Whisper Privileges

by Dianne Venetta

  She drew a hand to her mouth and tapped the floor with her gaze. “You know I don’t know any of these teams.”

  “Sure could have fooled me. You were going crazy for someone.”

  She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Yes, well, competition always seems to get to me.”

  “Me too,” he replied. “Q is up after the next round.”

  “Great...”

  “Would you like to come watch with me?”

  “Er—I don’t know.”

  “Too much work to do?” he asked, more hastily than he intended.

  “Well,” she evaded and glanced around the pool deck. “I do need to check on things.”

  “Can you spare a couple of minutes?” She paused, seemingly trapped by his direct request. “C’mon, even a busy event mogul like you should be able to spare a few minutes to watch the events you’re working.”

  She sighed, held back for a few seconds then acquiesced, “Okay. Let me go and see if the staff needs anything and then I’ll stop by.”

  “Great,” he said, though his gut told him things weren’t “great” at all. Something was bothering her. She showed none of the pleasure at seeing him that he would have expected after a night together that had gone well. Dinner had been a good time and the kiss...well, the kiss had been phenomenal.

  Had he gone too far? It didn’t feel like it the other night. It felt soft and sweet, easy and right. But as he watched her walk away, he knew something was off. It was a “something” he was going to find out and soon.

  True to her word, Sydney showed up just in time for the race. “This is Q’s best race.” He stood as she sat down on the metal bench next to him. “He’s totally pumped.” Lowering, he sat beside her, but not too close. Last thing he wanted to do was scare her off, if she was having doubts.

  The bleachers around them were spotty, family and friends sat here and there, a few volunteers. Never failed. Every event, strangers came in droves to sign on and help and when not working, they watched the games. Swimmers on the other hand, were relegated to be with their teams and from what Clay could surmise, happily so. Q was standing just behind the pool’s edge and while not quite smiling, he appeared okay.

  “Is he up against those boys with the good scores?” Sydney asked, a shade more indifferent than he preferred.

  Clay nodded. “Yes. He needs to win here before he can go on to the finals.”

  “I see,” she said, her face went grave.

  “He’ll be fine.” He patted her thigh and when she returned a hesitant smile, he felt a little thrill over the fact she didn’t mind the gesture. “But if you get overexcited, feel free to hold on to me.” He winked. “I’m pretty solid stuff.”

  “Thanks,” she said dryly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  The horn signaled the mark to get ready and his body tensed. He searched for sight of his son. Separated from the group, he was now standing on the block in lane eight. Q was nervous about this race which wasn’t good. One of his son’s strengths was his ability to stay focused. He counted his strokes, he knew his speed. But if he was nervous? He could lose his concentration and if he lost this race, Q would be devastated. It was one of his best and wouldn’t bode well for upcoming heats. Worse, if he didn’t place for a medal, they might not be heading to Brazil.

  The overhead announcement came jarred him. “Swimmers take your mark.”

  Clay braced himself for the sound to start. Bang!—the swimmers dove into the pool and Clay was on his feet. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Go Q, go!”

  Sydney was up by his side, cheering his boy on as he took an early lead. “Look, he’s already ahead!”

  Yes, Q had certainly bolted out in front. Clay only hoped he didn’t lose stamina. While he was used to blowing past the competition early on, seconds counted on this one. If he dropped back due to exhaustion—even a little bit—it would cost him the race. He noticed the kid in lane five was near even with Q, easy to spot in his neon green goggles and shiny green swim cap. And then he’d take the gold.

  Swimmers swam, spectators cheered. The noise level grew to deafening decibels in the enclosed pool center.

  “It makes me tired just watching them!” Sydney exclaimed.

  Clay doubted it. Sydney was all muscle and in as fine a shape as they came. He imagined she could swim for hours before tiring. Sliding a glance her way he said, “He’s holding his own.” But his jaw tensed.

