by Layla Reyne
Jacob patted the pocket where he always kept his phone. “Got it.”
“Use it.” Julio cut another glance at Bas before he moved away with Alex.
As soon as the crowd swallowed them, Jacob rounded on Bas. “What the hell is wrong with you? You were beyond rude.”
Bas lowered his voice, trying not to attract any more attention than they already had. “He’s going to try and get into your head.”
“Like he’s already gotten into yours.”
“This isn’t about me, it’s about you,” he said, jabbing Jacob’s chest with a finger. “He’s your biggest competition. He’s the best breaststroke swimmer in the world, and he’s trying to fuck with you.”
“Why do you think that?” Jacob crossed his arms, flexing. “Maybe he was just interested in me.”
“Oh, he’s interested all right.”
“Why do you care?” Jacob bit back, the words a snarl unlike anything Bas had ever heard from him. “You won’t even stay in the same room with me.”
“I did that to better integrate you with the team.”
“And back in Vienna?”
Another direct hit. Bas moved to step closer, to try to explain, and Jacob raised a hand between them.
“Give me one good reason to stay away from Julio.”
“He’s going to try and fuck with you.”
“You already said that. Maybe it’d be good for me to get a read on him too. And if he wants to fuck me the other way . . .” He shrugged, playing nonchalant, even though his eyes burned with hurt and anger. “Our one night is over and done. You made that clear. You don’t want another one.”
Oh he wanted, more than Jacob knew and more than just one, but he was trying to keep from making the same mistake twice. For both their sakes. “You want a reason?” Bas yanked down the collar of his shirt, flashing the JE tattoo. “This is why he’s going to fuck with you.”
“J-E,” Jacob mumbled, then twice more before his eyes grew huge, realization dawning. “Julio Espinosa.”
“That’s right. He’s going to fuck with you because he’s my ex.”
“Why’s he going to fuck with me and not you, then?”
“Because I hurt him.” Bas’s gaze drifted from Jacob’s confused eyes to the unwrapped tattoo on his shoulder. The damn giveaway. “And because he knows me too well.”
Jacob struggled to find his equilibrium after Bas’s opening-night bombshell. Maybe if he hadn’t been on the roller coaster from hell already, he’d have put it together before Bas had to lay it out for him. The rumors about Bas’s breakup with his boyfriend at the last Olympics. The solitary, unadorned JE over his heart. Tall, dark, and charming Julio Espinosa.
Julio was the sort of man Bas belonged with, a perfect contrast to Bas’s blond, blue eyed, laid-back vibe. Not gangly, gawky, uncool, inexperienced Jacob. God, he’d broken down three nights ago, told Bas he was a virgin, and begged Bas to fuck him. Whatever had precipitated Bas and Julio’s breakup four years ago, Jacob would bet it wasn’t because Julio was pathetic.
That was about all Jacob could deduce though, since Bas had bolted after flashing his tattoo and avoided anything but swim talk the past two days. Jacob was a zombie with all the tossing and turning, second-guessing, and what-the-fucks that were running like a twenty-four-hour Whataburger drive-thru in his head. Heartburn guaranteed. He was surprised neither Kevin nor Sean had kicked him out yet, between the insomnia and the moping. He was definitely violating the number-one rule, bringing the room’s vibe down.
Yesterday’s third-place finish in his hundred-meter breaststroke heat didn’t help matters. At least he’d done well enough to make today’s final. Alex had given him a pep talk afterward, and they’d analyzed tape yesterday afternoon to see where he could improve. Jacob didn’t want to take Alex away from Dane or from prepping for his own races, but the natural teacher in Alex had seemed to need an outlet, and it had calmed Jacob, if only temporarily. He felt somewhat more confident, if still sleep-deprived, going into tonight’s race.
Until he stepped out of the locker room. The thunderous crowd noise echoed all the way down the athlete’s tunnel to the locker room, the cement and glass construction of the Madrid Aquatic Center amplifying everything.
The gigantic indoor natatorium had the same bright Mediterranean aesthetic as Olympic Village. While it was technically indoors, the white cement and glass walls, polished sandstone deck, and blue-bottomed pool made it feel like a tropical sandy beach.
