Hazarding a glance back toward the pool, Sydney idled in place. They must remain on site as other members of their team raced, right? It wasn’t like they had anywhere to go. A couple of female volunteers walked by, clipboards in hand, credential passes dangling from bright orange lanyards. Sydney glanced up at the scoreboards to see if any of the swimmers belonged to South Carolina. Dismay filtered in. There was no sight of his team. A group of kids wearing matching orange shirts walked by and one of the girls waved. Sydney waved back in automatic reply before realizing it was the same girl from last night—the one who had tapped her on the shoulder in a gesture of encouragement. Sydney gave a “thumbs-up” sign and the girl responded enthusiastically with one of her own. With a smile, she mouthed the words thank you. But more interested in keeping up with her fellow athletes, the girl missed it. Disappointment spiraled down through her, ending in a sharp stab of remorse. She should have thanked her last night. It was the least she deserved. Now, who knows if she’d ever see her again?
Meandering the outskirts of the action, Sydney felt self-conscious. Without something to do, she was out of place. Maybe it would be best to try and catch up with Clay and Q later. She had other events that needed attending. Wasting time wandering around the pool only made her feel foolish. Besides, she didn’t want to work this hard to see Clay—it made her look desperate! She stopped, browsed the groups of swimmers, skimmed the far line of red shirts in search of Clay and her heart skipped a beat. Clear down the other end of the pool, there he stood decked out in red T-shirt and khaki shorts, his hair casually combed to the side. From his side of the cordoned-off section, he was saying something close to his son’s ear. Parents weren’t allowed inside unless they were part of the coaching staff.
The sight gave her pause. It reminded her of the days when her dad used to do the same. He attended every game, told her how great she was, how easily she could whip the rear ends off the other team—so long as she didn’t lose focus. He’d tap a finger to his forehead and tell her, winning comes from here. It’s about wanting it so bad you can taste it, so bad you’ll work night and day to get it. Winning is about mental discipline. You focus on the goal and the goal alone. You can do it, Sydney. You have what it takes. Just keep the focus.
Those pep talks between father and daughter meant everything to her. Knowing he believed in her gave her the self-confidence she needed to win, to believe she could do it. Then he and her mom divorced and he left—disappeared—taking her self-confidence right along with him. It had been a crushing blow to her at the time...to know that when she needed him most, he let her down. Nowadays, the two barely spoke. Unless of course, he needed something.
Clay lifted his head away. And even from this distance, his affection was clear. Sydney longed for such connection again such genuine love and affection. It was clear parenting came easy to Clay. Father and son had a natural rhythm, one you couldn’t pretend. They were connected by the kind of love that only grew stronger with time. The kind that deepened through hardship and sacrifice. The kind she only read about in books. As though he sensed her presence, Clay homed in on her. She couldn’t make out his expression, but when he didn’t look away, she took it as her cue to approach. Now was as good a time as any, right? She couldn’t avoid him forever.
The acceleration of her heart said otherwise. But the next step belonged to her, not him. Circling around the pool, Sydney forced calming breaths through her lungs. She walked toward the group of South Carolina swimmers intent on going to him, but Clay left them and met her halfway. “Glad you could make it,” he said, his tone smooth and supple.
Nerves scurried across her stomach. “Part of my rounds today.”
“Q will be happy to see you.”
Really? When he barely knew her? She glanced toward him, currently huddled together with his team on the bench. “How’s he doing?”
“So far so good. Won his heat in the backstroke earlier.”
“Wonderful,” she replied with a nod, eager to extract herself from the tension coiling around her, the polite pretense enshrouding their small talk.
“It’s not his best stroke,” Clay said, his gaze split between Sydney and Q, “so he’s quite pleased with his performance. I just worry he’s going to throw his arms out before the freestyle.”
“Spoken like a true father.”
He smiled. “It’s next on the list and it’s the one that has him worked up. Some of the kids from Ohio have scores better than Q’s and I think he’s worried he might lose.”
