Here Comes the Flood

by Kate McMurray

  “Just curious if the ladies at home should give up hope.”

  “Well.” Isaac didn’t know how to handle the question. He settled on, “I’ll keep you posted.”

  Holt maybe realized he’d stumbled into one of the things Isaac didn’t want to discuss publicly. He looked like he wanted to press the issue, but one of the camera guys started gesturing. Holt nodded. “That may be enough, so let’s do some parting questions. How does it feel to win so many medals at these Olympics?”

  “It’s wild. It feels amazing. I worked really hard for this, and I’m proud. My body feels good. Part of me still can’t believe I pulled it off.”

  Holt wound down the discussion, conferring with the cameramen about whether they needed to reshoot anything. Then he turned back to Isaac and said, “One more question. Why did you agree to do this interview?”

  Isaac smiled, thinking of Tim. “A friend of mine pointed out to me recently that we, as Olympic athletes, are role models. Millions of people all over the world are watching. I didn’t want to talk about all this publicly at first, but I thought that if maybe one person who is trapped in what feels like a hopeless situation sees my story, he might be inspired to work to get out. I know what the claws of alcoholism feel like, what depression feels like, how hard it is to climb out of all of that. It’s bleak, it really is, and it feels hopeless when you’re at the bottom. But I’m here to tell you it’s possible to get out. That’s the message I want to send. It’s possible to get your life back from alcohol. It’s hard. Lord knows I struggled for a long time. I still struggle. But it’s possible.”

  Holt nodded. “That’s…. It’s a good message.” He looked at his notes again. “Let’s talk about that a little more. Anyone who knows an alcoholic knows that you never stop being an alcoholic. Do you still struggle with wanting to drink?”

  Isaac took a deep breath. “Daily. But the message I took from rehab is to take each moment as it comes. I stay on the wagon by telling myself I just have to get through this hour, this day. If I feel overwhelmed, I talk to someone I trust, like my mom or one of my friends. I have a support network now that I didn’t have before rehab. And they are so valuable to me.”

  “Your mother has been your biggest cheerleader.”

  “She’s… she’s the best. I couldn’t have done any of this without her. Not swimming, not winning medals, not getting sober, none of it. I will never be able to thank her enough.”

  “Do you think a lot of athletes struggle with problems like yours?”

  Well, that was really the question, wasn’t it? “I’m sure they do. Maybe not alcoholism, but other things. Athletes feel a lot of pressure from coaches and families and the media and even ourselves to be successful, to be the best we can be. I coped with that pressure by turning to alcohol, but some turn to other drugs, including those that help with performance. I think every elite athlete probably knows someone who has done something extreme to be successful. Of course, that doesn’t excuse any of it, and I certainly don’t deserve anyone’s forgiveness. I just think we’re doing everyone a disservice by not talking about it.”

  Phew. Isaac had just said a lot. Probably more than he should have. Part of him wanted to take it all back, but on the other hand, it was good to have it out there. And, well, if it cost him some money, so be it.

  “I appreciate your honesty,” said Holt.

  “I’m not even saying that, like, doping is rampant, or whatever. Just pointing out, you know, that we all have things we deal with. Every athlete has fought through a significant challenge to get here. I think overcoming those challenges make us better athletes.”

  Holt nodded. “Thanks, Isaac. I’ll recut this a little before it airs, and I’ll have to trim it for time, but I do appreciate your coming to sit down with me.”

  “Thank you for the opportunity.”

  And that was it. It was over. Isaac let out a breath. He’d discussed the worst period of his life frankly to a reporter, and it would air on TV. He’d felt oddly distanced from it while he’d spoken, but now that it was over, it hit him suddenly.

  He thought of Tim crying after the springboard final. A sudden wave of emotion hit Isaac. It stole his breath. He asked Holt where the restroom was, and then speed-walked there and made it in time to throw up in a toilet.

