I pulled Melina closer and kissed her neck, bringing her attention back to me. She inhaled sharply, kissing me, her breath co-mingling with mine. We kissed until my head spun, and I felt feverish in the confines of the car—God, I wanted her so much. I pulled back, eyes closed.
“I know...I know we said,” I interrupted myself, kissing her again, “we’d keep it casual, but…”
She stared down at me, and I swear to God I’d have done anything for her.
“I don’t want you to be with anyone else,” I whispered, tightening my grip on her.
She arched an eyebrow, but I could tell she was trying not to smile.
“And I don’t really want anyone else. I think we should just...be together,” I said.
She looked down, smiling. “Okay.”
My heart pounded. I kissed her once more, slowly, until she pulled back.
The flash in her eyes told me she wanted to continue, but she swallowed and pressed her hand against my chest. “We should go up,” she said. “Celebrate with the team.”
That was not what I wanted, but she was right. I brushed her curls over her shoulder and agreed, following her out of the car. The reality of it all hit me like a ton of bricks. After years of hanging out almost non-stop, we only had two months.
*
That summer was filled with work, training and Melina. She had a job at her dad’s construction company, working in his office. I’d returned to mowing lawns with the landscape crew. Money was tight, even with the scholarship, especially with Allie and I going at the same time.
For once, though, none of that mattered. There was so much to look forward to come fall, new places and people. Soccer. Melina and I met each morning at 6 AM to jog around the track and through the woods behind the school. Sometimes we ran. Other times…
“How many miles are you supposed to get in a day?” she asked, dark eyes blinking up at me. We’d both been given training schedules by our coaches.
“At least three.” Plus a series of push-ups, sit-ups, lunges, and weights.
“How many have we run?”
I checked the tracker on my wrist. “One and a half.”
Strands of her hair stuck to the bark on the tree...the one I had her pushed against. She pressed playfully on my chest. “It’s amazing how our path takes us right to this area every day.”
I lifted an eyebrow, shrugging. “It’s a good rest stop. To stretch and stuff.”
She side-eyed me, smirking. “To stretch.”
“Right.” Linking our fingers, I went through the motions of stretching our arms to the side and then over our heads. As with everything I did, it was a lame excuse to get as close to her as possible.
She tugged her hands away from mine, cupping my chin. “I’m scared, Jules.”
“Of what?” My frown matched hers.
“College. Playing at such a high level. Leaving you…”
I didn’t want to admit it, but I was a little nervous myself. I’d seen our fall schedules, mine and hers, and I’d talked to other guys on the team. We would spend nearly every weekend, and half the week, on the road. From August through November we’d sleep, eat and complete classwork on the bus. It was unlikely we’d see one another before the holidays. Even those were likely to be cut short.
We’d said we wanted to try this long-distance, but I was starting to see we couldn’t guarantee each other anything. She knew it, and I knew it in return.
Wrapping her in a hug, I said the only thing I knew to be true. “We’ll figure it out. I love you.”
Chapter 20
“Headed down to the rec room. Want to come?” Rory asks after dinner.
“I think I’ll hang out in the room for a while. Thanks though.”
He hesitates, cocking his head. “You sure?”
We’re standing near the stairs. A steady stream of people pass by on their way down, most likely on their way to the rec center as well. From the brief tour I got, the room is a massive space filled with couches, TVs and gaming systems. A small library sits in the back, complete with computer stations. There’s no doubt the USOC wants to keep us happy and entertained while we’re here.
“Maybe later.” Hesitating, I add, “I spent a lot of time alone this last year. Re-acclimating to socializing with so many people is weirder than I expected.”
Rory nods, offering me a fist to bump. Once he disappears down the stairs I head out to the parking lot. It’s been forty-eight hours since I’ve seen Sally, and I’m starting to feel a little antsy.
But then I spot a familiar head of hair in the parking lot. In the glow of waning daylight, Melina’s looking good. Really good. My legs start to move toward her, but my brain shuts that down with a quickness. One thing I’ve learned over the last year is that my brain and body have to work together—I can’t just go on feelings. My body is on my side when it’s giving me warnings, like feeling fatigued or like my sugar is low, but it also totally wants to get me in trouble. And walking over to Melina right now would get me in nothing but trouble.
I walk the long way around to my van.
Once there I touch Sally’s side panel, feeling the cooling metal. Opening her up, I unroll my makeshift bed before crawling in and lying on my back. Every exhausted, overworked muscle in my body unknots as I close my eyes and relax.
The last four days have been good, but difficult. I wasn’t lying to Rory when I said the social aspect of being here was wearing on me. There’s barely a moment I’m alone during the day; people while I eat, people while I work out, people while I sleep. It’s a polar opposite of my year traveling solo.
I stare up at the gray metal ceiling of the van. Here, alone and in the quiet, I can admit it...the change in lifestyle makes me nervous. Twitchy inside. Part of me wants to be down in that rec room right now with all the other players, kicking their asses at Halo. Hanging out with Allie, or maybe meeting some of those Amazonian female swimmers I’ve seen roaming around campus. But the other part of me is well aware that I’m on shaky ground. It’s all a distraction, threatening the peace I’ve managed to maintain for the last year.
