by Beth Bolden
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on with you and her?” Gabe asked in a sleepy, barely awake voice.
Jemma’s head snapped to his, propped up against the headboard. “What do you mean?”
“You’re clearly emotionally invested in this girl. You’re torn between excitement and nerves and . . . god, almost fear every time you see her. And she looks like she’s being marched to the gallows in every interview. What’s there to be so afraid of?”
Jemma glanced down at the bedspread, and pleated the fabric between her fingers as she tried to figure out what she could tell him. What she should tell him. A partial truth? Everything? She’d given her word to Kimber that she wouldn’t tell a soul. Gabe was trustworthy, but Jemma didn’t break a promise easily.
“I met her,” she finally said.
“You’ve met her?” He seemed surprised, somewhat startled out of sleep, his voice suddenly sharper.
Jemma nodded. She didn’t want to tell him, but she also desperately needed to tell someone because she didn’t know what to do with what she’d been told. Clearly someone needed to advocate for Kimber because she’d lost the power to advocate for herself.
“I met her at Christ the Redeemer . . . the second day,” Jemma said.
“The day you snuck off,” Gabe clarified.
“The day I snuck off.” She paused. “Julia Holloway controls Kimber’s entire life.”
“She’s smothering her to death,” Gabe diagnosed fairly accurately. Which didn’t shock Jemma at all; Gabe was at points frustratingly perceptive. She’d had a feeling that he’d noticed her awareness of Kimber, and it was probably only a matter of time until he said something about it.
“Controlling her life, her decisions. She’s absolutely miserable,” Jemma said. “I’ve tried texting her a few times, but there’s been no response. I’m . . . .I’m worried for her.”
“Are you worried what’ll happen if she loses?” Gabe asked quietly.
Jemma met his questioning stare with a frank look of her own. “Honestly, I’m more worried what’ll happen if she wins.”
“So what are you going to do about it?”
“How can I do anything?” Jemma exhaled with frustration. “I’m just a reporter from a medium-sized blog that mostly writes stories about the ten best football movies of all time.”
“You cover a lot more than that,” Gabe said, his voice gaining a hard edge. “And you have a lot more impact than you think you do. Have you even checked your stats or the comments on your article today? I bet the reception was amazing. That sort of influence has power too, Jemma.”
He was right, but Jemma wasn’t convinced it was the sort of power that could hold its own against a powerhouse like Julia Holloway. Julia was Olympic and sports royalty, an international celebrity and record holder. Jemma was . . . practically no one.
“I need to think on it,” Jemma said. Whatever she decided to do, she couldn’t take on Julia directly. It had to be sneaky, somewhat covert.
“I’m going to take a shower. Yell if you get any inspiration.”
As Gabe disappeared into the bathroom, Jemma reached over to the bedside table and grabbed her phone. First she scrolled through the comments on the article, and it seemed to have a really good reception. It had already been picked up by a few other sites and the hits looked promising. Then she switched to her laptop and was scrolling through her email, mostly an inbox of spam, when one sender jumped out at her.
It was Colin.
He hadn’t replied to her email, but had sent new one instead. With shaky fingers and her heart in her throat, Jemma opened it and scanned the handful lines. He didn’t mention anything she’d said, didn’t even acknowledge it, merely told her in that solid, straightforward way of his how much he’d enjoyed reading her article, that it sounded like she was having a good time in Rio, and he hoped she’d make safe choices. He closed the short message by saying things were going well at training camp and he was prepping for Miami’s first preseason game.
Jemma fell back against the pillows and tried to absorb what she’d just read.
He’d done what she’d asked. He’d been decidedly distant and impersonal in his message. The same way she’d watched him interact with so many other people over the years who believed they could get close to Colin O’Connor. It hurt, more than she’d ever anticipated, to know she was one of them now. He’d closed her out, at least for the foreseeable future, and it was anyone’s guess if that would ever change.
