Her words only made me cry harder. She reached out to wrap me in her arms. I leaned forward and dropped my head on her shoulders, giving in to the feeling of defeat. It was all too much for one person to handle. Freddie’s announcement the night before had broken whatever resolve I had left. Caroline was pregnant with his baby and there was nothing I could do. I had no problem stepping between Freddie and a woman he didn’t love, but I wouldn’t step between him and his unborn child. Caroline was the vilest woman I’d ever met, but Freddie couldn’t abandon his child. Even if he wanted to be with me, I wasn’t sure I wanted to oppose Caroline for the rest of my life.
I had nothing left but soccer and I was not giving up. The final was in two days. I was going to take the field with my team whether the doctor cleared me or not. I inhaled a deep breath, sat up, and forcefully wiped away my tears.
“Let’s get on with it already,” I said, holding out my wrist for Lisa to take. “I’m playing in that final.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Freddie
I TOOK THE last seat on my team’s bus and put my headphones in before anyone could ask about my foul mood. It’s been two days since I’d seen or spoken to Andie at the SI party and she’d been ignoring my calls and texts. I would have gladly cut my right arm off just to receive something from her—a text, a smoke signal, a carrier pigeon. Georgie insisted that I needed to give her space and focus on my races, and she was right; I knew the farther away I stayed from Andie, the safer she’d be.
It wasn’t easy though; I could still remember the feel of her pressed against me, the sound she made when I kissed the inside of her thighs. She’d walked away from me at the party and life had gone on. I’d competed in two races the day before and I was on my way to more. I knew I needed to focus on swimming, but I wasn’t interested in life continuing on without Andie. The gold medals weren’t going to be enough.
A hand hit my shoulder, drawing me out of my thoughts. I paused my music and glanced up to see Thom looming over me.
“Ready mate?” he asked with an amused smile.
We were at the stadium and the bus had completely emptied out without me noticing. I was the only one still on it, sitting up front like a fool. Thom nudged my shoulder and I stood up to follow after him. I hadn’t prepared myself for the barrage of cameras waiting for me outside. I held my hand up to block the flashes, but it was no use. By the time I stepped into the locker room, bright circles danced in my vision.
“Archibald, your race is first. Clear your thick head, or else you’re liable to sink,” Coach Cox said playfully, pounding his fist against my shoulder as he passed. I bit back a slew of curse words.
“No one asked for your advice,” I spat, rolling out my shoulder.
He spun around to face me. “Excuse me?”
Thom stepped between us, trying to cut the tension. “He’ll be ready to race.”
“That’s your first warning, Archibald. Another outburst like that and you’ll be on a plane back to London.”
“Right, better send off your fastest anchor before the relay. Fuck off,” I hissed beneath my breath as he walked away.
Thom spun around and leveled his gaze on me. “What the hell is your problem?”
“He’s a prick.”
“Right well, he’s also your coach, but not for long if you keep on at him like that.”
I shoved past Thom and walked to the back of the locker room. Anyone with half a brain could sense the anger rolling off of me. I was a live wire and I needed to channel my rage, not subdue it for the event. I found a spare locker and shoved my bag inside. I turned the volume up on my music until the world around me was completely drowned out.
I slammed my locker door closed and turned to find a quiet place to warm up. I let my music’s rhythm harmonize with my anger as I stretched. In that quiet corner, facing the cement wall, I finally found my focus. I thought of the laps, of the calm that washed over me in the pool. In that lane, there were no mind games or ultimatums. Just water.
This was the easy part.
CAMERA FLASHES WENT off around me as I held up my gold medal. It was the fourth one I’d earned since the start of the games and it hung just as heavy around my neck as the first. I’d broken my world record in the 100m butterfly by finishing a full two-tenths of a second faster than I had four years prior. Every other swimmer had lagged after me; I was untouchable in the water and it felt good to stand on the podium with the stadium erupting in cheers around me.
The media always asked if the winning got old, if my twentieth medal felt as good as the first one had. I glanced down and stared at the ribbon hanging around my neck and smiled.
No, winning never got old.
“Freddie!”
“Archibald!”
“Please Freddie!”
I stepped down from the podium as the reporters shouted at me, trying to get my attention. There was a guy right up front, a little younger and less polished than the rest. He was trying hard to capture my attention and when I met his eyes, I could see the desperation there.
“Freddie, please. Do you have time for a quick interview?”
The media knew I detested interviews. What answers I gave were short and clipped, but something about this young reporter made me want to cut him some slack.
I waved off our team manager—who was trying to lead me back to the locker room through the chaos—and stepped closer to the reporter.