by Layla Reyne
“Hopefully, I’m a good enough swimmer to manage.”
“I hope so too. In the meantime . . .” Bas laid his tablet on the bleacher between them, the SC-branded cover folded back so the screen was visible. “What do you think of this?”
Alex didn’t have to ask what it was—the intricate, breathtaking design spoke for itself. Olympic rings dangling from the mouth of a stylized war eagle. A testament to his Mexican heritage. Alex swallowed hard around the lump in his throat. “Bas, this is—”
Bas tapped the stylus against the metal bleacher. “It’s just a rough sketch.”
“I don’t know if I deserve—”
“You deserve it, Alex. Now, if we win relay gold, will you let me ink you finally?”
Even his fear of needles wouldn’t stop him. “If we win the relay gold, I’d be honored.”
Dane stood outside the locker room, hating with every fiber of his being what he was about to do. Throw days of team bonding down the drain. Turn his back on Alex. Rip his own heart out. Because that’s what it felt like. He’d been so close to having everything, privileged in the way he longed to be, with love and acceptance, only to have his past privilege trample the dream.
Better to trample his dream, though, than let his parents trample all of Alex’s. Would they destroy his swim career? Or make it difficult for him to get a teaching job? Or God forbid, make life harder on the Cantu family than it already had been? Dane couldn’t let any of that happen. Not until he found some leverage on his parents and turned the tables. Until then, he had to do what he could to protect Alex and minimize collateral damage. He prayed it wouldn’t ruin their chances for gold—surely, they could be professional, if nothing else.
Inhaling deep, he shouldered his bag and pushed into the locker room. Head down, he could hear mumbled whispers and feel eyes on him, tracking him past the showers and sinks to the rows of lockers. He’d missed lunch, missed the team meeting, and no doubt word of his father’s surprise visit had made the rounds. All of them speculating what he would do. And dammit if he wasn’t about to prove their worst expectations true.
He should have called Coach and told him he wasn’t feeling well so he could avoid this whole mess. He wanted to go to his room, get on his computer, and start searching for any way to get the upper hand on his parents. But even that was impossible. His parents’ driver had dropped him outside the Natatorium and would wait for him there until after practice, with orders to take him directly back to the house for a dinner party with the sponsors.
Caged, with no escape.
“Need help with that?”
Dane’s head whipped up at the sound of Alex’s voice. He didn’t think he could find his words, even if his life depended on it.
He luckily didn’t have to—the question had been directed at the pup, the two of them handling wraps for Jacob’s tattoo—but Dane’s stuttering steps had drawn Alex’s attention. And the look he gave him almost made Dane cave. Caring, concerned, comforting. The same one from outside Mo’s triage room in Colorado, the same one Alex had given him their last night of camp, when he’d already begun to mourn the love he was about to lose. No one had ever looked at him like that before or since, had ever loved or cared about him like that before or since Alex. And Dane was about to lose both, again.
Turning his body and watery eyes away, he shuffled into the opposite row and dropped his bag on the floor. He sank onto the bench, head hung, elbows on his knees, cracking his knuckles.
Across the aisle, Alex shooed Bas and Jacob out, and unlike outside Mo’s room, when he’d approached with caution, he wasted no time crossing the aisle and throwing a leg over the bench, sitting close. Trembling, Dane fought every instinct that screamed for him to tilt sideways and nestle into the warm, strong body beside him. When Alex’s hand moved in his periphery, lifting and nearing his face, Dane shot up his own, blocking the advance. That touch would be the end of him, the end of the tiny bit of resolve he clung to for Alex’s safety.
“Don’t,” he said, voice rough from his strangled sobs in the back of the limo.
Alex lowered his hand, fingertips lightly touching the outside of Dane’s thigh. “What happened?” he asked in a shaky whisper.
Dane lifted his face, angled toward him, and lost his words again at the worry and fear swirling in Alex’s dark brown eyes. So much concern for him. Alex had no idea he should be more concerned about himself.