  Q tapped the far wall, dunked his head under, rolled back into the flip and then spit out of the water two yards into his next lap. “Go, Q! Go!” Clay shouted again, his heart pumping as though he were the one swimming.

  “Way to go, Q!”

  Clay liked the way Sydney threw herself into the role of support for his son. Q was everything to him and it was important the woman in his life understand the special relationship they shared—and share it with him. He cringed inwardly. The woman in his life. A bit much of a description for a woman he’d just met, Clay derided himself, but Sydney was no ordinary woman and fast becoming top of the list. When she didn’t show yesterday, he’d been consumed by her absence. He wondered where she was and why she wasn’t with him. It couldn’t have been the kiss.

  Q tagged the wall, kicking up water as he flipped, then headed for the other side. Clay shouted encouragement, but the sight of the kid in lane five worried him. He was catching up to Q with plenty of time to overtake him on the final twenty-five.

  “He’ll make it,” Sydney told him. “That boy won’t catch him.”

  Apprehension hollowed his chest. “Reading my thoughts, are you?”

  “I see the reality at hand,” she said, and fastened him with a determined gaze. “Q’s still a good five yards ahead. That other boy will have to pull off a miracle to beat him.”

  Or Q will lose steam and give up his lead, Clay mused soberly. He withdrew from Sydney, tried to tune out the noise of spectators and focused on his kid. “C’mon, Q!” he shouted. “Keep it going, you can do it!”

  Arm over arm, the swimmers persisted. Q hit the far wall first then came back for the home stretch. But he was slowing, allowing the competition to close the distance between them. The crowd was on its feet. Clay’s breathing grew shallow, forced. It was now a race between Q and the boy in lane five.

  His heart hammered against his ribs. “C’mon, Q!” You can do this, kid. You can do this.

  “Go, Q!” Sydney joined him, her voice spiking against the frenzy of the crowd around them. “You got it, Q! You’ve got it!”

  Clay clung to every stroke. He willed his boy forward. But the other kid was too close. Apprehension wound tight around his heart. Clay eyed the wall, estimated the distance and thought, the kid has time to take Q. Clay stood immobile. Body rigid, he couldn’t move. For the final few yards, the boys were dead even. Please, don’t let him lose.

  “C’mon, Q!”

  Glad for Sydney by his side, Clay couldn’t speak. He couldn’t shout, yell, or cheer for his son. He could only watch as they swam their final seconds.

  The boys slapped the wall and the horn blew. One by one, the other swimmers tagged in, but he only had eyes for Q—and the other boy—both pumping their fists in the air. Their teammates circled around them. Clay jumped over the lower seats and jogged over to the team. Who won? He whipped his head around to the scoreboard. Lane five: one minute, twenty-two point three seconds. Lane eight: one minute, twenty-two point four. His heart sank. It was over. Lead filled his chest. Q lost.

  Sydney looked at him. “He lost?”

  Clay stared at the board and pointed. “Tenth of a second.”

  “Are they sure? That looked like at least a tie to me.”

  “That’s what the scores say,” he said, then broke away to console his son. Q was going to take this hard. It was one of his big races. One he felt confident to win. The fact that he lost would demoralize him for the next matchup.

  Sydney followed him and when they neared, Clay could see the confu
sion etched in his son’s face. Standing by his coach now, Clay wondered if he knew what happened. With a determined step, he made his way through the group of swimmers just in time to hear the coach telling the team to calm down. “We don’t know yet.”

  “What’s that?” Clay asked from the visitor’s side of South Carolina’s section.

  Coach looked at him. Q’s expression was close to desperation now as he sought his father for help. “Times were too close. I’ve asked them to review the timers.” Choppy, to the point, elaboration was unnecessary.

  Clay nodded. “Thanks.”

  “What happens now?” Sydney asked.

  “They’ll check the timers. With two volunteer timers posted on each lane, they should be able to make a determination.” Hope buoyed in his chest. Was there a chance Q won?

