FURY: A Rio Games Romance

by Alison Ryan

  The weather had turned dark and an early storm was coming. The morning air crackled with electricity, and lightning flashed across the sky somewhere out over the ocean.

  He thought back to another ocean storm, wind and rain crashing down on a small boat while he snuggled securely inside his mother’s womb. He of course had no memory of that tempest, but he’d heard many stories, tales of his mother’s courage, of her holding on, surviving long enough to see him rescued, of his birth and baptism in the elements.

  He knew that every athlete at the Olympics had sacrificed and faced adversity to reach the pinnacle of their sport, but he wondered if any of them could relate to his journey. He swallowed hard reflecting on stories Gavin had told him about his father and paternal grandparents, and he hoped that they were proud of him, of what he’d accomplished and the goals he had yet to achieve. And he thought about how cool it would be to look up into the crowd at his match in the morning to see not only his Fijian relatives and whatever teammates Logan might bring with her, but to also see his mom and dad sitting there in the midst of it all, maybe with his own younger siblings. How he wished it could be.

  His meandering walk brought him within sight of his own dorm when the rain began to fall, and rather than surrendering to instinct and running for cover, he stood and turned his face up to the storm erupting overhead and he spoke out loud to it.

  “You had your chance. I kicked your ass!” A shattering peal of thunder shook the ground where he stood, but Solomon was unmoved and he unleashed a war cry of his own, right back at mother nature.

  “Fuck you!”

  The thunder, as if in response, rumbled quietly, and then the wind picked up, sending the rain swirling around Solomon’s face.

  If thunder and lightning couldn’t beat him, what chance did a Dutchman have? He touched the Fijian flag insignia on the team t-shirt he wore, and then ran his fingers over the word on his forearm. “Kailoma.” He’d made his point. No use getting soaked to the bone. He jogged back to his room, pausing to lick his lips as he entered his room, his tongue seeking one last taste of Logan.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Logan

  Logan, with Savannah, Alyssa, and four of her other teammates in tow, slid into their seats at the Olympic judo venue. They noticed the twins sitting a few rows back on the opposite side of the mat, but neither group formally acknowledged the other. The schedule for the day had Adonis, brother to Allie and Angie DeCarlo, meeting a South African in the third bout of the session. Solomon fought fifth.

  Savannah and Logan, novices though they were, talked their teammates through what they watched as best they could. The first bout went quickly, the second to an overtime period. Adonis, an American, took the mat next and Savannah noticed a television camera pointed at the soccer players in red, white, and blue, likely assuming they were there to cheer on their countryman.

  “What should we do? Are we rooting for the twins’ brother?” Savannah asked Logan.

  “It’s the patriotic thing to do, so yes, but more than that I want him to win so Solomon maybe gets a crack at him later on, maybe with a medal on the line,” Logan offered.

  The girls did their best to seem enthused for the camera, but they all had reason to dislike the twins, and the little bit any of them knew about Adonis revolved around him being an arrogant jerk.

  He won his match after a struggle, barely escaping being thrown for an ippon before recovering to score a pair of waza-ari, or “near perfect” throws, to win the match and advance.

  Angie and Allie cheered wildly, but Savannah and Logan’s crew merely clapped politely for the victor.

  They erupted, however, when Solomon appeared on the mat.

  His focus was singular, staring down his opponent with a menacing glare from the moment he first lay eyes on him. Logan noticed a group nearby cheering for Solomon, one man in particular, Solomon’s uncle and the “father” who raised him, wearing a shirt that was half American flag, half Fijian.

  When the referee signaled the bout to begin, Solomon’s aggression nearly overwhelmed his opposite number, causing the Dutchman to incur a penalty for backpedaling right off the mat. A series of lifts and twists followed, neither man willing to easily let his Olympic dream be crushed.

  At one point Solomon staggered and nearly lost his balance, instinctively dropping a hand to catch himself, but yanking it back before it touched the mat, which could have been scored as a waza-ari. When his opponent waded in to finish him, however, Solomon sprung the trap, taking hold of the Dutchman’s wrist and rolling him across his shoulders for a clean, powerful throw. The bout was over, and Solomon dropped to a knee, emotionally drained, as his uncle, and coach, Gavin, pumped a fist in celebration.

