Sydney pondered the sentiment. The organization meant a lot to the kids, she knew, but what she’d come to learn is that it meant a lot to a whole lot of other people, as well, herself included. Meeting the athletes over the last couple of weeks, witnessing the outpouring of support from her community, she knew these games cut a wide and deep swath. From Miami to Anchorage, Shanghai to Rio, these events touched the hearts and lives of many. They uplifted, they inspired, they proved the human spirit to be a force unstoppable.
It was a debt of gratitude she felt herself. Sure, she met Clay and Q as a result, but the kids showed her how to live. Theirs was an example that shouted from the hilltops, “You can do it! You can do it!”
It was a message she wanted to believe. She didn’t want to be shackled by fear and doubt, insecurity and jealousy. She didn’t want to be limited by others’ perceptions. She wanted to be free, to climb the highest mountain, to swim the widest ocean.
Clay drew her hand from his necklace. “I don’t want to live without you, Sydney. I want you to be with Q and me.” He kissed her knuckles. Light and tender, there was love in his touch; a love she wanted to explore. It was a love she needed to follow, wherever it may lead.
Life was about living. It was about accepting yourself as the glorious individual you were born to be, the person you could strive to become. For the first time, Sydney believed she could move beyond her past, the opinions of others, and define herself as the woman she wanted to be.
Would she be beautiful? Would she be successful?
Sydney pulled Clay’s hand to her mouth and pressed it to her lips. She would be happy. To hell with what other people thought she should look like, she didn’t care. And happy would look any damn well way she wanted it to look.
Epilogue
Standing on the hot sands of Myrtle Beach, a stiff breeze whipped at his back, the saltiness of which intensified his desire for her. Clay watched as Sydney wound back for the serve and crushed the ball over the net, clear to the back corner. He smiled as it sailed completely out of reach of her opponents. The whistle blew, sending adrenaline through his veins. Damn, she was good. Clay cupped hands to mouth and shouted, “Way to go, Syd!”
“Good job, Sydney!” Q yelled.
Clay cast a sideways glance to his son and affection swelled in his chest. The sight of Q engaged and cheering Sydney on warmed his heart. He was emerging from his shell, opening up space that could allow her in. She was coming to mean a lot to him, to his son, and Clay couldn’t be happier.
The crowd hushed again, pulling his attention back to Sydney. Holding the ball before her, a wall of spectators hanging on her every move, she stared across the court in a penetrating line of concentration. The intensity was so thick he could feel it building between them. Drawing a hand back, she thrust forward and bam—over the net and to the sand. Make that another score toward the win, he thought, spectators shouting the same sentiment. Clay shook his head and looked at the other women. They were minor league next to Sydney and her partner, two of South Carolina's up and coming finest. Currently the two held rank as tournament semi-finalists, but were quickly on their way to being crowned victors for the three day event. He chuckled. An event improved by beautiful weather and packed with curious beachgoers, mostly male. But of course he understood the allure. These women were hot—his in particular.
As if sensing his thoughts, Sydney turned to him and smiled. Beneath the sun her tanned skin glowed, sweat glistening from her limbs presently pumped with exertion. He smiled, struck by the sudden urge to get his hands on her. She returned a brief nod, swung her arm back and pummeled the ball over the net. The opposing team managed to touch this one, but the ball bounced out of bounds. At the whistle, teams changed sides, Sydney jogging perilously close to him. She shot a thumbs-up to Q and Clay grunted under his breath. If they weren’t standing in the middle of a tournament, he’d smack that bottom of hers and follow it with a good squeeze. Visions of her naked body from the night before flooded into his mind. Strong, lean, the woman was a machine. Given the right handling, he’d discovered she could be a tigress, too. Exciting, but lethal in her touch. Oh, the things he wanted to do to her and over and over again—but there’d be plenty enough time for that later. Right now they had a game to win.
Q looked up at his dad with unrestrained admiration. “Sydney is awesome.”
Clay patted his son on the back, his eyes glued to her butt as she passed. Yes she is.
Sydney shook her head and he laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Q asked.
“Nothing,” Clay replied quietly, ignoring the layer of perspiration building beneath his T-shirt. “Nothing at all.” Moving his hand to his son’s shoulder, the humidity heavy in the air despite sweeps of easterly winds, he decided to add, “I’m just happy.”