Unaware of the danger, Alex inched closer and curled a hand over Dane’s thigh. “Talk to me, please. Tell me what’s going on.”
“I have to leave after practice. Dinner with the sponsors tonight.”
“Okay,” Alex said with a relieved sigh and a squeeze of his thigh. “We knew you couldn’t avoid them all week. Put on the poster boy smile, do your Southern charm thing, then come back and tell us how awful it was.”
Oh, how he wished it was that simple. He covered Alex’s hand, thumb caressing the back of Alex’s palm, stealing a final touch. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, entranced by the sight of their hands together.
Alex flipped his over, lacing their fingers. “Sorry for what?”
“I remember what happened Saturday night. All of it.”
As quickly as Alex had taken his hand, he snatched his away. “And you’re sorry?”
“It can’t happen again.”
“Dane, look at me.”
“It’s too big a risk,” he told his shoes instead.
“Dane, look at me.” When he still didn’t lift his face, Alex grabbed him by the chin, forcing his gaze. Dane gasped at the betrayal blacking out the concern. Those were the eyes that had stared back at him each time he’d gotten in the car. “Tell me this is a joke.”
“I can’t.”
Alex’s fingers dug into his jaw. “So we’re back to that, then. To ‘I can’t.’”
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, pitifully.
Alex’s touch slid away, for good, and Dane felt it like the tears that wanted to fall, like his heart that was already on the floor. “No, I’m sorry,” Alex said. “For thinking you’d left the privileged ass behind. For thinking you and me . . .”
Dane hung his head, unable to withstand the sadness and fury rolling off Alex. “I think I should skip practice this afternoon.”
“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea.” Alex stood, looming over him. “We can manage without you.”
“Alex! Alex!”
“Shh. Not so loud. You’ll startle him awake.”
“Isn’t that the point?”
“Just shake him lightly.”
“Or don’t,” Alex grumbled, eking one eye open. He slammed it shut when Bas knelt beside him and sun streamed over his shoulder from the window at the end of the hotel hallway. A shadow fell a moment later, light muted behind his eyelids, and Alex cautiously opened both eyes this time. Jacob had moved behind Bas, blocking the morning light. “Thanks, Pup.”
He nodded as Bas put a hand to the wall beside Alex’s head. “You sleep out here?”
“Obviously.” Alex stretched out his legs, flexing his feet, and glanced right, to where his bag still sat against Dane’s door. Untouched and unmoved. The door hadn’t opened since he’d drifted off just before sunrise. “He didn’t come back last night.”
“What would you have done if he had?”
“Tell him to get back in the fucking pool.” Hand to Bas’s shoulder, Alex pushed himself to standing, muscles protesting—legs, back, heart. The last most of all. They’d just begun again, only the barest flicker of hope, and yet the rejection stung, sharp and fierce. But not enough to blind him to everything. While there was no hope for him and Dane, there was still hope for Dane and the team. As captain, Alex wasn’t going to make the same mistake again, ostracizing Dane at their expense. The team, especially their relay squad, needed Dane if they wanted medals, if they wanted gold. “That’s what I was waiting here to tell him.”
“He’s already back in the pool,” Jacob said.
Swaying
, Alex was glad he still had Bas by the shoulder to hold himself up. “He’s what?”
“Limo dropped him off a half hour ago,” Bas replied. “He stayed at his parents’ rental last night.”
“So not even the hotel’s good enough for him anymore?” Bitterness crept in, belying his good intentions, but if he couldn’t be honest with Bas and Jacob, who could he gripe to?
Jacob shrugged one shoulder. “I think he was trying to give you space.”
“Or hide,” Bas added.
Letting go of Bas, Alex leaned back against the wall and scrubbed his hands over his face and into his hair. “Fuck, this is such a mess.”
“You want me to beat his ass for you?” Bas offered.
Some part of him did. Did that make him a bad person? Some part wanted Dane to hurt as much as he did, but another part suspected Dane already did. He dropped his arms and gave Bas a small, sad smile. “I appreciate the offer, but we still need him in one piece.”
