed before facing said troll. His laugh died, though, when he met Alex’s concerned stare. “I’m getting in that car for you this time,” Dane said.
“I get that,” Alex said, seeming to struggle for the words. “I’m worried about him, not you.”
Meaning Alex understood he would return. That he wasn’t turning his back on him.
“I’ll be fine,” Dane said. “And I’ll be back. An hour, two tops.”
Alex smiled, small but sure. “We’ll see you then.”
Dane sat across from his father in the limo, tight-lipped and arms crossed, keeping up a defensive front as much as holding his insides together. Retribution for the press conference was long overdue. Closed practice and his phone’s Ignore button had allowed Dane to put it off a few days, but that reprieve was over. Judging by his father’s stern expression and the heavy silence during the car ride, he was in for more than the usual scolding. If his mother and Roger were here, as his father had claimed, she’d have filled the car with idle surface chatter until she could rip him in private. She was a master at filling dead air. His father, however, was a master of creating the void. Whether it was a preacher thing, or an asshole thing, Dane couldn’t say.
Roger wasn’t at the house either, once they reached it. Walking into what had to be the most expensive rental in San Antonio, Dane peered through the gleaming foyer to the family-of-twenty dining room with its massive oak table and crystal chandelier. Only his mother was standing there, on the other side of the table, in front of a wall of windows overlooking a lush, green golf course. Dressed all in black, hair teased out to there, she looked like a harbinger of the devil.
Get on with it, Mo’s voice coached in Dane’s head. He’d made a stand once today already, and while scary, it had felt good. Right. Alex and his team had had his back. Now he had to go it alone, make a stand for himself and them.
Not waiting for his father, Dane marched across the marble foyer and into the dining room. “What’s going on?”
“Sit down, dear.” His mother gestured at the end of the table closest to her, set for three. “Shannon has brunch ready for us.”