During his morning heat yesterday, it had been like the coast in spring and fall, only lightly populated. By the roaring chants tonight, it was Fourth of July out there. Jacob supposed tonight’s race lineup—the semifinals of the two-hundred-meter freestyle and one-hundred-meter backstroke, then the final medal races of the one-hundred-meter breaststroke and four-by-one-hundred free relay—guaranteed every seat in the house would be filled. It had sucked to have a poor showing in front of the lighter crowd yesterday; it’d suck a whole lot worse to bomb in front of the full house tonight, not to mention everyone who’d watch back home in the States.
“No pressure or anything.”
Whipping around, Jacob spotted Julio leaning against the wall behind him. He’d managed to avoid Julio yesterday, swimming in separate heats, and in the locker room today by showing up at the last possible second. Julio, though, must have been lingering in the sun-cast shadows of the athletes’ tunnel, the only dark spot in the place. He drew alongside Jacob, as they made their way toward the pool. “It’s a lot to take in for a first timer, especially on a squad favored to win. You don’t want to let the guys down.”
As if Jacob needed the reminder.
“Don’t let the bright lights distract you,” Julio added.
“Thought that’s what you were trying to do.”
A slow smile spread across his handsome face. “Ah, so Bas told you I’m the bad guy.”
“He said you’d try to fuck with me.”
Julio’s smile tilted into a leer. “Well, yeah, I had thought about that.”
So had Jacob—the Spaniard’s radiating charm and good looks reeling him in the other night—but no way was he touching Julio with a ten-foot pole, now knowing his history with Bas. Things were awkward enough already.
“I heard you two broke up at the last Olympics,” Jacob said. “Bas also said he hurt you.”
Julio faltered a step, genuine surprise flitting across his face. “Did he now? You get the full story or you need me to fill you in?”
“Right now, I just need to swim.”
The athletes’ tunnel dumped them out in front of the first row of bleachers, behind an eight-foot wall of glass in an area where they held the swimmers for the next event. Out of the shadowy tunnel, Jacob squinted against the brightness. At one end of the pool, there was an entire wall of green-tinted glass, the multilevel concourse visible behind it. Raised arena seats ran up the other three sides of the event area, another ten feet of windows above those, and an industrial metal roof capped off the place. Sunlight streamed in during day events, and for the night races, the arena lights blazed bright.
The deck itself was clean and minimalist, blocks at either end and a single row of white stone benches, where coaches and captains crowded together with their swimmers. Beside one of those blocks, Alex was hauling Dane out of the pool after the latter’s semifinal heat. Already roaring at Dane’s record setting pace, the crowd roared louder when Dane snaked an arm around Alex’s waist and kissed him.
Jacob had heard mention of them waiting for a public kiss until after winning the medley relay gold, but that had clearly been tossed out the window, the both of them too happy to hold it in.
Beside Jacob, Julio leaned closer to be heard over the noise. “I still can’t believe those two got together.”
Jacob would have dismissed the attempt at conversation if not for the pure, unguarded smile and genuine admiration in the other man’s voice. He was happy for Alex and Dane, and why wouldn’t he be? Julio
had swum with Alex at USC. They used to be friends and teammates, before the last Olympics.
“Did you know they were together, before?” Jacob asked.
“I didn’t know it was Dane Ellis, but I knew there was someone in Alex’s past that had hurt him.”
Julio’s smile wavered, and Jacob sensed he wasn’t only talking about Alex. Jacob added that reaction to what Bas had said the other night, trying to make the equation work. “Whatever Bas did, I think he regrets it.”
Julio laughed, a bitter note underlying the attractive sound. “Doesn’t do me much good now, does it? I needed him then.”
Like Jacob needed Bas now. His stomach soured at the balanced equation.
“Ah, left you in his wake already, has he? Well, that changes things . . .”
Jacob’s insides clenched at the shift in Julio’s gaze, those dark eyes calculating. They knotted further when Julio turned, shucking his jacket, and Jacob got a good look at his bared back and shoulders.