The worst part was that she’d asked for it—demanded it, really—and while he’d probably been trying to figure out how to relate to her again, she’d been doing everything he’d ever hoped for with someone else.
The guilt hit her hard—thick and hot and choking. Jemma rolled over, pressed her face into her pillow and tried really hard to ignore that the sheets smelled like sex.
She’d never made any promises, never had any obligations, but despite that, enjoying and liking Gabe so much still felt like a betrayal. Even if Colin never knew about it.
And when Gabe emerged from the bathroom, broad chest damp and a towel barely wrapped around his hips, she couldn’t help but want him. He must have seen her hot look, because he smiled, all crinkly-eyed and pleased and the softest she’d ever seen him. The only thing keeping her from falling right over the cliff was that old, familiar wrench of guilt that seemed to pull her back to solid ground.
“Shower’s all yours,” he said, whipping the towel away like had no shame—she knew he didn’t—and rubbing his hair dry. Jemma flushed and slipped from the bed.
He gave her an odd look as she ignored his gloriously naked body, in front of her and ready for the taking, and walked right past. “Are you okay?” he asked her back as she flipped the shower on.
“I’m fine,” she called back, refusing to turn and give him a good look at her face. With how perceptive he was and how much of an open book she was, there was no chance of her hiding her feelings. Better to avoid him at least for now. If she’d been paying attention, she would have heard his whispered, “You know what fine stands for . . .”
She heard him walk back into the bathroom. From the corner of her eye, she could see him in the mirror, leaning against the doorway, a few perplexed wrinkles between his eyes. “What’s the plan for the day?” he asked.
“It’s a slower day,” Jemma said. “I was thinking of going up to Sugarloaf.”
She saw him glance toward the window. “It’s a good clear day for it. I’m pretty sure the hotel has a tram that heads to the base station.”
Jemma stepped into the shower and wished she could ask him to let her be for a day. She was torn between a deep desire to continue as they had before and a corrosive guilt that felt like it was going to eat her alive. She felt caught between the two strong emotions and the thought of spending the whole day without any peace from the current situation wasn’t a good one.
But he’d made perfectly clear his feelings on leaving her alone, especially to go exploring Rio, and so there was nothing to be done but to finish her shower and to get dressed. He’d called out that he was going to his room to do the same while she was still in the shower, which meant she had twenty minutes or so alone. All the guilt, confusion and sadness poured out as tears in the shower. It was hard to identify all of her emotions, but she recognized sadness at the loss of Colin’s friendship, guilt over moving on, and confusion about what to do. As she stood in the shower, she mentally drafted about ten different versions of a response to Colin’s email. The last one running through her mind had even started out with, “I think I might be falling in love.”
Gabe was right; it was a beautiful day to go to Sugarloaf.
Unfortunately, Jemma didn’t feel much like enjoying the view. As the gondola lurched and took off from the ground, the trees and buildings slowly shrinking, Jemma stared out the window but couldn’t muster up any unadulterated excitement because of the low thrum of guilt running through her brain.
Eve
ry time she glanced up to where Gabe sat, he was not even pretending to look outside, but instead was focused on her with a perplexed look in his eyes. Like he couldn’t figure out exactly what had changed.
Then it hit her: she was the one who had changed.
She’d let go of all her obligations when she’d arrived in Rio. When she’d written that email to Colin, she’d envisioned a sort of permanent vacation from everything she’d tried to carry for so long, but the truth was, even changing her attitude and her actions couldn’t change the facts.
Maybe trying to do this now was just too soon; maybe it was just too much. Jemma knew that she was feeling all of the above, but even if she and Gabe had never acted on the tension simmering between them, she’d have still felt it. She’d still have wanted it.
Jemma felt Gabe’s body next to hers as he moved from one side of the car to the other.
“Want to take a selfie?” he asked and despite all her internal angst, she burst into laughter.
“I didn’t know you even knew what that was,” Jemma giggled.