  As the coach prepared his team for the next race, Clay pondered the situation. If there was a chance Q won, he didn’t want to jinx it in any way. Shooting his son a “thumbs-up,” he maintained optimism. Q nodded, but appeared to doubt the same.

  “It looked to me like they tied,” Sydney said. “What then?”

  “In the event of a tie, a swim-off occurs. But it’s unlikely. These times are taken out to the hundredth of a second. And they have two timers per lane.”

  “Oh.” Hovering in thought, she murmured, “So now we wait.”

  He liked the way that sounded. “We” wait. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t make plans for later. “So how about dinner this evening?”

  Her withdraw was distinct and sudden. “I don’t know...”

  “Have plans already?”

  “No, but—”

  “But nothing. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  Her expression colored with retreat. “Clay, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  His heart thumped in protest. “Does it have anything to do with you not showing up yesterday?”

  Sydney stole a glance toward his son and the team. She looked around the pool, allowing her gaze to follow two young swimmers as they walked by. Clay could tell she was biding her time, but why? When she returned to face him, he couldn’t read her hesitation. But it was there. Sitting just behind her eyes, something was holding her back. “I told you, my duties require me to make the rounds and sometimes one venue has issues that need resolution. Sometimes after hours.”

  “Are you telling me you don’t have time because you have to work?”

  She angled her chin toward Q’s team. “You need to spend time with your family.”

  “I told you. They want no part of me. I’m here as a spectator only.” He threw a thumb over his shoulder. “You see him. He doesn’t even know I’m alive right now. It’s all about the team.”

  “Where are your parents?” she asked, turning as though it just occurred to her to look for them, as if they might walk up at any minute.

  “They’re here.” He pointed into the stands, but they weren’t in their seats. “Well, they’re here somewhere. Anyway, they don’t care if we go out.” He smiled. “It’s not like they never see me, you know.”

  She backed away.

  He marked the retreat with a question, “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong. I just think dinner isn’t a good idea.”

  Clay feared kissing her the other night may have been too much. But it didn’t make sense. While brief, it felt as if she enjoyed it as much as he did. “Is it Charlie?”

  A noticeable chill cooled the green of her eyes to a dusty moss. “No, it has nothing to do with him.”

  On a positive note, the woman didn’t lie very well. If it wasn’t him directly, he was tied in somehow. “Then what?”

  “You’re going to be gone in a week, Clay. What’s the point?”

  “The point is, we have something good between us. I’d like to see where it leads.”

  “I’m not interested in a long distance relationship.”

  “Me neither.”

  She eyeballed him and crossed her arms. “I’m not moving to South Carolina.”

  Direct shot, score... Her shove was visceral. “I see.”

  “Dinner the other night was fun, but I think we should leave it at that.”

  “Sure thing,” he said, thoughts racing for reason, for explanation.

  She cast another glance toward Q and said, “Good luck. I hope he pulls it out for the win.”

  “Me, too.”

  When Sydney walked off, Clay felt the second crushing defeat of the day. Strike two. But Rutledges didn’t give up that easy. He glanced toward his son and thought, there won’t be a strike three. For either of us.

  Chapter Fifteen

  First thing on the agenda today was securing tickets for Sam. She and her kids from the Boys and Girls Club had their hearts set on attending closing ceremonies, a wish Sydney was more than happy to fulfill. Slipping the passes into an envelope, she swiped her tongue across the flap and scribbled Sam’s name on the front. There may as well be some perks from working this job.

  “Knock, knock,” Sam said at the open door.

  Sydney looked up. “Hey, you’re right on time.”

  “They call me Punctual Polly.” She strolled in, her attire casual and somewhat sporty with her collared, silk top and short white shorts setting off the natural tan of her legs. Far from bronze, Sam didn’t do sunbathing. Her color came from walking to and from the office and that’s it. Though rather than sneakers, Sam wore heels. Strappy heels that revealed brightly painted red toenails. Come to think of it, Sydney wondered if Sam even owned a pair of athletic shoes. She’d never seen her in any. She handed the envelope to her. “These are for you.”

