Drowning: An Angsty Standalone

by Marni Mann

  Lifting the metal clasp, I pop the flap open and reach my hand inside. Pulling the papers out, I straighten my back and take a deep breath.

  A contract.

  I flip through each page, noting all the negotiations for Endurance, the supplement that got Adrian in so much trouble. But, when I get to the last page and see Adrian’s name in black ink, the little hairs on the back of my neck stand tall.

  “That’s not his signature.”

  I’ve read his letters so many times over the past couple of days, I’d recognize his writing anywhere. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the one I brought with me, unfolding it and smoothing out the wrinkles. Side by side, it’s easy to see the slight variations in the letters. Whoever copied it tried to imitate it, but they didn’t match it entirely.

  Jacob leans forward and takes a look for himself. With a raised brow, he seems to agree with me. “Looks like we could possibly have even more ammunition. I didn’t have his signature for comparison.”

  That means whatever contract Adrian read, it probably wasn’t this one. Whatever he agreed to could have been altered after the fact.

  Jacob pulls out the last piece of paper on the pile and sets it on top. “This is the kicker.”

  I take a sip of my water and swallow, praying I don’t pass out. There it is—paperwork that proves Ravi was an equal partner and had just as much say, if not more than Adrian. “Where did you find this?”

  “It was buried pretty good, but if you look in the right places, you can find almost anything.”

  “Are you going to print this?”

  He shakes his head. “I’m not looking to go to jail, Andi. Or piss off the wrong people. That’s why I was so hesitant at first. I have a family to protect, but I couldn’t sit on the information and do nothing. My wife finally convinced me I had to give Adrian a fighting chance. I’m not saying this will free him, but it will definitely help his case, force people to keep looking for the rest of the truth.”

  “And what do you want for this information? You said an interview.”

  “Right,” he says. “It’s not what you’re thinking though. I don’t want to print the same story that’s already been told a hundred times.”

  “Good, because I think that’s been told enough. And it’s all lies anyway.”

  “I agree,” he says. “Adrian’s going to get offers from all over the world once this breaks, but I want an exclusive. Something different.”

  I’ve figured this is the route Jacob would go. There’s only been one thing I’ve wanted to do for Adrian, and I’m determined to make it happen. “What if I tell you I’ll get you the story, but you have to agree to clear his name completely in whatever you print? Something that showcases him in a brighter light, so he can stop hiding and live again.”

  “You want redemption,” he says.

  “That’s exactly what I want. Maybe they’ll lift the bans on him, and he can even swim again. At the very least he’d be able to show his face and work again.”

  The tabloids will want the gossip. They’ll want to know what life in prison was like, like what he did with his time and if it changed him. Maybe Adrian will talk about that someday, but there would be nothing better than for him to be able to come out of hiding and hold his head up high. He didn’t do anything wrong, and he deserves to stand atop a podium with a medal around his neck.

  A smile stretches across Jacob’s face, and I realize I did it. “Andi, you have yourself a deal.”

  I’m so excited to tell Adrian the news, but first, I have to show the documents to Camille. And then I have to call Russell. I can’t risk getting Adrian’s hopes up until I’m one hundred percent positive this news will set him free.

  Adrian

  “You’re free,” my attorney says, holding a piece of paper up to the glass, using her other hand to cradle the phone against her ear.

  My fingers start to shake as I scan the letter, picking up only a few words—new evidence, immediate release, wrongfully accused. The letter is signed by Judge Adams, who’s the judge assigned to my upcoming trial.

  “What do you mean?” I ask, feeling my head shake back and forth as I try to make sense of this. “They’re going to let me out of here?”

  “Yes, Adrian, they’re going to let you out of here. New evidence has been found and submitted to the court and it completely exonerates you.”

  “Does that mean…” My voice trails off.

  I can’t get my thoughts straight. This is the last thing I expected my attorney to say when I saw her on the other side of the window.

  She holds up a newspaper and presses that against the glass. “Is this what you were going to ask me?”

  A picture of Ravi, handcuffed, being led out of his house, is on the front page of the newspaper. I don’t read the caption or the article beneath it. The photo tells me everything I need to know. Ravi always wore the same expression whenever he was on the verge of screaming at someone. But, in this photo, he looks like he wants to tear their face off, too.

  “Adrian?”

  I slowly glance over at my attorney, remembering the two words she had spoken when I first held the phone to my ear.

  You’re free.

  They’re words I’ve wanted to hear since I stepped inside this cage of hell. So, now that she’s said them, why don’t they feel real?

  “Yeah,” I finally reply.

  “I’ll be back here tomorrow morning to pick you up. We’ll have a quick meeting before you’re discharged, and then I’ll wait for you outside the prison.”

  “You’re serious?”

  I begin to shake even harder, a lump of emotion forming in the back of my throat. I hadn’t shed one fucking tear since I’d stepped inside here. But there are tears in my eyes now, and I wipe a few of them off my cheeks.