  Logan, Savannah, and the rest danced and embraced while Allie and Angie stared daggers through them. Reaching the Olympics was beyond anything Solomon or his family could have imagined in their wildest dreams. To be in the quarterfinals, within touching distance of a medal? Completely unfathomable.

  His next opponent would be the Russian entry, one of the gold medal favorites. He was the shortest judoka in the weight class, stocky and powerful. Solomon had faced him twice in tournaments and hadn’t come close to moving him, much less throwing him. After their second meeting, Solomon recalled telling Gavin that he thought, “That guy’s feet must be nailed to the floor. There’s no way to move him. I’d have a better chance throwing a boulder.”

  “Except a boulder doesn’t have a neck,” Gavin countered. “He does. Next time, find it and choke him out!”

  Solomon changed back into his Team Fiji gear and came out to mingle with his family and his supporters from the USWNT. Since neither Logan nor Solomon were scheduled to compete the following day, they decided to meet up to take in some diving in the afternoon after Logan’s morning training session. Logan was still recovering from the physical match against France, and with lingering soreness in her right ankle she’d been informed that she wouldn’t start the final group match against Colombia, and if all went well she wouldn’t be asked to play at all.

  The morning workout was light, just enough for the coaches to keep the squad sharp and ready. Logan participated in some passing drills and skill work, but completely non-contact. Coach Pressley addressed the team before excusing them until dinner.

  “We have a match tomorrow, so we’re in ‘business mode’ until then. If you want to attend any events this afternoon, make sure they’re indoors, stay out of the sun and stay hydrated. We’ll reconvene for dinner and some Colombia film tonight, then early bedtime. And just a thought, for those of you who have suddenly become judo fans, it might be nice to see you cheering as hard for the Americans as you are for the Samoans, or Fijians, or whomever else you go to watch. If you forget what our team colors are, just look at Leah’s head. Dismissed!”

  The team laughed nervously, never certain if their coach was joking or serious, but the reference to Leah Beierle’s hair was unmistakably an attempt at humor on her part.

  Logan showered, changed, and met Solomon, his Fijian teammate Markus, the swimmer, and a few members or their extended families to attend a session of platform diving.

  Logan was introduced to everyone and received a hug and a warm “bula” from all. Markus, the self-proclaimed ladies’ man, was disappointed that Logan was traveling solo.

  “No Savannah? No Jada? Tara? What a rip off!” he exclaimed.

  “Please forgive him, Logan, he doesn’t get out of the pool much,” Solomon offered on his friend’s behalf.

  “Hey, it’s cool, I’m just impressed he knows so many of my teammate’s names. He must be quite a fan,” Logan winked at Markus.

  “I’m a fan of beautiful women, and if they’re good at sports, all the better! If Solomon’s sport wasn’t judo, I’d be hitting on you, too.”

  Solomon shot him a glare.

  “But I’m handsome, not stupid,” Markus backed up an exaggerated two steps and put his hands up in surrender.

&nb
sp; Logan and the Fijian contingent had a marvelous time watching the diving, and Logan enjoyed the friendly banter between the islanders and the attention she received being the only girl in the group.

  Everything was terrific until Logan’s phone buzzed with a text message from Coach Pressley:

  Look up, Lowery. See the blue sky?

  Logan replied, unsure what her coach was getting at:

  Yes, not a cloud in sight.

  Coach replied:

  Where I come from, if you can look straight up and see the sky, that means you’re OUTdoors. But since I specifically told the team to stay indoors, that must not be you at diving, right?

  “Shit.” Logan muttered to herself.

  “What’s the matter, babe?” Solomon asked.

  Logan leaned forward and looked behind her group, then scanned the sections nearby. “Nothing. Somehow coach knows I’m here, and she said after practice this morning that we should stay indoors, out of the sun. I should probably go. No, I should definitely go. Shit, shit, shit.”