That was why he remembered Julio Espinosa from the last Olympics. Because he had a tattoo on his back left delt, intricate flowing line work that Jacob would recognize anywhere now. Whereas his was a Texas Longhorn, Julio’s tattoo was an abstract rose, tipped in gold and red, and the Spanish rose’s stem had the unmistakable bend of California to it, with a heart-shaped leaf where LA would be. It shouldn’t work, but somehow it did, because Bas was that damn talented of an artist.
But that wasn’t the tattoo that made Jacob reach out and brace a hand on the dividing glass. It was the simple SS on the outside of Julio’s other shoulder, the ends of which he’d just barely glimpsed beneath Julio’s sleeve the other night. An exact match in font and style to the JE over Bas’s heart.
Sebastian Stewart.
Julio Espinosa.
Jacob was still staring when Alex and Dane came through the holding area’s swinging glass door. “Was that Julio?” Dane asked.
“Yeah,” Jacob said, then to Alex, “I need you tell me what happened between him and Bas at the last Olympics.”
A shadow fell over Alex’s face, despite the abundance of light in the giant building. “Jacob, you have to be in the water in ten minutes.”
“Alex, tell me, please.”
“Pup, this isn’t the time or place. You need to swim.”
He pointed at Julio’s back. “Look at that tattoo.”
Alex angled his face the opposite direction. “I don’t need to. I was there when Bas inked it.”
“And he’s got Bas’s initials on his shoulder.” Jacob dropped his hand from the wall. “I’ve got no chance in this race if my mind is wandering three lanes over, wondering what the hell happened between those two. I thought I could block it out, but after seeing Julio’s ink, I can’t.”
“You don’t—” Dane started.
Jacob cut him off. “Alex, please.”
Deflating, Alex nodded and led them back into the shadows of the tunnel, out of the way of the other passing swimmers. “Go,” he said to Dane. “You’ve got another race tonight.” Dane hesitated, eyeing Jacob warily, until Alex physically pushed him toward the locker room.
Once Dane was inside, Alex turned back around. “You gotta understand, Pup, Bas blames himself for what happened, and a lot of the blame rests there, justifiably, but there was a lot more going on too. Mo’s wife was having a baby, Kevin and Sean were first timers, and I was too focused on the meet to realize how much trouble we were all in. We’re a team, and the team did not have each other’s backs. That’s why we harp on it now.”
Jacob appreciated the sentiment, but at this point, he was ready to rip his too-fucking-short hair out. “Alex, please, just tell me what happened.”
Alex hung his head, finally caving. “Espo was an exchange student at SC, swam with me and Bas. They were infatuated with each other from first glance.” Jacob’s stomach did another of those awful flips, and then it kept flipping, like in a car accident, as Alex went on with the story. “They dated for two years, though not without issues. Espo always wanted more, and Bas held him off. Espo was also a terrible flirt, and he never seemed comfortable with Bas being bi, so maybe Bas didn’t trust him either. In any event, Espo went home to Spain to train for the Olympics, and when he and Bas met back up after a couple months apart, he forced the issue, showing up with that tattoo.” Alex tapped his outer arm, where Julio’s SS tattoo was inked. “Made a big show of revealing it to Bas in front of everyone at the opening-night party. Bas reacted poorly, to say the least. He shot Espo down and walked out of the lounge with a pair of French swimmers, one on each arm. I don’t think he slept in the same room once the entire two weeks we were there.”
Bile stung the back of Jacob’s throat. “And Julio saw all that?”
Alex nodded. “Bas wasn’t exactly discrete. He was making a point, albeit poorly. Julio couldn’t ignore it, and it threw him off. He was the favorite, and he failed to medal in any of his races, and even though Bas wouldn’t admit it, that tore him up even more. He did care for Espo, but rather than apologize, he partied more. He was so sleep-deprived and unfocused that it threw our team off as well. He showed up to the medley relay final five minutes before introductions. We were lucky to win silver.”
Jacob sank back against the tunnel wall, wishing he hadn’t asked. He supposed he should be thankful Bas hadn’t made any sort of scene like that between them, or rubbed other lovers in his face, but he couldn’t help wondering if Bas was willing to give Julio a second chance, if he’d been that infatuated. And that regretful. Jacob himself had told Julio he thought Bas regretted it. He also couldn’t help wondering if he was a pawn, being played between the two of them. And why the hell would either bother with inexperienced him? Hell, they were so far out of his league, it was ridiculous.