  “I’m serious, Adrian. This is what we’ve wanted all along, proof that you didn’t dope your teammates, that you didn’t run the company by yourself. Now, we have that proof. You’re going to walk out of here tomorrow and never have to come back.” She stands, tucking the papers under her arm, smiling at me through the glass. “Try and get some sleep. You’re going to need it. Things are about to get extremely busy for you.”

  She waves, moving away from the window, and I watch her disappear. I don’t get up right away. I don’t wipe my runny nose, and I don’t dry my cheeks again. I let it all fall, I let her words simmer, and I let thoughts of Andi fill my head.

  I stand in front of the iron gate that separates the back of the prison from the street and wait for the guard to open it. When I went through the booking department to process my discharge paperwork, I was told to go outside and place both feet on the white line. Once the gate is fully open, I’m then free to walk through. I just wasn’t told how long I’d have to wait.

  When you spend almost two months in prison, you learn the value of a minute.

  At least four have passed, and there’s still no movement.

  I’m not sure what kind of media shitstorm is waiting for me on the other side of the gate. My attorney warned me that things could get a little rowdy. All the TV reporters and newspaper journalists want a statement from me. They aren’t going to get one. I’ve already signed over those rights in a deal that Andi negotiated.

  In exchange for the original contract I signed with Ravi and proof that he was an equal partner of Endurance, Jacob is getting an exclusive interview. I don’t know how Jacob got ahold of those papers, and I don’t want to know. It’s over now. I’m a free man, and Ravi’s in custody. My attorney told me this morning that everything in Ravi’s office was seized, including his computer and passport, and information has already been found that proves he had an arrangement with the French. I’ll have to see him again when I’m called in to testify, but the documents that Jacob provided show that I didn’t have any knowledge of the doping. I can walk through this gate as Adrian Dillon.

  Since the news of my release has gotten out, my reputation has changed in the media. Once
again, I’m one of America’s most loved athletes. A victim who was set up and wrongfully accused. A hero who not only saved his girlfriend, but also jeopardized his freedom to take down Andi’s abuser.

  I have no reason to hide anymore.

  But, when my attorney said she was bringing me an outfit to wear when I left the prison, I asked her to bring me a hat, too.

  I can be me again, show my face and smile at the cameras. But I sure as hell don’t feel like me.

  The metal screeches as the lock unlatches, and the gate slowly slides across the pavement. I stay on the white line and try to prepare myself for whatever’s on the other side.

  “Adrian!” someone screams once the gate moves past me.

  There’s nothing I could have done to calm myself from the sheer mayhem that erupts.

  The lights from the cameras are blinding, the roaring crowd deafening. Hordes of people are trying to push past the rope to come toward me. Security guards are standing the whole length of the back entrance, their arms extended, their bodies straining from all the people.

  “It’s rowdier than we thought it would be,” a woman says in my ear.

  It takes me a second to realize it’s my attorney.

  One of her hands moves around my back, and the other loops through my arm. “Come on, let’s get you into the car.”

  I can only make out certain words that the crowd is screaming—Ravi, falsely, doping, innocent, Andi, swimming, gold medals.

  “Whose side are they on?” I ask. I continue to stare at the ground and push the hat low on my head, so I won’t make eye contact with anyone.

  “Yours. They love you. They’ve been standing out here for hours, hoping to get a glimpse of you.”

  I wish they would stop shouting, stop snapping my picture, stop videotaping every step I take. It’s too loud out here, too bright, too overwhelming. This is far too much attention for someone who has been hiding for all these months.

  “We’re almost there,” she says. “I know how intrusive this can feel when all you want is a little privacy.”

  I hear more words being shouted at me, more demands from the security guards as they try to control the crowd, more flashes of light that reflect off the snowy ground.

  More steps.

  More cold air.

  More freedom that feels nothing like I expected it to.

  And then there’s warmth. It comes from the inside of the SUV, and suddenly, I’m hauling myself into the backseat, and arms are around me.

  Arms and buttercream.

  Lips that press into my neck.

  Wetness that I know are tears.

  “My Andi,” I say as I squeeze her back.

  “Finally,” she breathes. “I’ve been waiting so long to hug you, Adrian.”

  I pull her out of my neck, so I can take a look at the face that I dreamed about every night I was in prison. “I didn’t think you’d be here.”

  “How could you think that? I would never miss this moment.”

  I wipe the tears from her eyes but keep my hands on her face. “I’ve been so horrible to you over the last few months.”

  “Yeah, you haven’t exactly been the best boyfriend.”

  The sound of her voice fucking kills me.

  “Andi, I just didn’t want to make you another promise that I didn’t know if I could keep.”

  She wraps her fingers around my hand. “What happened wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t a broken promise. Brooks would have found us, no matter what, and there was nothing you could have done to stop him.” She turns her face and rubs her cheek against my palm. Then, she kisses it. “I don’t care how long you were sentenced for, I would have waited.”

  “I wouldn’t have let you.”

  “You wouldn’t have had a choice, Adrian.”

  This girl. I don’t know what the hell I’ve done to deserve someone like her. But, now that I have her back, I’m never letting her go.

  I sling my arm over her shoulders and pull her into my side. Then, I face toward the front seat, realizing the SUV has been moving and that my attorney’s in the passenger seat and must have hired a driver. “Where are we going?”