“What do you need?” Jacob asked.
“To swim.” Alex stretched down and grabbed his bag. The water would help him forget, at least for a while, as would shifting into captain mode.
When he righted himself, it was to Ryan careening around the opposite corner. “Cap, your phone off?”
Alex pulled it out of his pocket and pressed the home key. Nothing. “Charge ran out.”
Ryan came to a stop beside them. “Coach wants to see you. Some sort of emergency.”
A knot lodged in his throat. Dead phone. Emergency. Was it his family? His mom? Everything else slid away as panic took hold.
Bas, recognizing the signs, shoved his shoulder. “Go. We’ll run interference at the pool.”
“Thanks,” he threw over his shoulder, already sprinting down the hallway.
He bypassed the elevator, slamming through the stairwell door, then out of the hotel and across the street to the training facility. He barreled through the lobby, past the pool and locker room, to Coach’s temporary office. He skidded to a halt just inside the doorway, rearing slightly back at the scowl on Hartl’s face. Something was wrong, in a big way.
“My family?”
“Fine, as far as I know.”
Alex let out a huge breath and braced his hands on his knees, fighting to steady himself. If not his family, then what? He’d venture a guess it involved Dane. Had his sponsors pulled out? The team’s sponsors? Had his parents made threats? Found out about Saturday night? What the hell kind of shit-storm had he just walked into?
He swallowed hard, forcing himself steady, and rose, thanking all that was holy his shaking legs held him up. “What’s this about, then?”
Hartl was situating himself behind the desk, closing a red file folder in the middle of it. “Have a seat,” he said, sounding as grim as he looked.
Alex lowered himself into the visitor chair. “Coach, what’s going on?”
The desk chair squeaked as Hartl leaned back, folding his hands on his stomach. “Something you want to tell me?”
“About what exactly?”
“You’ve been under a lot of pressure lately. With your family, the captaincy, and your feud with Ellis.”
“Which have all been resolved.” Not the latter, anymore, but he wasn’t going to let it stand in the way. “Didn’t we just have this conversation? You said I’m doing better.” In a decidedly different, more positive tone.
“Maybe there’s another reason for that.”
Another reason? What was he implying? “What’s this about?”
Leaning forward again, Hartl pushed the file folder toward Alex. Cantu, Alejandro was typed on the label, along with a barcode and his birthdate. An official USOC file, and whatever was in it was not good. He could ask Coach to tell him, or he could suck it up and see for himself. He snagged the folder by the corner, slid it into his lap and opened it up, revealing what he instantly recognized as drug screen results, having seen and filed more than a few as a USOC admin. In the upper right-hand corner were his name, date of birth, and medical record number. Above the results, the date of the blood draw, this past Monday. He scanned the results, heart stopping when he read the POS next to a performance-enhancing drug they regularly tested for.
Coach must have heard his breath catch. “Again, Cantu, something you want to tell me?”
Alex cleared his throat, laying the folder back on the desk, open. “I haven’t taken anything.”
Coach pointed at the tests results. “Those say differently.”
“I don’t know how that’s possible. I swear, Coach, I’m clean.” Hell, he could barely stand the needles necessary for the blood draw and had passed up numerous meaningful team tattoos because of the same fear. He certainly wasn’t daily injecting with ’roids.
“The tests tell a different story. You know what I have to do.”
Alex rocketed to his feet, voice rising. “It’s a lie. Someone wants me off the team. I don’t know—”
Or did he? Would Dane’s parents go this far? Jeopardize their son’s shot at more medals to protect their conservative image? Why was Alex dumb enough to even ask the question? Of course they would. And of course Bas had been right. The real Dane had caved, the illusion of his Dane shattering once more when push came to shove, bowing to his parents. Only this time, he was taking more than just Alex’s heart with him. His career was also going down in flames. He’d been lulled into a false sense of security, only to have the rug pulled out from under him.
Just like Dane had done at the end of developmental training camp.
“Cantu,” Coach said. “Did you hear me?”
He shook off the cresting wave of fury. “No, I’m sorry.”
