“Pretty good. Actually, I think they may put me in tomorrow. Kasey busted up her knee the other day.”
“That sucks. For her.”
Allie nods. You never feel great about a teammate getting hurt, but sometimes it helps you out. It’s complicated...but it’s also life.
“Good luck, then,” I say. “I’ll be in the stands.”
“With mom?”
“If she’s talking to me by then.”
Her eyes soften. “She’s not mad at you.”
“Huh. The way she walked out the other day made me wonder.”
“She’s frustrated with you. For you. We all are.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re giving these games your everything and for what? Fifteen minutes of play and starring role in McDowell’s documentary. Oh, and let’s not forget the little game of grab ass with your ex between games when we both know you want more. It’s not fair.”
I ignore her dead on appraisal of me and Melina, staring pointedly at her injured leg. “We don’t want to talk about what’s fair or not.”
Our conversation is cut short when the PT comes over.
Taking Allie’s hand, I give it a squeeze. “Good luck tomorrow.”
She pulls me close for a hug and holds me tight. “You too.”
Chapter 40
August 17
(Men’s semi-final)
I wake up to voices in the living room. Johnson and Pollard are being unusually loud. Rolling over, I find that Rory is gone as well. Yawning, I test my blood sugar and figure out my levels. The voices continue and I twist my hair behind my head in an attempt at presentability. I’m walking out of the bedroom when I hear laughter. Female laughter.
The second thing I see her face—her mind-bogglingly beautiful face—I stop short. She’s got wavy blonde hair, long, tan legs and a small tattoo on her foot. When she looks in my direction, my stomach drops.
“Shit,” I blurt, shocked.
She smiles enigmatically, her gaze sliding from my face to my bare chest. “You’re Julian Anderson.”
Swallowing, I tug my shorts up to cover my insulin pump. “And you’re Haley Caldwell.”
Nodding, she glances at Johnson, who looks like the cat that ate the canary. Rory’s all wide-eyed, and even Pollard, who tends to be above things like emotion, seems impressed by the woman in our room.
Haley is an actress. An A-List, Oscar-winning, tabloid-covering, actress. She’s gorgeous (did I say that already?) and has a reputation for being fun and a little wild. I head to the kitchenette for a banana, and to process the scene in my living room while noting the team shirt she’s wearing. Johnson’s number is etched over the heart.
“I’ve seen your documentaries,” she says, catching my attention with a wink. “Very inspiring.”
“Thanks.”
Pollard decides to speak. “Julian is our team poster boy.”
“Yep, that’s me.” I shove the rest of the banana in my mouth, chewing the whole thing at once so I can’t tell him to fuck off.
“My nephew has Type 1,” Hailey continues, crossing her feet at the ankles. Even her feet are nice. “He has a photo of you from college in his room.”
I nod, unsure of how to acknowledge that sort of statement. There should be PR training for stuff like this. “So how did you end up here?”
“I met Pete and Finn at the diving finals yesterday.” I raise an eyebrow at Johnson and the use of his first name.
So she met both Johnson and Mendez, and opted to come back here. Interesting. I’d have pegged Mendez as the more alluring bait for a celebrity. From his chatter and swagger in the locker room he’s definitely all about the score.
Rory clears his throat. “We have a team meeting in thirty minutes. Any idea on how you’re going to get, uh, Ms. Caldwell, out of here?”
Haley smiles sweetly at Rory, standing up. “I’ll figure it out. Don’t worry, sweetheart.” Already on her phone, she retreats into Johnson’s room while the four of us stand in a circle processing.
“What happened to no sex before games?” I don’t need to remind Johnson he’s the captain.
“It helps me focus, bro,” he says, waving me off. “It’s don’t ask, don’t tell with Mitchell anyway.”
“And she seriously picked you over Mendez?”
He laughs. “Mendez is busy and to be honest, I don’t think Haley was that concerned over which one of us she came back with. In fact, she asked about you first. Too bad you’re off women these days.”
