Drowning: An Angsty Standalone

by Marni Mann

  Of course he doesn’t see it that way. “I have absolutely nothing to offer you in return. Not even my heart.”

  I feel the last hardened chip of Adrian’s soul break away. The warmest heart I’ve ever known is slowly turning to ice. No amount of convincing is going to bring him back to me today.

  Charlie warned me this would happen—that I would push for more and he would refuse. Still, it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

  “You already gave me your heart, Adrian. I’m not giving it back.”

  “Andi, this isn’t the life I want for you.”

  “That’s not for you to decide. My life is mine. And, if I want to visit you, I will.”

  I swear, a ghost of a smile threatens to shut up the scowl, but as quickly as it appears, it’s gone. I don’t address it, don’t even hint that I saw something. All I do is nod my head and stick to my plan. I didn’t come all this way for nothing.

  “Look at you. You’re so beautiful, Andi, but you’re shaking. I can see it through the glass. I don’t want you to be scared every time you see me.”

  His tiny compliment will stay in my heart long after I leave here. It’s my little piece of hope. “I’m only scared that you’ll turn me away. Nothing about this place could stop me, Adrian. I love you, and I’ll keep reminding you until you believe me.”

  We sit in silence for a few more minutes, listening to the sound of each other breathing through the phone. I’d rather have my arms wrapped around him and his lips on mine, but right now, this is all we have.

  Two telephones.

  A piece of glass.

  And a sliver of hope.

  A guard taps Adrian on the shoulder, and without looking, he says, “I have to go.”

  “Okay,” I whisper. I knew we couldn’t sit here all day and stare at one another, but leaving hurts just as much as hearing him tell me he never read my letters. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  For once, he doesn’t argue. “Bye, Andi.”

  “Bye, Adrian.”

  I watch as he’s being led away, wondering how far away his cell is. I wonder what his cellmate is like and what they talk about to pass the time. Has he ever spoken about us, or do I only exist in his mind?

  Those thoughts stay with me while I turn in my badge and wander across the parking lot in the direction of my hotel. I glance back at the building every so often, just in case he can see me walking, waving to the imaginary Adrian that watches from his tower. When that becomes too much to handle, I pull out my phone and dial Russell’s number.

  The second he picks up, I’m excited to tell him about my visit. “I saw him.”

  Russell sighs with relief. “Thank fuck.”

  Until today, Adrian has shut out everyone but his attorney, even Camille and Russell—the two people who are determined not to give up on him. Camille has cases in New York, so she hasn’t been as involved as I hoped, but I have her full support anytime I need it. That much I know.

  Russell spends the next five minutes telling me about his conversations with Jacob Davis and that it’s going to take more than another front-page news story about Adrian for him to talk.

  “What does he want?” I ask him even though I’m afraid to hear the answer.

  “He wants an interview with you.”

  “Me? Why?”

  “Because you’re the key to Adrian. You’ve been on the run with him, Andi. That’s as good as gold in his world.”

  The media’s been having a field day with the accusations swirling around Adrian’s case. I’ve been dragged into the circus, but staying with Camille has kept me out of the limelight. Here I thought, once they hauled Brooks away, I was done hiding. Turns out, I’m still on the run—just for different reasons.

  “If you think he has information that’ll help Adrian, I’ll do whatever it takes, Russell. I’m all in.”

  Russell sighs, and I can tell he doesn’t want to put me in danger or take any unnecessary risks. Tipping off the wrong people could end up causing more harm than good.

  “He’s definitely hiding something. I hear it in his voice. He’s cautious yet curious. Like a story might be worth handing over whatever he’s holding on to.”

  “Something we can use?”

  “That’s what my gut’s telling me.”

  It might be the smartest or the dumbest move I’ve made, but unless I come up with another way to clear Adrian’s name, it looks like I’ll have to talk to Jacob. Otherwise, I’ll be visiting Adrian in that hellhole of a prison for years. I can’t let that happen.

  “Figure out a time and a place. I’ll meet him.”