Veronica and her questions, picking at wounds that haven’t fully healed, don’t make it easier.
A car door slams, followed by a single peal of laughter. I tense, recognizing it. Melina is the ultimate distraction. If anyone can derail me, it’s her.
“What the hell, Anderson?” My voice echoes off the van walls. “You’re better than this.”
And I am. I am better than this.
I’m Julian Anderson.
Number 15.
All-American.
MVP ACC region two years in a row.
Youngest player on the US Men’s team.
I’ve been selected for the US Olympic Team. Physically, I’m at the top of my game. Mentally, I’m in a better place than I’ve been in years.
Why the hell am I sulking in my van?
Rolling over, I grab one of the photos taped to the wall. It’s faded, but it’s easy to see the image of Allie and Melina squishing me between them, arms wrapped around one another at Memorial Stadium on Senior Night. God, we had so much fun. We were poor as dirt and everything was a challenge, but we had so much fun.
It twists in me, remembering. I just want to have fun with my best friends again.
Staring at that photo I decide, at this moment, that I’m done apologizing for the past. Do I have to prove myself? Yes. Do I have to bend over for everyone for the next three months? Fuck no. Do I have to lose myself in the process? My health and the progress I’ve made? Not if I can help it.
McDowell is looking for a star to shine this season and he’s right. I am that star.
I can have both. I believe it. I want it. And like everything else in my life, I’m going to make it happen.
*
I wake to a familiar warmth, the kind that starts off cozy but soon grows oppressive. Groaning from sore muscles, I sit up and open the doors to the van. A rush of cool air hits my face, and I inh
ale deeply. Gratefully. A glance at my watch confirms I’ve missed my morning run, though. Damn it.
Scrambling out of the bed, I check my sugar, before slamming the door shut and jog back to civilization. The cafeteria is bustling as usual, made electric by the drone of a hundred conversations. Grabbing a tray of food, I locate Allie sitting at a table with her team. Melina is two seats down. She doesn’t acknowledge me when I sit across from my sister, although most of the girls at the table look my way.
“Hey Jules.” Allie eyes me. “You just wake up?”
“Yeah.” I rub my face. “I overslept.”
“Rory stopped by. He said you didn’t come back to the room last night.” Her tone is heavy with implication. If I didn’t sleep in my bed, whose bed did I sleep in? Melina frowns. Ah, finally, something got her attention. I smile, giving her a wave.
“If you must know,” I say, just loud enough for everyone to hear, “I slept with Sally last night.”
“In the van?” Allie confirms.
“Yes.”
Melina rolls her eyes and crams a spoonful of oatmeal in her mouth. I eat half a banana in one bite and let the murmurs roll down the table.
“You seem different,” Allie says, eyes narrow.
I nod, eating the rest of the banana. “I feel different.”
“Any particular reason?”
“Sally and I had a long heart to heart last night. I think we came to terms about our current situation.”
“You came to terms with your van.”
“Yes.”
I start in on my scrambled eggs, shoveling a spoonful as she mulls this over. The skepticism on her face is clear. Good. Everyone should be on their toes.
“Well,” I say, standing as I cram the rest of my food, “gotta go. I’ve already missed my morning run and Brent will kick my ass if I show up late.”
After returning my tray to the counter, I walk by Allie on the way out. She’s talking to the girl beside her, but she peeks up when I stop. Leaning down, I give her a kiss on the cheek. “We have that interview later today, right?”
She nods. “Right.”
I continue on, squeezing Melina’s shoulder on my way out. She tenses, spoon stalled mid-air as every gaze at the table falls again on me. A surge of energy charges beneath my skin.
I’m back.
*
In the normal world, running at 5 AM would be a solitary affair. But we’re at the Olympic training facility, and I’m not the only one intent on getting my run completed early. The anomaly on the track this morning is the dark-haired girl jogging in the slow lane. Her long pony-tail bobs as she rounds the curve, and there’s something about her matching outfit that screams outsider.
Slowing, I fall into pace. “Didn’t expect to see you out here.”
Veronica shoots me an annoyed look, her breathing labored. “Mere mortals like to run too, you know.”
“I’m just surprised to see you out here. I’d be asleep if I could.”
“Really?”
I think back to the beach and my time off. Shaking my head, I laugh. “No, probably not. It’s hard to break the routine.”
“Running is my routine, too. Just a lot slower,” she says. “At home I run at night, but the twelve hour work days are starting to take over the rest of the day.”
“Why so long?”
Her eyebrows furrow. “We’re on a deadline. I send recordings back to my producer every night. We’re editing as we go, but I’ve got other film crews collecting material we add in later.”
I’m impressed. “It’s weird being around someone with abilities outside of athletics. It seems so adult.”
“You’ve got a college degree, Julian.” She smirks. “It’s not like you’re a teenager.”
“Feels like it sometimes. I’ve been playing games for a long time.”
“You’ve got a degree in Health Sciences, right?”
Again, I’m impressed with her knowledge of me. We’ve never talked about my academics, just sports and family. Realizing also that we’ve never spoken casually, I ask, “Is this conversation off the record?”