  My attorney turns around to face me. “Your house.”

  “My…house?”

  “Your mom gave me the key, so I’ve been staying there for the last few days,” Andi says. “I hope that’s okay?”

  I nod. “Yeah, of course.”

  “The whole house has been cleaned,” Andi says. “I stocked your fridge full of your favorite foods. Your mail is all organized in your office, and your cell phone is charged—your smartphone, not your burner phone.”

  Andi thought of everything. She managed my whole life from behind the scenes while I sat in that cell. I have no doubt that my house will be cleaner and more organized than it has ever been.

  But it goes deeper than that.

  I’m returning to a place I didn’t think I’d ever come back to—not my house, not Colorado, but sitting next to Andi with my arms around her. Part of me is still inside that prison, staring at her letters on the wall, feeling the itchy wool blanket beneath me. And the other part is enjoying the feeling of her and reminding myself that it’s real.

  “A press conference is scheduled for ten tomorrow morning,” my attorney says, facing me again. “You have to be in attendance, but you won’t be speaking. I will. The speech I have prepared is on your kitchen counter. Read it over, and let me know if you have any questions. I’ll be here at nine to pick you up. Andi knows what you should wear, and she’s been prepped on all the details.

  “Remember, don’t say a word to anyone. You’re under contract for an exclusive, and you’re scheduled to meet Jacob after the press conference.” The SUV pulls into my driveway and stops in front of the garage. “I’m sure all you want to do is relax, but your schedule is jam-packed for the next few days. Just get through the next week, and I promise, we’ll give you a break.”

  I look at Andi. The tears are gone, and now, she’s all smiles.

  “I’m happy to be out. I’ll do whatever you need me to.”

  “Good,” my attorney says. “Now, you should have complete privacy while you’re at home. The security company at the front entrance of your subdivision has been briefed. Without proof of residency, no one is getting through those gates, so try to unwind and get settled.”

  “Thank you.”

  She shakes my hand, and Andi and I move toward the back door of my house, which she opens with her key. I walk past the laundry room, like I’ve done hundreds of times before, then the storage room, an extra bathroom, and I finally stop in the center of the house.

  What attracted me to this place was the openness—the kitchen and living room in one giant space and the overpowering view of the mountains that can be seen through the two-story windows. But, as I glance around, it feels like I’m seeing so much of it for the first time. For a place that’s supposed to be my home, I don’t feel like I know it at all. It feels like the walls and decorations and colors are a crowd of strangers, like the ones who were waiting for me outside the prison.

  “Are you okay?”

  I search for her eyes and find her standing beside the island in the kitchen. “I don’t know.”

  “You look like you’re lost.”

  Our place in Miami was the closest thing I had to a home since I’d left this one. I don’t think that has anything to do with the space or the way Andi has fixed it up. It has everything to do with her. She’s what makes it a home.

  Maybe I’m lost, but I have a feeling she will find me.

  “It feels good, having you here.”

  She moves over to me and slips her arms around my waist. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  She presses her cheek to my chest, and I take another glance around.

  I remember when I bought this place. The decorator I hired showed me pictures of furniture and decorations, and I signed off on all of them. I wasn’t really involved; I didn’t have the time. Whenever
I came home from practice or a trip, there’d be something new that was either hanging on the wall or sitting on some carpet or resting on a counter. Within a few months, the place was done. That was two years ago, and with all my traveling, I never really spent much time here.

  But there’s one room in this house that I think about often. A place I know intimately, where I’m most comfortable. One of the only things that can make me feel like me again.

  “I need to do something,” I say, cupping her face and tilting her neck back so that she looks up at me. “And I have to do it now.”

  She chews her bottom lip, a grin slowly spreading to her eyes. “I had a feeling. I put something on your bed just in case I was right.”

  “My bed?”

  Fuck.

  I want to be inside her and taste every part of her body, but I have to do something else first. Something that I hope will bring all of me back to Andi.

  She grabs my hand. “Come look.”

  We rush to the other side of the living room, around the corner, and down the hallway to the master bedroom. I see what she was talking about the second we get through the double doors. Spread over the bottom of my California king isn’t a pair of sexy panties and a matching bra, like I expected. Instead, there’s a jammers swimsuit, a pair of goggles, and a cap.

  “Jesus, Andi.”

  She picks up the jammers and hands them to me. “The pool is your place. It’s where you find your emotions and release them. It’s where you feel the most comfortable.” She squeezes my fingers. “None of this will feel right until you feel right.” Then, she hands me the goggles and the cap. “Go for a swim. I’ll be here when you’re done.”

  The suit she placed on the bed is one of the hundreds that were given to me by one of the companies I endorsed. A company that dropped me the second the allegations came out. According to my attorney, their deal is back in play, and they want to extend it for another two years. The goggles are my own design, patented and sold by a distributor. Since rumors surfaced that I was wrongfully accused, sales of the goggles have skyrocketed.

  But the cap, that’s different. Similar to the duffel bag that I carried onto the train, Dillon is printed in white on both sides, and the Olympic rings are on the front and back.