  Had he really done that? Did he regret it? Because the whole world was about to find out not only that he was an alcoholic but that he’d done some supremely stupid things. His mother had implied the DUI had been a major story of the Olympics when they’d talked the other day before she flew home. It was a good narrative, for sure—a media darling goes bad, wrecks his life, but manages to come back. But now everyone would know the bigger story: Isaac was a drunk, he definitely wasn’t a saint, and he probably wasn’t the only athlete in Madrid who had struggled with such things.

  Then he started to wonder if he’d said enough, if he’d really gotten the message across.

  He sat on the cold tile floor of the men’s room in the TBC offices within the Olympic Broadcast Center, and though he still felt nauseous, he thought he was done vomiting. He flushed but didn’t move, willing his head to stop spinning and his stomach to stop churning. He took long, deep breaths until it felt like he was out of danger. Then he stood, walked to the sink, and splashed cold water on his face.

  The first step toward living a good, honest life was to tell the truth. He’d just done that, or as much of the truth as he could right now. Now he just had to talk to Tim and let him know what he was thinking.

  Isaac managed to heave himself up off the floor and walked back to the green room. There was a little TV on in the corner. It seemed to be showing that dumb gossip show. Isaac poured himself a cup of coffee and was about to go back out to find Sheri when a headline snagged his attention.

  “Is diver Tim Swan back with his hunky ex-boyfriend? We caught up with Patterson Wood here in Madrid this afternoon.” There were some colorful graphics and then the camera landed on Patterson Wood’s stupid face. “I’m here in Madrid to see Timmy. He’s the love of my life.”

  “Over my dead body,” Isaac muttered.

  But then the camera showed footage of Tim and Pat walking through the public area of the Athlete Village, near the gym. Tim smiled and waved at the camera; then Pat threw his arm around Tim.

  When had this been filmed? Tim was wearing the same T-shirt and warm-up pants he’d worn to dive practice that morning. Hadn’t Pat gone home? What was he doing with Tim?

  The image flashed back to Pat’s face. “We’re talking,” he said. “I came to Madrid to win him back. He’s the best diver in the world, you know that? I bet he’ll win another medal—a gold one this time.”

  The screen flashed again, and there was footage of Tim and Pat walking into America House, Pat with his hand possessively on the small of Tim’s back.

  Were they back together? No! Tim had said a few times he had no interest in Pat anymore. But then, why were they together now? What did that mean?

  Of course, it could have been a weird coincidence. Or garbage gossip reporting. And Pat was not the most trustworthy person, so he could have been lying about them getting back together.

  But was he?

  Tim had admitted he wasn’t the best judge of character, and maybe that charming asshole had managed to persuade Tim that he was a better man than Isaac. He probably was, actually; he’d been on a popular television show and wasn’t an alcoholic. Not to mention those magical endorsement deals that Pat had helped Tim get. That could all add up to a really appealing package to someone like Tim. Or at least, a more appealing package than a broke alcoholic swimmer.

  Before Isaac could contemplate that much more, Sheri burst into the green room. “Car’s out front.”

  Isaac nodded and followed her back to the elevator.

  His mind spun as he sat in the back of the limo. He answered Sheri’s questions about how the interview had gone and tried to be pleasant about it, but all of his old anxieties suddenly c
ame rushing back. How could he think he was good enough for a man like Tim? He was a washed-up alcoholic with no particular prospects. He’d probably just pissed away all of his earning potential by doing that interview. He had nothing to offer Tim. Of course it made sense for Tim to go back to that douchebag Pat, because Isaac wasn’t much better, not really.

  Or was that Isaac’s depression getting the better of him? Was this the cost of talking about his experiences? He’d just dredged a lot of stuff back up, as evidenced by that stint in the men’s room. His therapist at rehab had told him the same miswiring in his brain that caused him to lose control around alcohol also disrupted his thoughts, lied to him even. Maybe Isaac was experiencing some kind of postcompetition down that made everything worse. Just a few hours ago he’d been convinced he loved Tim, and he’d thought Tim had reciprocated at least some of those feelings. This gossip story that Tim and Pat were getting back together must have been just that. Gossip.