“Wow,” Rory says, looking between the two of us.
“Groupies are what got me off women in the first place. Nothing but trouble.”
Johnson sits back on the couch, leering. “What’s the point of all this if you can’t get into a little trouble?”
*
The cafeteria has an edgy feel tonight. We won today, so we’ll go home with either a gold or silver medal, but the game itself didn’t go well. Dominic stormed off the field at halftime, ranting about the rest of the team. Brent had to calm him down so he could finish the game. I was on edge the whole time, wondering if I’d get called in, but Mitchell and Brent seemed committed to having him play. By the end of the very, very close win, everyone’s nerves were frayed from Dom’s attitude.
I look for Allie when I walk into the caf, but she isn’t here. Neither is Melina. Mendez is though, and he sits beside me. Clearly not in the mood to talk about the game he asks a seemingly never-ending series of questions—mostly about me and my sister. It’s weird.
“So what was it like having a twin?” he asks, polishing off a second helping of lasagna.
I glance up from my plate, trying to decide if he’s serious. Mendez and I have never gotten along—ever. Not in the youth leagues, not at camps. Definitely not since I showed up in June. I have no idea how to answer so I ask, “Do you have a sister?”
“Yeah, she’s sixteen.”
“Well, it’s like that, except we were around each other all the time growing up. Same friends and stuff.”
“My sister is a pain in the ass,” he says, considering. “With the hair and clothes and boys.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, that about sums it up.”
“It sucks that she’s not getting playing time.” He looks guilty the instant he says it. “I mean, or you either.”
“No, I agree,” I say. “She deserves it...she’s worked as hard as anyone to get here, and I think they could use her.”
To my surprise, he nods. “Me too.”
My phone chimes.
It’s Veronica: Call me. 911.
“Shit. I need to take this.” Hopping up from the table, I shove the rest of my bread in my mouth.
“Everything okay?” Mendez asks, fork in mid-air.
What. Is. His. Deal?
“Yeah, just a friend. No worries.”
“Okay, yeah, later,” he says.
Punching in Veronica’s number, I head outside the building.
Veronica picks up on the first ring. “Julian?”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m over at The Village gym. Can you meet me?” Loud music blares obnoxiously from the other side of the phone. “It’s Dom.”
“I’ll be there in five minutes.”
“Thanks.”
*
I feel, rather than hear, the loud rap music before I even get inside the gym. The glass door trembles with bass, the door handle vibrating beneath my hand. Dominic is on a mission, lifting weights across the room. From the amount of sweat pouring off his body I get the feeling he’s been at it for a while. Veronica meets me near the door. She glances at Dom over her shoulder, eyes lined with worry.
“What are you even doing here?” I yell over the music. “You know areas like the gym and residence halls are off limits to anyone but athletes and coaches.”
“Dom and I have been…meeting up some.” She averts her eyes, which I find slightly amusing. “You know, like you suggested. We’ve had to
sneak around a little—getting in and out of here is like Fort Knox.”
“For a reason.”
“He snagged me a pass from the clinic. No one even asked.”
I look over at Dominic. It’s pretty clear why Veronica called. Training like this, right before a big game, is not acceptable. “What the fuck is he doing?”
“I don’t know. We’d planned to meet up, but when I got here he was in the middle of this crazy workout. He won’t talk to me or put down the weights.” She wrings her hands, looking nothing like the calm, collected reporter I’ve come to know. “He’s being doing those lifts for at least thirty minutes.”
“You should have called Brent. I’m not going to make him feel any better.”
“Brent would bench him on sight.”
“Crap. Okay, give me a minute. Wait here.” I’ve been in this kind of position myself—on the edge of losing it right before a big match. Losing it during the match. I walk over to Dom and stand behind him, visible in the mirror. He ignores me—if he even notices me at all; his eyes are closed as he powers through his set. He should really have a spotter.
I go over to the sound system and press the off switch. The room turns silent, other than the clank of the weight crashing down on the machine.
Dominic scowls at me. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
“Dude, what are you doing?”