  “I thought you were hurt. You’re not even playing tomorrow, are you?” Markus interjected, having overheard the conversation.

  “No, I’m not supposed to, but even if I was, I wouldn’t be now. Solomon, I have dinner with the team and film and stuff tonight, I don’t think I can see you tonight. But tomorrow after we play and you have your match, in the afternoon we’ll definitely get together, okay?”

  Solomon started to get up to leave with Logan, to walk her home, but she waved him off. “Stay with your friends and cousins! I’m totally fine! I promise!”

  Reluctantly, Solomon rejoined his group as everyone said goodbye to Logan and wished her and her team luck in the match against Colombia. Markus asked her to say hello to several of her teammates on his behalf, which she assured him she’d do.

  Dinner with her team was fun, everyone swapping stories about athletes and celebrities they’d seen and events they’d watched. The energy was overwhelmingly positive, and Logan didn’t receive the dressing down she expected from the coaching staff.

  After the team reviewed film of Colombia’s first two matches, mostly how they attacked and defended things like corner kicks and how they liked to spread the ball quickly to the wings when they took possession, Coach Pressley told the girls to get home and get in bed, that she’d be doing some of the bed checks personally, rather than sending assistants. She made eye contact with Logan when she delivered that warning.

  Trainers met with players carrying injuries, checking Logan’s flexibility and pain level, advising her to follow the old R.I.C.E. adage that evening – rest, ice, compression, and elevation. They made sure she had everything she’d need and cut her loose to return to her dorm.

  As Alyssa, Savannah, Tara, and Logan climbed the steps to their room, they rounded the corner to find a certain judoka waiting for them, leaning on the wall near their door.

  “See, if you feed, errrr, kiss a stray once, they just keep coming back,” Savannah teased Logan.

  “Funny you should say that, because a kiss is exactly what I’m after,” Solomon replied. “You know, for luck.”

  Tara ushered Savannah and Alyssa down the hallway. “Let’s see what Leah and Mack are up to,” she suggested.

  As the trio turned to walk the other direction, Savannah called out to Logan. “Remember, t-shirt on the doorknob.”

  Everyone except Logan laughed. She turned bright red and gave Solomon a quick kiss. “You’re going to get me into so much trouble. Come on in.”

  Logan unlocked the door and ushered Solomon inside. “You can’t stay long. I’m on the shit list already, and our head coach is doing bed checks personally tonight.

  Solomon bent down and kissed Logan on the forehead before wrapping her up in a hug. “I just missed you. We can hang out for a little while. How’s your ankle?”

  Logan sat down on the bed and kicked off her shoes. She twirled her foot and flexed the muscles in her leg, the bruising having turned a dark, nasty purple. “The bruising isn’t a big deal; it looks worse than it is. My ankle is just tender. I’d be playing if it was a semifinal or something. I’m supposed to wrap and ice it tonight before I go to bed. You can help me if you want.”

  The pair made small talk about their favorite dives from the afternoon, about Markus and his incorrigible sex drive, and about the Olympics in general. At one point, Savannah popped her head in the door and warned Logan to keep an eye on the clock.

  Solomon had moved to sitting behind Logan, his legs spread around her, massaging her shoulders and kissing her neck by then, but Savannah’s reminder put a damper on things.

  “She’s right, unfortunately. Let me help with your ankle before I go,” Solomon said, extricating himself from behind Logan and retrieving an Ace bandage from the sink and an ice pack from the freezer.

  Solomon gathered a duffel bag and pillows and arranged them in a pile on the corner of Logan’s bed so that she could elevate her foot while she lay there. He set the ice in position around her ankle and wrapped it snugly with the bandage while she squirmed and giggled at the cold.

  He set her phone and book on the table next to the bed, adding a bottle of water and then spreading the puffy comforter she’d brought from home over her. He stood back to admire his handiwork, satisfied with Logan’s comfort.

  Suddenly, her phone buzzed. Incoming text from team captain Lori Gallagher:

  Pressley. On the steps now. Hope you’re in your room!