  He texted Tim: I did the interview. On the way back now. Want to get dinner?

  He and Sheri rode in silence for a few moments while Isaac waited for a response.

  It never came.

  Chapter 24

  ISAAC WANTED a drink.

  Tim had said he planned to take a nap in Isaac’s room, but Tim wasn’t there when Isaac returned. He wasn’t in his own room either. Jason was there, though, and had no idea where Tim had gone.

  Isaac had felt so happy just a few hours ago. Why was he reeling now?

  And what did it really say about him that what was probably a minor setback—some television footage that really meant nothing; they might have just been talking—had sent Isaac on this spiral?

  The time indicated it was too early to call his doctor during his office hours back home, so he went to Luke’s room instead.

  Luke and Katie were there, both in sweats, as if they’d been napping instead of fooling around, which made Isaac feel slightly less guilty. Only slightly.

  “Isaac. What is it?” Luke’s facial expression indicated he knew something was wrong. He gestured Isaac into the room.

  Isaac said in one long breath, “I can’t find Tim and he’s not answering his texts and I saw a news story this afternoon that he might be getting back together with that Pat asshole, and even though that’s probably not true, I can’t stop thinking about it, and I want a beer so badly right now I can almost taste it.”

  Luke shut the door and exhaled loudly. “All right. That’s a lot, right there.”

  “Wait, are they back together?” asked Katie.

  Isaac made a big show of shrugging.

  “I saw that Pat guy today. He came to the Aquatics Center and offered Tim a ride back to the Athlete Village. I guess Tim took it. He said something about wanting Tim back. But I gotta say, Tim seemed pretty annoyed at him.”

  “What if they talked and he said the right thing and Tim is all charmed and they’re off in his hotel room right now? Huh?”

  “Isaac.” Luke’s tone was stern. “That’s insane.”

  “I know. I know. But I can’t get these thoughts out of my head. It’s probably nothing and I’m overreacting. But it’s too late on the East Coast to talk to my therapist, so I needed to tell someone that I want to drink, because I’m starting to spiral. I can’t seem to control my thoughts or myself.”

  “What do you normally do when this happens?” Katie asked.

  “Drink,” Isaac said.

  “You did the right thing coming here,” Luke said. He guided Isaac over to a chair and made him sit down. “What’s really going on? You and Tim?”

  “I think I’m in love with him.”

  “Wow,” said Katie.

  “And I thought he cared about me too, but how can he, if he’s with Pat?” Isaac looked at the door, mindful of Luke’s and Katie’s gazes on him. “How easy would it be to walk outside, to walk to America House, to order a goddamned beer and have that be the end of it? Because I don’t feel this way when I’m drunk.”

  “No, but you do feel like shit. You’ve worked so hard, Isaac. This thing with Tim, maybe nothing is happening and he’s just at the gym or he turned his phone off or something. I can’t believe he’d go back to Pat, especially not without saying something to you.”

  “But you saw them together.”

  “They did get in Pat’s car,” Luke said, glancing at Katie. “But it looked like they were arguing.”

  Isaac felt an anxiety attack coming. God, he hadn’t felt like this in a long time. Not since before the last time he fell off the wagon. He’d developed so many coping mechanisms, and they were all failing him now, because this was stupid. It was probably nothing. Luke was probably right—Tim was just at the gym and his phone was in his locker. He wasn’t with Pat.

  But what did it say about Isaac that he could fly off the handle so easily?

  “Why am I like this?” Isaac asked. He was aware of Katie staring at him, but, well, she’d just have to witness his nervous breakdown. “I should be happy. I’m the best swimmer at these Games, you know? I’ve won gold medals. I met this amazing guy, and he seems to like me back. But it’s like my brain won’t even let me have that, because here I am, freaking out about what is probably nothing.” Isaac bent forward and put his head in his hands. “I don’t deserve him.”