Q nodded and Clay allowed his hand to fall. But happy was an understatement. Clay felt like his whole world was complete. In the beginning, it had been dicey. Sydney moved to South Carolina but refused to interview with the local Special Olympics organization. He pushed, but she was adamant. Clay understood her hesitation. She was probably afraid to tie herself to him hook, line and sinker—but mostly the latter. She was afraid of sinking. Without maintaining her float, that safety device called independence, Sydney feared she’d drown. This was his territory, not hers. Whatever he claimed to the contrary, he had learned those lines ran long and wide for her.
Settling her feet into the sand, he watched again as she went through her ritual of deep inhalation in preparation for the serve. A year into their relationship, he was learning a lot of her rituals and habits, her mindset and emotion. And while he didn’t believe an escape route was necessary, she did. For some reason, Sydney seemed reluctant to commit, to settle down. Clay attributed it to the fact that she barely spoke with her parents. They rarely called her and she rarely called them. The animosity was near palpable between them, but did she think all families were like hers? Sure he and Trish were divorced and he harbored no kind feelings for the woman. It was something he felt deep shame over, mostly with regard to his son. But the divorce had not been his doing and he would not buy into the assumption that the same fate would befall him and Sydney.
She was wholly different than Trish and grades above in both style and temperament. He and Sydney were meant for each other and in time, he’d convince her of the same. The first step had been settling her back into her comfort zone. Once she secured employment with a local event planning outfit in Charleston, a group that specialized in corporate meetings, the next quest had been finding a beach volleyball association for her to join.
Spiking a punishing return, Sydney slapped palms high in the air with her teammate and Clay smiled. This tournament had been a stroke of genius on his part, her talent guaranteeing her spot easily which left only the matter of them to settle. His smile deepened. No problem. He crossed arms over chest as he watched her dig in, center court. He had more than a few ideas tucked away for that little challenge.
# # #
Author’s Note
As an author, I can tell you that inspiration strikes in many ways. For me, themes occur without warning, followed by characters and story details—although sometimes characters introduce themselves first, as in the case of Samantha Rawlings. That woman was busting from my imagination, demanding a story be written for her!
I obliged. I'm just that kind of writer. But this story is special. It was inspired by a young boy I know by the name of Eric, a boy who is amazing—in so many ways. Despite being born with mental disabilities, he’s smart, friendly and always handy with a smile in greeting. Over the years, I've watched him grow and develop alongside my son, and have been thoroughly impressed with his progress. And it occurred to me, how many people have had the opportunity to know and love kids like Eric? To understand what they're capable of and recognize their true potential?
I've often wondered if special needs children weren't a gift from God, because from what I've seen, thes
e kids teach their parents a whole new layer of love, a love that's giving, unselfish, a love that’s willing to do whatever it takes and will never leave, no matter how tough it gets. Granted I think most parents feel this way about their children. I know I do, but I don't kid myself for one minute—special needs means exactly that—special needs, extra attention, double the time, double the duty.
Yet as these children grow and mature, where they go in life is determined by the same thing as all of us: dreams, passion, hard work and dedication. If you’ve ever been to a Special Olympics event, you’ll know what I mean. These kids train their hearts out for these games and the competition is fierce. But it's also friendly, inclusive. Attitudes are encouraging and spirited, not aggressive and cutthroat. They’re out to win, yes, but in the end, it's clear that they all feel like winners because they understand something that many of us have forgotten. Ultimately true competition isn’t about winning or losing, it's about how you play the game. Let me win. But if I cannot win, let me be brave in the attempt.
I, for one, am thankful for the reminder.
About the Author
Dianne Venetta lives in Central Florida with her husband, two children and part-time Yellow Lab Cody-boy! An avid gardener, she spends her spare time growing organic vegetables, surprised by what she finds there every day. Who knew there were so many amazing similarities between men and plants? Women, life and love and her discoveries provide for never-ending fun on her blog: BloominThyme.com.
You can also find her on twitter @DianneVenetta and facebook.com/DianneVenetta. Plus, learn how you can become a member of her street team, Bloomin’ Warriors where you’ll be eligible for special discounts, advance excerpts, author swag and unique gift items throughout the year. Full details are available on her website, www.DianneVenetta.com.
Look for Dianne Venetta’s next novel:
CONDEMN ME NOT
What no mother wants to say,
and every mother yearns to hear.
Coming Fall/Winter 2012
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