  “Fuck a damn duck. Shit. Get in…no, that won’t work. Coach is here, like she’ll be in here in ten seconds!” Logan was panic-stricken.

  Solomon glanced around the room, briefly considering the closet, but he figured that would be the first place the coach would look for any guests. He dove for the foot of Logan’s bed, pulling himself up and under her comforter as best he could, wedging the rest of his frame into the space next to the wall. It wasn’t ideal, but with the tent effect of her elevated ankle, it just might work. Logan grabbed her paperback and buried her nose in it just as her doorknob turned.

  The door was behind her, over her shoulder, and she twisted to watch her head coach enter the room, accompanied by one of the trainers.

  “Surprise, surprise. My money was on the other three being in here and you being absent, Lowery.”

  “I think they went to Leah’s room, coach. I just wanted to ice my ankle and rest, doctor’s orders.” As Logan spoke, Coach Pressley’s eyes darted around the room, looking for any sign of shenanigans.

  “I’m heading down there next,” Coach replied. She opened the refrigerator, presumably looking for alcohol, and then slid the closet open an inch.

  The heat beneath Logan’s comforter was stifling. Solomon remained perfectly still, listening to the conversation, his face turned to the inside of Logan’s elevated leg. The tip of his nose just barely touched her sculpted thigh, one of his favorite parts of her.

  He could hear a third voice now, presumably a trainer, asking Logan about her pain and how long she’d had ice on her injury.

  As he listened in the darkness, eyes closed, still and silent, his other senses kicked into a higher gear and he noticed something, faint at first.

  As near as he was to Logan, the scent of her arousal was unmistakable. Holding her, rubbing her shoulders, and kissing her had gotten Solomon going, and Logan had been able to feel the evidence pressing into the small of her back. Solomon now knew Logan was equally excited by their closeness. He inhaled through his nostrils as deeply as he dared without making a sound or letting his chest rise too high. The aroma went directly to his cock, which had never fully deflated, despite the imminent arrival of Logan’s coach.

  Against his better judgement, but partially beyond his control, he kissed Logan’s inner thigh, just a small sweet kiss. Immediate goosebumps up and down her leg were his reward.

  The trainer was satisfied with Logan’s treatment plan, and she’d left to check on another player. Coach Pressley had just sat down in a chair
across the room when Logan felt the kiss. Unexpected, it sent a jolt up her spine. She coughed to cover her reaction, and hoped her face hadn’t given away her shock.

  Coach gave Logan a speech about honor, responsibility, and commitment, clearly referring to Logan’s trip to the pool with Solomon and company. Logan nodded and tried to focus, but she now felt a second and third kiss, each more insistent, moving closer to her core. She needed Solomon to stop, but the ruse would be completely blown if she made a move to interfere with his necessarily glacial approach to the sweet junction of her legs.

  Solomon was on autopilot. The heat, darkness, and scent had awakened something primal in him and he throbbed intensely. He felt Logan’s hands fall into her lap, accompanied by what had to be her book. She and her coach were chatting, but he was no longer eavesdropping. He managed to keep his body almost completely still, extending his neck to its fullest, sliding and ever-so-slightly turning his head. His lips were now up past the part of her legs that even short shorts would cover, and Logan’s skin was as soft there as rose petals. He continued to kiss her, feeling her leg muscles tense and relax. He also felt pressure from her hands struggling, but not too hard, to redirect him. What little air available to him was thick and humid, and there was no denying what her body wanted, if only she could hurry her coach out of the room.

  Logan gave up and stretched her arms over her head, bringing her other knee up into a bent position, which actually did an even better job of obscuring Solomon. Logan was having difficulty following anything Coach Pressley was saying, and she feared her face might be flushed. Her mind screamed to close her legs, to do something, anything, but she didn’t dare move her ankle from the jerry-rigged platform on which it was elevated, and her body wasn’t listening to her mind anyway. Something was boiling inside her, and without some way to release it, she felt her very soul might explode.