“Oh,” she said, curious as to how he would deal with the stress. She glanced over at Q. Seated in the midst of his teammates, shiny mirrored goggles worn like a necklace, he seemed calm. He appeared like any normal athlete, surrounded by his fellow swimmers awaiting his next event. Was it difficult for him to handle? The pressure, the expectations? Were special needs athletes any different than others? But the thought was fleeting. Sydney slipped her hands into the front pockets of her shorts, her right hand enclosing around her cell phone and said, “Listen, about yesterday...”
Clay peered at her expectantly, but didn’t say a word.
“I’m sorry about being so short with you.” She balled her hand around the slender edges of her phone. “I just...”
“You just what?” He said the words so softly, the breath caught in her chest.
“Well, I was kinda rude to you after the show and—”
“Kinda?”
She stopped. Her heart thumped. Was he trying to make this difficult?
“Was there any reason in particular you felt the need to push me away?”
Suddenly flustered, she replied, “Look, I made a fool of myself, is that what you want to hear?” Yanking hands from pockets, she crossed arms over chest. Heat rose up the back of her neck. “I totally blew it and I didn’t feel like sticking around and was on my way out when I saw you and well...”
“I don’t think you made a fool of yourself.”
Anger boiled to the surface. “Don’t patronize me.”
“I’m not. You were nervous. It happens.” He moved his hands forward on his hips. “Doesn’t make you a fool.”
Sydney’s ears flushed hot. “I’m sure you’re the only one who feels that way. The point is—”
He shook his head. “Don’t think so.”
“Yes, well, that’s nice of you to say...” her voice trailed off as she latched onto an elderly couple walking by. But entirely untrue. Clay was just trying to be nice—which she didn’t need. Being on the wrong end of someone’s pity was not her gig. “Anyway, I wanted to apologize. It’s not like me and...” The excuse petered out beneath the hard edge of his stare.
Did he think this was easy for her? Did he expect more? “What?”
“Do you have a second?”
“For what?”
“I need some fresh air. Will you join me?”
She looked around them. She released her arms. She heaved a sigh. “I don’t understand.” Nor did she have time to try. She had to get back to work, not stroll outside for a breath of fresh air.
Clay lightly touched her elbow and pointed toward the rear exit. “Five minutes?”
She checked her watch as though five minutes might break her schedule.
As she hovered on the verge of refusal he persisted. “Humor me?” He worked to snare her gaze. “Five minutes?”
Humor was the farthest thing from her mind at the moment, but with no plausible excuse, she acquiesced. “Fine.” Five minutes wouldn’t kill her.
Clay led the way out the back of the building and into the bright midday sun. Above them clusters of flaming blooms sat heavy in Royal Poinciana trees, the blossoms brilliant against the palette of green. He paused, seeming to take in his surroundings. Sydney waited, curiosity gnawing at her.
“Walk with me?”
She’d come this far. May as well find out what he was after other than exercise. “Sure.” She followed him through a gate. Tucked between two low cement walls, it l
ed to a well-manicured path cut between a thick carpet of St. Augustine and eventually opened up to reveal a pond. Across the water were four residential buildings.
Clay stopped beneath a palm tree. Taking in the water, he turned back to her, his expression quiet. “When my wife left me,” Clay began, “I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to manage without her. There I was with a young son who needed special attention and I didn’t know the first thing about caring for him. Hell, I couldn’t boil water at the time.”
Sydney couldn’t imagine Clay worried about anything let alone his abilities as a single father. Confusion tangled in her midsection. But why was he bringing this up?
“The first few months were the most difficult. I never changed a diaper, couldn’t bake a chicken... We ate peanut butter and jelly for two weeks straight.” He tipped up his chin with a sheepish grin. “I was the proverbial male chauvinist, I guess. It was easier to leave the domestic stuff to my wife while I went out and earned a living.”