“Just releasing some pre-game stress.”
I glance over at Veronica, who has her back to us. “I thought that’s what you two were doing.”
He doesn’t look her way. “It’s not enough.”
“Are you sleeping?”
“Some.” He reaches for the weight again, moving his feet into position. Grunting, he picks it up, the veins in his neck bulging.
“I think you may be overdoing it.”
He drops the weight again and it slams against the others. Our eyes connect in the mirror. “I don’t really want your opinion, Anderson. You’re the reason I’m so fucking stressed out and you know it.”
“It was just a little playing time, man.” I keep my voice even, not wanting to tip him any further into his tantrum. “Not a big deal.”
He scoffs, muttering something under his breath. I think I hear the words, “Selfish bastard.”
Maybe, but at this point, so is he.
“Look, I’m not going to beg you to come out of here, you know why? Because every minute you’re in here is one shot I get at playing time. If I get to play in the game tomorrow it’s because you’ve let that happen. Not me. Not Brent or Mitchell. I fucked up my shot at being the hero of these games a long time ago, and now I get to live with the sliver of playing time they’ll give me.” Dom turns toward me, chest heaving from exertion and face red, so I take a step back. “You’re being a little paranoid, and if you don’t watch out you will blow this. Trust me. I’ve been there.”
For a second, he looks like he may lunge for me. Thankfully, the gym door swings open just then. Brent and Johnson walk in, eyeing Veronica as they pass. I shrug, easing out of the way.
“Get out of here, Anderson,” Brent says.
“You got it.” I walk over to Veronica. “You should leave, too.”
“I’m going to wait.”
“Seriously? You may get in trouble.”
She glances at Dominic, who’s sitting on a bench now, head in his hands. “I’ll wait.”
“Your call.” I turn, anxious to go.
She grabs my arm just as I push open the door. “Thanks for coming, Julian. Good luck tomorrow.”
“I don’t need luck for the bench.” I jerk my chin Dom’s way. “He’ll be fine.”
She doesn’t look convinced though, and as I walk back to the dorm I’m not so sure either.
I wake up early the next morning to a knock on the door and Johnson calling my name. Rory rolls over and checks his phone, dropping it on the bedside table with a clatter. “Jesus, it’s only six. What did you do?”
“Nothing.” I haven’t told him or anyone else what happened with Dom last night. I’d hoped Brent could talk some sense into him, but judging by this early wakeup call things probably went to shit after I left.
“Hold on,” I call back, pulling on a shirt and twisting my hair in a knot. I check my levels out of habit; everything looks fine. Rory drags his pillow over his head as I go out to the living room, closing the door behind me. Pollard’s asleep on the couch, which means Johnson had a girl sleep over. Again. “What’s going on?”
“Mitchell needs to talk to you.”
“And you’re telling me this because…”
He gives me a look. Yeah, we both know what this is about. “Because I’m team captain.”
I rub my hands over my face, trying to wake up. “Fucking Dom.”
“How bad was it?” Johnson asks.
“Pretty bad.” Figuring I might as well eat, I wander over to the fridge where I find a hard-boiled egg. “Okay, where do I need to go?”
“You know where the coach’s office is, right?” I nod. It’s past the medical center. “Go there. He’s expecting you at seven.”
Chapter 41
August 18
(Rest Men/Women)
The door clicks behind me as I stand across the desk from a weary-looking Mitchell. Brent is perched on one of the seats, knee bouncing.
“How is he?” I ask.
“Not great.” The coaches exchange a look. Brent grimaces and drops a bombshell. “He broke his hand.”
“Holy shit.” I ease into the empty chair. “How?”
“After you left he got even more upset and punched the wall mirror.”
I look over at Mitchell. Now I understand the tired eyes and messed up hair. He didn’t sleep at all last night. “Is he going to be okay?”
“He’s in with the sports psychiatrist right now. They think the stress got to him. He wouldn’t be the first,” he says.
I rub my chin. “Okay, what do we do?”