  “Isaac.” Luke’s voice took on that stern tone again, though there was softness around the edges. “You deserve everything. Don’t you know that? I’ve never known anyone who works as hard as you do, who fights for things the way you do. You’ve told me your sobriety is a daily battle, but it’s one you keep winning. Don’t let this break you.” Luke exhaled loudly again. “I won’t lie and say this is nothing, because it’s clearly got you out of sorts. I don’t see Tim betraying you this way, but I don’t know him, and I did see him and Pat together today. But you know that even if he did, you’ll get through it and live to swim another day.”

  “That’s not helpful, Luke,” said Katie. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Tim probably needed to tell Pat off one more time.”

  Isaac had to make these feelings stop. His anxiety over Tim, his anxiety over his anxiety—it was all threatening to pull him under. There was only one way he knew of to make these things stop.

  “I need some air,” Isaac said, standing.

  “You aren’t going to do something stupid, are you?” Luke asked.

  “I can’t make any promises.” Isaac ran out the door before Luke could protest more.

  “IF YOU don’t leave right now,” Tim said to Pat, “I’m going to call over that security guard and have you escorted back to your hotel. And then I’m filing a restraining order. Because I never want you within fifty feet of me ever again. Is that clear?”

  Pat had been shadowing him since they got back to the Athlete Village. He’d followed Tim to the gym and watched him work out like a creep—which was supremely distracting, so Tim cut the workout short—then trailed after him as he walked back toward the dorms. So Tim made the decision to steer him into America House, a public enough place. And on the way, he’d spotted the cameras, so he’d schooled his face to make sure he was not scowling and waved to make it look like he was a good sport about the press coverage. But once they were inside, he steered Pat into a corner booth and did his best to make Pat see the truth. So far he’d been failing miserably.

  “So that’s it,” Pat said simply, easily. Too easily.

  Then something occurred to Tim. He sat back in the booth. “Oh my God. You orchestrated all of this, didn’t you? You tipped off that camera guy that you’d be here with me and tried to get us filmed together. I bet that gossip show is doing a story right now on how we’re getting back together.”

  Pat ducked his head, indicating it was the truth. He’d probably already done an interview with one of those reporters. God damn him.

  Tim pointed to the door. Through clenched teeth, he said, “Get the hell out of here. I never want to see you again. You hear me? I. Never. Want. To. See. You. Again. It’s
over. I don’t know how I can be any more clear about it.”

  “I did do the interview, but just because I thought it would be nice to make my intentions public. You always said you wanted to be honest with everyone about who you are, so I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  “You never change.” Tim shook his head, anger and disbelief running through him. “Well, if you’re not leaving, I am. I’m done, Pat. Finished. Finito. Do not ever contact me again. Don’t show up at my meets. I’m going to give your picture to security at the Aquatics Center to make sure you’re denied entry. And while you’re at it, go fuck yourself.”

  Tim stood, grabbed his gym bag, and stormed out of the bar. He speed-walked all the way back to the dorm building, because he was furious, and it pulsed in him like a living thing. All he wanted right now was to find Isaac, who was probably back from the interview by now, and sleep until he had to dive again.

  Tim went to his own room first to drop off his gym bag. Jason was there, reading a book.

  “Isaac came by looking for you,” Jason said. “He seemed a little anxious. Said you weren’t answering your texts.”

  Tim hadn’t looked at his phone all day. He fished it out of his gym bag and saw he had a half-dozen texts and a voicemail from Isaac. He was overcome by a sinking feeling. “Oh no,” he whispered.

  “You’re not back together with Pat, are you?”

  “God, no. In fact, I just told him to go fuck himself. I never want to see that piece of crap ever again. Why would you think we were back together?”

  “Uh, it’s all over the internet that you are.”

  Oh no. An anxious Isaac had come by looking for Tim, meaning he’d likely seen the stories. And Pat had orchestrated for that camera guy to be there, to capture them together, so that it would be all over the web that they were back together and Pat could get his goddamn press.

  What must Isaac have thought? But Isaac couldn’t really believe Tim would betray him like that, would he?