Gabe shot her an affronted look. “I may be a cop, but I’m not that tragically unhip,” he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
Jemma laughed again. She had an inkling that his somewhat ridiculous request was motivated by a desire to make her smile, and he’d succeeded on that front admirably.
“Don’t tell me you’re going to whip out one of those selfie sticks,” Jemma warned as she smoothed down her hair and arranged herself underneath his arm.
He pulled out his phone and positioned it in front of them, his unearthly long arm naturally giving them a great angle in the preview.
“As if,” Gabe said. “Now smile, babe.”
After they’d taken the picture, he didn’t move the arm he had around her shoulders and she didn’t try to scoot away.
“How about I post it on Instagram and tag you?” he asked, fingers moving quickly across the screen.
Colin followed her on Instagram; Jemma’s heart caught in her throat.
“Um, actually, uh, I think it’d be better not to,” Jemma managed to get out.
Gabe threw her a questioning look. “Okay, sure, I’ll just text it to you,” he said.
They traveled the rest of the way to the next mountain stop in silence. Jemma looked out the window and tried to ignore the sick lurch of her stomach at the chilly distance developing between them.
Of course she was to blame, but that realization couldn’t help reconcile her guilt with her actions.
It wasn’t good, it wasn’t mature, and she certainly wasn’t proud of it. Jemma glanced over to where Gabe was sitting. He’d transferred his attention from her to the view—which was entirely her fault—but of course that didn’t make it sting any less.
The gondola shuddered to a stop, and the occupants filed out to the landing plateau. There was the incredible view, and a shopping and tourist complex perched at the top of the mountain.
“This is Morro da Urca,” Gabe rattled off in his sexy-as-fuck Brazilian-Portuguese accent. “Built in 1912.”
Jemma crossed her arms over her chest as they crossed over to the pathways that led to the shopping area.
“And here I thought you weren’t going to be a tour guide,” Jemma snapped.
She couldn’t be a hundred percent sure, but she suspected he rolled his eyes.
“Did you want to look in the shops?” he asked, still patient even though she certainly didn’t deserve it.
“We’re here for the view, which I believe is one of the best in the city,” Jemma said shortly.
Gabe didn’t say anything, merely trailed after her as they approached one of the viewing platforms. They stood there in the silence, bustling tourists around them, and said nothing as they looked out across Guanabara Bay, the water sparkling in the bright sunshine and dotted with Olympic race boats.
It was a gorgeous view, worthy of the grandeur of the Olympics, and Jemma still felt nothing.
Leaning against the guardrail, Gabe looked over at her. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.
Snapping pictures so she could at least admire the view later, Jemma just frowned.
“I know this isn’t you,” Gabe continued when she still didn’t say anything. “I know because you haven’t stopped talking for the last two weeks. I didn’t even know how much I liked you talking non-stop until you stopped.”
It was probably the sweetest thing he’d ever said to her, especially considering how annoying he’d clearly found her the first day, and Jemma’s heart ached. She liked him so much, and it didn’t seem fair that yet again, she was letting her life be controlled by Colin’s feelings.
“You were right,” she finally said, joining him against the rail, her gaze still glued to the horizon. She wasn’t sure she could meet his eyes. It wasn’t even her story to tell, but they’d probably crossed that line after sleeping together that first night, and then continuing to sleep together. “About Colin.”
His jaw dropped a little. “You’re with Colin?” He sounded upset, whether that was because he’d gotten in the middle or because she wasn’t really available, she wasn’t sure.
“No. Not with him. He wishes that was how I felt about him.”
Jemma glanced up and saw as the emotions cycled through his face. She’d never seen him so open before; usually it was so hard to figure out what he was feeling. But somehow he’d become exposed to her, and a deep part of her rejoiced.
“That must have been so hard for you, Jemma.” The empathy in his voice, the sincere concern as he reached for her hand and covered it with his, nearly undid her.
