Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 162567 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162567 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
“Meadows!” Dean points me out, coming over and wrapping an arm around my shoulder. The phone is still recording.
Oh fuck.
I have an awkward fucking smile at the selfie video.
“She’s shy,” Dean tells his viewers.
I actually laugh.
Because, yeah, four years ago, I kept to myself and avoided a lot of the press cameras. And four years ago, we were first-time Olympians together. Dean was my closest friend at the Games. We had the same coach at the club before qualifiers, and he didn’t care that I didn’t talk a lot or that when I did, it usually revolved around swimming.
Once I retired from the sport, we sort of fell out of touch.
My doing.
I never fucking trusted anyone enough to be their real friend. I couldn’t tell them about my family. Couldn’t talk about my life without fearing it’d wind up online. And so I pushed Dean away along with everyone else. Keeping them at a distance was fucking safe.
“Hey,” I wave at his phone.
Dean squeezes me in a side-hug. “She’s going to take gold for America. Watch out for this superstar.”
I lightly slug his shoulder. “You’re taking it home.”
“We’re.” He reminds his viewers, “Hundred-meter mixed relay with me, Meadows, Kingly, and Hansen. You better tune in to that one. It’s gonna be epic, guys.”
A stupid giddy smile plays at my lips.
I’m swimming with my fucking idol.
Tobias Kingly.
He’s somewhere here.
“Kingly!” Dean pushes away from me and weaves through the throngs. I don’t follow him. The closer we are to show time, the more the anticipation winds inside me, twisting my stomach.
I’m about to be on TV.
It could be way worse. The media finding out I’m pregnant—that is a petrifying scenario that I can’t let come to fruition. God, all the questions they’d yell at me….
Who’s the father, Sulli?
I don’t know. One of two. Banks or Akara.
When’d you get pregnant, Sulli?
I can’t be fucking sure. Maybe during Team Trials? Maybe in Hawaii at the Training Camp?
How far along are you?
I don’t know. I don’t fucking know!
With a sharp inhale, I glance at the wall. But instead of making eye-contact with my boyfriends, I find another familiar face.
I slip through the masses and approach him.
Backstage lanyard around his neck, he wears cargo khakis and a plain gray tee. His proud smile among his hardened, scruffy features transports me back to four years ago.
Eighteen.
Winning gold.
No, he’s not my swim coach, but he’s always been my biggest fan.
“Dad,” I greet, and he instantly uncrosses his arms as I step in for a hug. He wraps his arms around me, and I hold tighter.
I’m pregnant, Dad.
I swallow the truth. I learned my lesson: don’t drop a truth bomb on my dad. At least not in public. Maybe if we were back in the woods, I’d consider detonating this one and feeling the fucking moment again. Even against better judgment.
But above everything, it feels wrong to tell my dad before I tell my boyfriends.
He must feel that I’m nervous. When I draw back, he keeps his rough rock climber hands on my shoulders. “Fuck what anyone says or thinks. When you go out there, just be you. That’s all that matters, champ.”
Champ.
I smile.
I haven’t heard my dad call me champ in a long time. He used to use the nickname whenever I needed a confidence boost for swimming.
And I definitely need one now. Just not for the reason he believes. Under normal circumstances, I’d be a little fucking intimidated that I’m carrying my country’s flag. It’s a lot of responsibility. One that I’d probably hand over to Dean. He deserves it more.
Akara and Banks would quickly say, no way and no way in hell. They’re so ready to lift me up as the world continues to call me undeserving. But the public is right, aren’t they? I was chosen because I’m a famous face. Recognizable in the media.
Fuck what anyone says or thinks. When you go out there, just be you.
I intake a stronger breath. “Thanks, Dad. I guess I can’t do worse than the Canadian flagbearer.”
His brows harden in a tough furrow. “The what?”
“Canada,” I say. “They fumbled the fucking flag. It’s a whole meme and everything…” My voice tapers off at the dark confusion scrunching his face.
“I must’ve fucking missed that.”
They lied.
My boyfriends fucking lied!
I find myself smiling. Maple syrup memes—God, I should’ve known! Kits is so corny. And it’s kind of cute. How much they tried to rid my nerves.
I guess we all lied to each other, but theirs was an innocent white lie. Mine…not so much.
I look around. “Is Mom in the stands?”
“Yeah, she’s with your aunts.”
Mom is a big fan of mine too, but she worries about the pressure I put on myself when I strive for gold. Dad always told her I’d grow out of it like he did, but I never shook off my love and drive for competition.