  Sam’s eyes rounded as though she’d just been handed the key to the city. “These my tickets?”

  She nodded.

  “You’re the best, Syd.” She circled behind her desk and smothered her in a hug. “The kids are going to be thrilled.”

  “I aim to please,” she said, but felt devoid of cheer.

  Letting go, Sam stood close. “You sure this wasn’t a problem?”

  “No problem at all. I told you, it’s the fringe benefits of working on the inside. Might as well use them to someone’s advantage.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong.”

  “Anything right?”

  “Not really.”

  Sam slipped on a satisfied smile. “Well, maybe I can cheer you up.”

  “How’s that?”

  Sam eased a hip onto the edge of Sydney’s desk, avoiding contact with the slew of papers scattered across it, several tacked with blue Post-It notes. Fingering the envelope in her hand, her dark eyes glittered with mischief. “Seems your Morgan has found greener pastures.”

  “Huh?” Perplexed by the drop from nowhere, she asked, “What are you talking about?”

  “Your troubles with Morgan gaining advantage with Javier.” She smirked. “It looks like they’re finished.”

  “They’re not finished.” She swung a pointed finger toward the door and snapped, “They’re locked at the hip, like always.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure. I just saw them yesterday. Hip-locked.”

  Sam’s face split into the widest grin. “Well what do you know...the spider weaves a downright tangled web!”

  Growing impatient, she thrust, “What are you talking about?”

  Sam chuckled. “Your little Morgan seems to be two-timing your Javier.”

  “She’s not my little Morgan and he’s not my Javier—but what do you mean two-timing?” That part appealed to her and pleasure rose fast and sweet. “Did you see her with someone?”

  “Hello?” She rolled her eyes toward the open doorway and said, “That’s what I started with—she’s grazing from greener pastures with the Mayor.”

  Sydney’s jaw dropped open. “The Mayor? Are you sure?”

  An evil laugh erupted from deep in Sam’s belly. “Oh yes, ma’am I am! She was spinning her web in circles around th
e man just the other night.” Sam waggled her brow. “And he was a more than willing victim let me assure you, thoroughly engrossed with the plunging neckline and excess of cleavage she was treating him to.” She laughed, delighted by the lurid turn of affairs in Sydney’s favor. She folded hand and envelope in her lap and stated, “I gather Javier doesn’t know about her extra-curricular activities.”

  “I’m certain he doesn’t,” she replied, turning the revelation over in her mind. Morgan was sleeping with the Mayor? Her mind slashed through the repercussions.

  “Looks like you have your loaded weapon.”

  She stared at Sam. Crossing arms over chest, Sydney brought a forefinger to her lower lip and tapped. Javier would definitely not appreciate this tidbit of news one bit. Morgan two-timing him with the Mayor? No, that wouldn’t sit well at all. Sydney’s lips curled into a smile as she gathered Sam in her sights. “Looks like I do, doesn’t it?”

  “When do you plan on delivering the final blow?”

  That she didn’t know. It had to be handled with care else it blow up in her face. “Not sure. But under the circumstances, this could definitely be the ammunition I need to put Javier and Morgan in their place.”

  “Has there been a new development I don’t know about?”

  Mindful of the open door she lowered her voice, “If you call Javier suggesting I don’t see Clay because it’s not a good idea to mix business and pleasure a ‘new development’ then hell yes there’s been one.”

  Sam belted out a sardonic laugh. “Are you kidding me?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Is he giving you grief about this guy, seriously?”

  “In so many words. But it doesn’t really matter. Clay’s only here for a week, then he returns to South Carolina.” She flicked a glance to her wall-sized dry erase board, the Special Olympics events marked in bright blue and consuming nearly two weeks of her calendar. “That part may be for the best.” No sense getting her hopes up for a guy that was leaving town. Now the part about Morgan trying to run her out was a different story.