“I wanted . . . I wanted to have something, for me, and that’s where you came in. But I’m not really free. I mean, I’m single. The most single, actually,” she laughed a bit bitterly, “but how can I really be free if he still feels the way he does?”
“Jemma,” Gabe said softly, “if you’re such good friends with him, I can only assume he’s a good guy.”
“The best,” she said, even though her throat was thickening with emotion.
“Then he wouldn’t want you to do this to yourself. If he truly cares about you, he’d want you to be happy, to live your life free from guilt over how your actions might affect him.”
It was an argument she’d had with herself for years. “But if I care about him,” Jemma asked, “how can I do whatever I want while knowing it’s going to break his heart?”
Gabe reached for her, curving his other palm around her cheek. “I don’t think you can really prevent that. You’ve got to live your own life.”
“I was trying to do that,” Jemma whispered into Gabe’s shoulder as he pulled her close. “I was trying to do something for me.”
Gabe pulled back a little and gave her an encouraging smile. “Don’t just try, Jemma. Do it. Own it.”
Jemma laughed. “And I suppose you have no interest in the matter.”
“I know I do, but I also know you can’t live your life afraid of what it might do to your friend. And he wouldn’t want that either.”
The guilt didn’t magically go away. It still existed, but it felt easier to live with, somehow. Even telling him had helped. Jemma didn’t understand it, but it scared her all the same. She was falling hard and fast, and when she reached up, pressing her lips to his, the entirety of Rio spread out beneath them, it felt like taking another step closer to the edge of the cliff.
Later, when they returned back to the hotel, a little burnt and a little tipsy, Jemma took a moment to send Colin a quick email back.
She didn’t post the selfie that she and Gabe took together. She wasn’t quite ready. But she did post one of herself that Gabe had taken late in the day, all of Rio spread out in the background, and a smile on her face that made her eyes shine.
Jemma got the text message two days later.
She was getting ready for their first event of the day, a handful of beach volleyball matches that were being held further down Copacabana Bea
ch when her phone buzzed. She ignored it, fussing with her hair, until a second later, a flash of realization hit her and Jemma froze.
Only one person knew that phone number besides Gabe, and he was laying on what had apparently become their bed as he waited for her to finish getting ready.
Jemma reached over and plucked it up from the counter. It was a short message and it was undeniable.
“SOS! She told me SOS!” Jemma screeched as she rushed into the bedroom. “I’ve got . . . I’ve got to get to her.”
Gabe’s eyes met hers, confusion evident. “Who? What? Did something happen?”
Jemma marched over to the bed and stuck the phone right into his face. “Kimber is the only one who has this number—my temporary number while I’m in Rio except for you. And you didn’t send this.”
“I thought you’d already been texting her?” Gabe asked.
“It can’t be a good sign that she had to get a new phone,” Jemma said, pacing now.
The skin between his brows creased with confusion. “SOS? That could be anything. That could be meant for someone else.”
“I don’t think so,” Jemma said. “At 9 in the morning?” Her entire being was vibrating with nervous energy. And fear. She didn’t even know Kimber Holloway, other than a single afternoon, and still she feared for her. What had her mother done? What was she threatening to do? Jemma’s stomach clenched.
“Maybe try replying?” Gabe suggested.
Normally this would’ve been the first thing Jemma tried, but SOS. SOS was far, far past a simple text exchange. To Jemma, SOS was, “I’m over my head and I need help. Now.”
Jemma crossed her arms over her chest and shot him a glare. “I was thinking of something a bit more immediate.”
“Texting is pretty damn immediate, Jemma,” Gabe said, all annoyingly logical unconcern.
And, Jemma reminded herself, that made sense. He’d not been there, that afternoon. He hadn’t seen the look in her eyes for himself. Yes, he’d seen the last week of Kimber’s clearly worsening state, but that was on a TV screen, or far, far away; he’d never actually been face to face with her.