“You’re up. There’s no other way around it.” Mitchell peers at me from behind the desk. “Are you ready? I know you had a scare the other day.”
“I’m fine, my levels are good,” I assure him. “The clinic gave me the go-ahead.”
“You’ve been a real asset to the team, Julian. I’ll admit I was skeptical at first,” Mitchell says. “Your coach at Clemson called me earlier this summer, telling me to stay away from you—that there was no way you’d pull it through...but McDowell had other ideas so I agreed to let you come on. I appreciate your dedication to the team.”
“You do know I’m part of the reason Dominic cracked, right?”
“No. Don’t blame yourself even if Dom wants to throw you under the bus.” Brent shakes his head. “This isn’t the first time he’s gotten overwhelmed. We just thought it was under control.”
That makes me feel a little bit better, but there’s something else nagging at me.
Mitchell’s talking again. “I’ve already told Johnson you’ll be starting in the next game. Make sure you’re ready to go. There is no back up.” He stares at me until I nod in understanding. “Anything else before you head back?”
“Actually, there is one thing,” I hedge.
“What’s that?”
“I need to talk to McDowell.”
*
I’m waiting for the elevator to go up to my room when the car arrives with a ding. The shiny silver doors slide apart, revealing Melina on the other side.
“Hey,” I say, waiting for her to get off. We haven’t seen much of each other since I collapsed on the field the other night, and while that’s mostly because of our matches and Dominic’s breakdown, I’ve wondered if she’s been avoiding me.
“Speak of the devil,” she says, cocking her head.
I look around but we’re alone—the car is empty other than her. “You talking to yourself?”
“Not exactly...but I was just looking for you.” She stays inside the elevator, watching me until I get the hint and join her
. Before I can press anything, Melina reaches around me and hits the seventh floor button. She lifts a key card for me to see: room number 1762.
“Where—” She quiets me with her mouth. Tugging me down, she presses her soft, pillowy lips firmly against mine. I try to deepen the kiss, but she pulls back, nipping at my neck. Dropping my bag, I brace a hand against the wall as we zoom upward, off balance from surprise. With my other hand, I trace the curve of her cheek. “I thought you were mad at me.”
Her fingers spider-web over my pump. “I’m not mad...but you do scare me sometimes, Julian.”
The elevator comes to a stop, opening on my floor. Neither of us make a move. The door waits for a second, then two, and one final beat before it eventually slides shut.
Again we rise, silent, until we hit the next floor. The buzzer seems extra loud as I grab my bag from the floor, slinging it over my shoulder. Melina is already halfway down the hall, checking the numbers on every door. Stopping abruptly, she pushes the key card into one door’s slot. The little green light blinks, and she’s about to open the door when I grab her hand.
“Are you sure about this?” I ask.
She looks down at my hand, then back up at my eyes. “Yes.”
She doesn’t know about Dominic, or the fact McDowell agreed to let Allie play tomorrow. She doesn’t know I’ll get my shot at winning a gold medal, for real winning. From the look in her eyes and the set of her jaw, though, she doesn’t want anything right now but me. I want her right back.
Pushing her hand out of the way, I unlock the door and open it wide. Melina follows me inside, closing the door behind her. And then we pause, the gravity of what we’re doing heavy between us.
“For the record,” I say, brushing her hair over her shoulder, “you scare the hell out of me, too.”
The suite has a frat house feel. Empty bottles and stale pizza crusts are scattered around the living room and kitchen. Other than that, it’s identical to mine two floors down, including the cheesy art on the wall over the couch.
One bedroom door is already closed, a pair of beat up sneakers abandoned by the wall. I hear the faint sound of voices, so I follow Melina to the empty room at the end of the hall. The lamp on the nightstand is dim, casting our shadows onto the narrow twin bed. The room is hardly luxurious, but a surge of arousal runs through my limbs anyway, settling in my stomach. Everything else seems far away. The games. The drama. Everything that’s not in this room.
For the Win Page 16