“You work with your family, right?”
He nodded and sharpened his gaze. “But with my head wrapped up in Q, my role within the company couldn’t be a major one. My younger brother took over most of the heavy lifting when it came to the management side and I moved to board member status, consulting with them on the finances.”
Suddenly intrigued by this piece of his personal life, she asked, “Does it bother you?”
“What—that I’m not more active in managing the company?”
She shrugged, not wanting to rub it in. She understood a man’s career made up a large part of his identity. What did it do to Clay that his was sidelined?
“Not really. Everyone has something to contribute to this world. You, me...Q.”
The words drifted between them.
Not sure where he was going with this, she gave him the space to say what he wanted to say. She had a few minutes to spare. Sydney resisted the sudden urge to check the time. Why not hear him out?
“In the beginning, I was sure I’d fall flat on my face. Make a total mess of things for my son.” Pulling a dangling palm frond blade, he twisted it within his fingers. “And at first, I did.”
She watched him, wondering what he meant by a “total mess.”
“I lost my patience, became angry...” The breeze kicked up and tossed blond waves about his face. “I’m ashamed to admit that for a while, I even blamed him for my divorce.”
Blamed the boy? She couldn’t conceive of Clay thinking in such terms. He seemed so logical, so even-keeled, so measured in everything he did. But the concept seemed a normal one. People sometimes projected their feelings about a situation in completely off ways. Why not Clay?
Quiet, calm, he looked directly into her eyes and it felt like he was opening a door, granting her access to a private part of him. An important part. “Eventually I pulled it together. It was tough, but I managed.” He tossed the leaf to the ground. “I made my peace with the ex, I accepted my lot with the business and I realized that I was still a good father, despite my early failures.” He paused. “I know you’re bothered about what happened last night. No one likes to feel like a fool.”
Her insides clenched. So this little chat was about her performance last night.
“But there’s no such thing as failure. There are only results. Some are better than others, some are easier to handle, but none are anything you need to run from. You excel in volleyball, you’re on top of your business game, you freak at public speaking.” He lifted his shoulders and opened his hands with a half-smile. “It’s just the way it is. Life calls you up to bat and you bat. Sometimes you hit home runs and sometimes you strike out. You can’t be good at everything.”
Ouch. Sydney didn’t care for the scene he portrayed. It made her failure all the more vivid and real.
“You do it, because you have to do it. Life calls us to play and we do. Kinda like being the parent of a special needs child. Sometimes I feel like I don’t even know how to play the game—like I’m in the wrong stadium. But I do it, because I have to do it.”
“I’m not a public speaker,” she admitted, the words feeble as they tumbled out. And though she didn’t aspire to be one, it still pained her to admit that she came up short. That she couldn’t succeed.
“No, but you’re an ambitious woman. And sometimes that means tackling the tough stuff, making the hard plays. You, of all people, should know that.” He reached for her hands and she allowed him to take them into his own. Warm and comfortable, the connection felt like friendship. “Think of it the way you think of volleyball. If you need to practice more, you practice. Or you change your game, mix up your strategy. You tweak and fine-tune and perfect your skill set, but you never walk away from a challenge—or a loss. No one’s perfect. You own it and you move on.”
She recalled the young girl whispering the words of encouragement over her shoulder. Don’t be embarrassed. It happens to all of us.
“Take heart in your courage to try, Sydney. In the end, that’s what will see you through to the finish line.”
It didn’t feel that way to her. She didn’t feel courageous for trying. She only felt weak for failing, cowardly for being pushed into doing something she didn’t want to do. But Clay’s intentions seemed so sincere, so pure, she couldn’t be angry. Sydney smiled, acutely aware of the soft flesh of his palms still wrapped around her hands. “You’re a nice person, Clay Rutledge.”
“So are you, Sydney Flores.”
Despite his forgiving words, her performance remained a failure in her heart. Casting the facts in rosy shades didn’t change anything. But he was trying to make her feel better and for that, she was grateful. “Thanks for the pep talk.”