“You’re suspended. You need to go home.”
“What about a retest?” He ran a hand through his hair, grasping at the ends like he was grasping at straws.
Coach shook his head. “You know how this works, Alex. You do get a retest, but there’s no guarantee USOC will let you back on the team. This—” he nudged the folder with a finger “—is in the record. The Committee’s all over our asses now.”
“And will stay that way, if I’m on the team.”
Coach nodded. “I’ll let you know their decision.”
“We both know what it’ll be.”
Coach stood and rounded the desk, resting back on its front edge. “Alex, I’m disappointed, but the pressure you put yourself under was immense.”
“You don’t believe me?” Shock wearing off, stinging betrayal surged to the forefront. This was his coach and boss, the man who’d been his mentor for more than half his life, as good as a second father. Someone who should know him better than a computer test readout. Who should believe he’d never do something like this.
“The turnaround this week is hard to ignore.”
“We’ve turned it around because Dane and I called a truce,” Alex argued, arms flailing. “No one’s fighting anymore.”
“Or because you’re doping.”
“I can’t believe this.”
Coach pushed off the desk and rubbed his shoulder. “Go home, Cantu.”
Alex shrugged off the condescending gesture, leveling Hartl with a withering glare. “What happened to trusting me? Always?”
“I have to look out for the team.”
“Then look out for them.” He flung out an arm toward the locker room. “Get to the bottom of who did this.”
“And who do you think that is?”
Red. That’s all he saw. Red.
“One guess.”
Alex shoved the last of his belongings into his beat-up suitcase just as a commotion erupted in the hallway outside.
A scuffle, a solid mass hitting the wall on the other side of his door, and a jumble of voices, Dane’s ragged Southern drawl the loudest. “Let me in to see him.”
“I want to talk to him first,” Bas said, then to someone else, “Hold him.”
“Got him,” Ryan said, and Jacob echoed the confirmation.
Alex cursed under h
is breath. He hadn’t escaped fast enough.
After the meeting with Coach, he’d returned to the cleared-out locker room, everyone already in the pool. He’d emptied his locker, stuffed all his gear in his duffel, and raced back to the hotel, hoping he’d make it out before practice finished.
He checked the time on his phone. It hadn’t been more than twenty minutes. Coach must have interrupted practice with the news, and the group now outside in the hotel hallway had predictably deserted.
Alex rushed to finish packing, preparing to bolt as soon as this inevitable confrontation was over. Yanking his phone charger from the wall, he stuffed it in his suitcase and zipped it up just as the electronic card reader beeped and the door lock disengaged.
The door swung open, and over Bas’s shoulder, Alex glimpsed Dane struggling against Ryan and Jacob, who held him pinned against the opposite wall.
Planting his feet shoulder width apart, Alex stood tall, hands on his hips. “Go ahead, let him in,” he said. “I have a thing or two to say to him.”
“Alex,” Dane pleaded, fighting the other swimmers’ hold. “It’s not what you think.” His blue eyes were bright with fear and desperation, the torture Alex had seen in them yesterday ratcheted up tenfold. “I tried to prevent this.”
Standing over the threshold, Bas held his arm out behind him. “No, let me talk to him first.”
Fuck that. Alex was ready to have this out and get it over with. He’d shoved aside his anger and resentment this weekend, and again this morning, for the sake of the team, and for Dane, but it’d rallied back with a vengeance, his good deed having been royally punished. “What’s left to say? You were right, Bas. I was fooled by the illusion. Learned my lesson the hard way. Again.” He turned his back on them, striding into the bathroom to give it a final check, and when he returned, everyone was inside his and Bas’s room, Dane front and center.
“My parents did this.”
“No shit.” Alex hauled his duffel and suitcase off the bed, dropping them at his feet. “They found out?” he said to Dane.
“Found out what exactly?” Jacob asked.
But Alex only had eyes for Dane, whose icy blues were suddenly interested in the carpet. “They had someone following us, taking pictures,” he said, red slashes coloring his freckled cheeks.