That overwhelming sense of being out of his league sharpened as Jacob stood on the Lane 1 starting block, glancing down the row at the other seven swimmers who had all been here before. Julio—the world’s best, Bas had called him—was coiled like a snake atop the Lane 4 block. What made Jacob think he ever belonged here, at the Olympics, much less on the US medley relay team? He was the one dragging the team down this time around.
Limbs tight, stomach in his throat, head not at all in the race, only instinct propelled him off the block when the starting horn blew. His launch was a split-second late, though, and not as powerful as it should have been. Then he came out of the water too soon, just like he’d been doing in the botched practices in Vienna. He played catch-up the entire race, not thinking about his own swim but the speed and experience of every other swimmer in the pool. And certain other swimmers out of it.
There was nothing to look forward to ahead, nothing to bring him home. Each inhale, each push of his arms and legs, became a battle. He couldn’t catch his breath, and he couldn’t catch the world’s best who’d beaten him off the blocks. The packed house was watching the kid do what he did best.
Choke.
“Jacob, do you think you can come back from that disastrous medal race yesterday?”
“What went wrong?”
“Can the team still win relay gold?”
Five minutes into their Olympic Media Day panel and Bas was ready to leap across the table and do bodily harm to more than one reporter. If he hadn’t been in this fucking suit, he probably would have already.
Each thinly veiled or not-veiled-at-all accusation flung at Jacob pierced Bas’s chest like an arrow. The press had gone from fawning all over the new talent after opening ceremonies, to crucifying Jacob today. Bas reconsidered the secret-weapon strategy; it had ended up hurting Jacob more than it’d protected him. The pup took each hit with a jolt, growing paler by the question, and the arrows in Bas’s chest continued to twist, ripping apart his insides.
This was his fault, not Jacob’s. He was the reason Jacob had been off yesterday. Not that Jacob had done anything to be ashamed of. He’d had a bad start and swam from behind to take bronze. At nineteen, he’d stood on an Olympic podium
. How many of these reporters could say that?
Bas reached for the mic to say as much, but Alex beat him to it.
“Respectfully”—Bas didn’t think Alex needed to give the press that much, but that was why Alex was the captain—“my teammate, at his first Olympics, medaled in his first race. At nineteen, I’d say that’s pretty damn impressive. I have complete confidence in Jacob, in his next race and in the medley relay. Now, let’s move on.”
“Surely, you’ve got other questions for us,” Dane drawled on the other side of Alex, inviting the obvious.
Taking the bait, the reporters shifted focus to Alex and Dane. Jacob, however, leaned forward and reached for a mic.
Bas clasped his knee under the table. “You don’t have to, Pup.”
“Yeah, I kinda do.” His gaze was wary but determined. “Y’all can’t take responsibility for me. I’m the one dragging the team down, and I need to fix it. I can only count on me.”
He pushed Bas’s hand off his knee, and an arrow twisted all the way to Bas’s heart. Jacob knew, the entire story. Someone—Julio, Sean or Kevin, or Alex—had told him. Not that it was a secret. Bas had made a pretty public mess of things four years ago. He should have been the one to tell Jacob, but he’d avoided him, ashamed of himself, for past and present acts, for taking advantage. More than that, if he’d told Jacob and Jacob had forgiven him, asked him to stay despite being a complete jackass, Bas wasn’t certain he could have resisted. And if he didn’t resist, and he made a mess of things again, he’d be the one putting Jacob and the medley relay gold at risk, again.
There was no worry of Jacob asking him to stay now. He knew the truth, saw the real Bas, and the disappointment was reflected in his big green eyes. Eyes that had once looked at Bas with admiration and desire. Not any longer.
“Actually, I’d like to say something.”
Jacob’s amplified voice snapped Bas back to the present.
The pup squared his shoulders and took a giant breath, steeling himself. “Yesterday wasn’t my best performance. These guys—” he gestured left and right “—warned me about the Olympic experience being overwhelming.”