He leaned forward, his face less than a foot from hers. “You’re welcome.” As he remained close, her hands clasped in his and growing hot, Sydney swore he was about to kiss her. For one heart-stopping second, she thought he would ease near and kiss her. Heartbeats fluttered in limbo. Would he?
Would she?
She would. She would kiss him right now where no one would be the wiser. Sydney held steady, but Clay didn’t kiss her. He simply stated, “Q could use a pep talk himself right about now. Care to join me?”
Rational thought clashed with a torrent of longing as she released anticipation, the moment evaporated. “Sure. If you think it would help.” She swallowed and choked back the swell of emotion that nearly betrayed her. “I’d be happy to.”
“You’re the best.” Clay loosened his grip on her hands and brought them to his lips.
His lips made contact. Adrenaline bolted through her bloodstream. His gaze never wavered from hers and as he lingered, she could feel warm wisps of breath against her skin. She held her breath. His hands would do.
Slowly, he pulled them down by their sides and held firm. Inches away they stood face-to-face and Sydney felt the heat rise in her body. Maybe he wasn’t finished.
Blue eyes pierced clear through her. He smiled.
Having Clay this close unsettled her, turned propriety on its head and made her want to do things she had no business doing—and in public, of all places! Did he know what she was thinking? Would he push it to his advantage?
“Shall we?”
With a quick squeeze, he let go of her hands and she felt a distinct sense of longing for the contact to continue. She wanted more of their conversation, more of this moment alone, more of this connection. But she was working. She didn’t have time for idle distraction, no matter how enjoyable she may find it. She had to work.
Sydney concentrated on pulling her thoughts from them back to the events as he led the way back inside. She followed him to a table where Q and a few of his teammates were sitting, snacking on energy bars in the section for swimmers only. In the pool, a group of swimmers took their marks along the edge. Through overhead speakers, she heard the names being called out one by one. Everything was back to normal. The Special Olympics kept a constant pace and she had to keep up.
Q spotted her i
mmediately. Lightly punching a teammate, he pointed at her. When the other looked over, he brandished a huge smile and waved, but then ducked his head down toward the table.
“Hey, Q—remember my friend Sydney?”
Q popped his head up, and a smile of recognition swept through his features. He nodded, but quickly turned to watch the swimmers hanging on the edge of the pool as they waited for the heat to begin.
Sydney approached cautiously, uncertain what to say. “Hi, Q. Heard you were swimming this afternoon. Mind if I come back and watch?”
“Sure!” he exclaimed, but turned away just as quickly, fixing his attention on the girl by his side.
Odd, she thought. It was as though Q wanted her here but was painfully shy about the same.
The girl looked up and smiled. “Hi... My name’s Tanya.” She waved a pudgy hand.
“Hi. My name is Sydney. Nice to meet you.”
Tanya bubbled with delight. “I’m swimming today!”
Smiling at her tickled exuberance, Sydney asked, “Which race do you swim?”
“The butterfly...” she replied, her eyes rounding as though it were a magnificent feat.
“Wow.” Sydney released and exclaimed, “I never could swim the butterfly!”
“She’s really good,” Q interjected, then turned back toward his swimmers in the water.
“Their team has been doing awesome,” Clay said. “I think they’re going to sweep the gold.”
“How exciting.” Honestly thrilled for them, there was something about competition that always lit a fire in her belly. At the sound of the whistle, Sydney turned toward the pool. Splash after splash, the swimmers sped off in backstroke. “Look at them go,” Sydney murmured, captivated by not only their speed, but their agility. Unfamiliar with the Special Olympics before these events, she didn’t know what to expect—but she surely didn’t expect this! These kids were swimming clean and fast, and if she didn’t know any better, she wouldn’t be able to tell they had disabilities at all. She turned to Clay. “They’re really good, aren’t they?”
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