“Why?” She glances at me. “Are you worried about something?”
“No,” I reply, but quickly change my mind. “Well, sort of. I watch what I say around you. You’re not the first reporter I’ve run into.”
“Fair enough.” She smiles, and it’s genuine. “Sure, anything outside an official interview is off the record. We’re just two joggers having a conversation.”
I like that. I like the idea of having someone to talk to, someone disconnected from the pressures of Olympic competition. “Good. So, yes, Health Sciences was my major.”
“Ugh, science was my weakest subject. What are you going to do with that?”
I laugh. “I’ve got no freaking idea.”
Reporter: Tell me about your injury.
Allie: I tore my Achilles tendon two years ago. I had surgery to repair the damage and spent a fair amount of time in PT.
Reporter: And it’s still a problem?
Allie: It’s okay. Some of it is paranoia. Medicine has gotten better and it’s repaired, but I have to work hard to stay at 100%.
Reporter: Do you worry about the intensity of training over the next couple of weeks?
Allie: I have good doctors and therapists. I’m confident I’ll be ready for the finals when we get there.
Chapter 21
(2011)
The party at Ainsley’s house was in full swing, bass thundering out of the house and down the street. Laughter and voices carried, and, if you listened closely, the type of chanting that typically accompanies keg stands. A huge banner hung from the front porch announcing Tiger Country! with a fat, orange paw print.
Ainsley, a senior and our starting forward, lived off campus. We’d just won our division. In fact, I’d finally had my break, going in for the last five minutes after our starter was injured. I’d blocked three shots and played in my first college game.
“Number fifteen!” A quick glance up showed me an open window and two of my teammates, their arms wrapped around smiling girls.
“Hey, guys.” I grinned, giving them a wave.
“Head’s up!” Instinct proved beneficial: I spotted two shiny objects being tossed in my direction. I caught one, then a second, in my hands. Beer.
I passed them over to my roommate and second-string sweeper, Justin.
“You sure you don’t want them?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I don’t drink beer.”
I didn’t. It messed with my sugar. Luckily I’d found a way around it: liquor.
Tonight I had a flask of vodka in my back pocket. See, that was the thing about Diabetes. I had to watch my food, drink, exercise. Everything was monitored, especially when I was younger and my mother measured and counted everything that went into my mouth. Independence came as I grew older, though, and I learned to listen to my body. When I graduated my doctor was impressed. He said I’d done such a good job taking care of myself that it was like I didn’t even have the disease.
I’d beaten the odds again.
The liquor trick was something I’d learned at Camp Hope. AKA: Diabetes camp. Yeah, we had camps. A safe place to go for kids to have fun, eat right and have health professionals close. The kids? Well, we just traded information on how to beat the system. That’s where I learned how to up my sugar before a big game, or how to compete without my pump. I learned other skills like liquor works but beer doesn’t. I still had to watch it, but it was better than beer or something sugary.
Unscrewing the cap, I took a swig, grimacing at the burn. A giggly female voice called my name. Justin and I glanced over at the front porch, where a group of smiling girls waved.
Taking another gulp of courage, I followed Justin to the party.
Chapter 22
I separate the black cards from the white, and place three of each on the table. Rory sits across from me, along with our midfielder, Martin, and a girl, an archer n
amed Bethy. They watch carefully as I set up the cards.
“The basic rules of Super Fight is that you’ve got your characters like, Darth Vader and then your attributes like,” I flip over two cards, “who really has to pee and can stop time while holding his breath.”
“That doesn’t even make sense,” Rory says, giving me the side eye.
“I didn’t make up the rules. Turn over your own cards and see if you’ve got a character that can kick Darth Vader’s butt.”
“Okay,” Martin says, “I’ve got a Cat, with tiny T-Rex hands and hasn’t eaten in two days.”
“Good luck with those hands,” Bethy laughs. “So, let’s see...oh! I’ve got Hermione Granger who is 30 stories tall and has super speed.”
“Excellent.” I give her two thumbs-up. “Rory, what do you have?”
“I’m a boy band,” he declares in his smooth voice. “With laser eyes and a crippling fear of water.”
I peruse my cards, groaning at my shitty hand. “I’ve had worse,” I say, motioning for Bethy to lay down her card. “So based on our cards —”
“What’s all this?” a familiar voice asks over my shoulder. I glance over my shoulder, mildly surprised to see Melina.
“Just a card game. It’s called Super Fight.”
Her lips thin and her eyes narrow. She really doesn’t trust me, although what I could be getting into here, in the middle of the rec center, beats me.
“What?” I ask.
She shrugs. “I thought you only played drinking games or like, strip poker or something.”
Martin laughs while Bethy keeps her eyes on her cards. Nothing against Bethy, but she’s in her late thirties and just not my type for strip poker. Raising an eyebrow at Melina, I say, “Well, drinking is off limits on campus—but I don’t recall any prohibitions on stripping. Want me to deal you in?”
She wrinkles her nose. “Don’t be a dick.”
“Don’t be so judgmental.”
She folds her arms over her chest. “I’m not judgmental, just going off past experience.”
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