  Clay

  I can’t remember the last time I handwrote a letter to a girl. It was probably back in middle school, and I stuck it in her locker for her to find. I’m sure I scribbled down a few sentences, something about wanting to make out, and told her where to meet me.

  Shit, things have changed since then. Now, I’m writing a letter from the top bunk of my cell, holding a pen and writing on a piece of paper that Jackson gave me.

  But, unlike middle school, this is a girl I really fucking love.

  Since Andi’s visit, her letters have continued to come daily, and I finally decided to open one. When words are all you have, it surprises me how meaningful they can be. I read them over and over, never growing tired of them. And I pin them to the wall next to my bed, staring at the pages until they shut off the lights at night.

  Before I fall asleep, I tell myself I’ll take down the letters in the morning, and I won’t read them again. But the morning comes, and the letters stay. Then, I promise myself I won’t open tomorrow’s letter. Yet that one gets pinned to the wall, too.

  This has gone on for days—broken promise after broken promise.

  Now, the pen is in my hand, the tip pressed to the paper, and I’m breaking another promise.

  Andi,

  I see you every night when I go to sleep. Not during the day because the prison is too ugly for a face like yours. Too violent. Cold. But, at night, when I close my eyes, I pretend I’m lying next to you, and I see you. You’re my reward for making it another day. I can’t feel your touch or your presence. A warmth doesn’t spread over me like when I’m with you. But I see you. Your eyes and those perfect pouty lips. I hold on to them as I fall asleep. And they’re the first things I think of when I wake up.

  Then, it starts over.

  Your eyes, your lips. The fights and the coldness. I get in bed, and you’re back with me.

  As much as I want to stay in bed and see you, you’re also the reason I climb out of it every morning. Your fight has inspired me, Andi. It’s made me want to face what lies beyond the bars of my cell. It makes me believe I can survive this.

  There was a time I questioned that. When I wanted to sleep until I never opened my eyes again.

  But not anymore.

  Especially not after seeing you.

  On the other side of that glass, I witnessed a fighter. A survivor with scars to prove it.

  Maybe I’ll leave here with more scars. Maybe I’ll never leave at all.

  But I know I’ll have the battle wounds to prove that I didn’t go down without a fight.

  Thank you, Andi—for that and for teaching me my worth, how to truly love, and how to fight.

  Before you, all I knew how to do was swim and run like hell.

  I can’t do either of those now.

  I can only stop myself from drowning.

  “Dillon, you have a visitor,” the guard says from my doorway.

  I glance up from the paper. It’s the same guard who came to get me when Andi visited. The same one who tapped me on the shoulder to let me know I had to leave her and return to my cell.

  “Do you know who it is?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “I’m just the messenger.”

  “All right, I just need a second.”

  I press the pen back on the page and continue writing.

  Swim for me, Andi. Run for me.

 
Continue to be my fighter.

  —Adrian

  I fold the paper and stick it into the envelope, and then I hand it to Jackson. “Can you give this to the guard when he comes to collect the mail?”

  “You got it, buddy.”

  I walk toward the door and turn around and place my hands into the slot, so the guard can cuff me. Then, I follow him down to the visitor area. This time, I’m told to go to window sixteen.

  The unknown of who’s here to see me makes me nervous.

  My attorney told me that, since my return to Colorado, my name had been all over the news. I’m sure my location has been mentioned as well, or it can easily be found. And, because I’m loathed by so many, anyone with a little pull and some cash could be on the other side of that glass. I don’t want to hear what any of those assholes have to say, nor can I listen to any more hate, more false accusations, more threats.

  They’ve finally gotten what they wanted—me imprisoned.

  Now, I just want to be left the fuck alone.

  I slowly approach the booth and stop to peek around the partition. I see a shaved head, tan skin, a body too big for the chair.

  Jesus, I’m relieved that it’s Russell.

  I pick up the phone and take a seat.

  “Hey, man,” he says.

  I haven’t spoken to him since I was arrested in Brooks’s motel room. He sent me a letter during my first week in prison. I didn’t write back. Until Andi’s visit, I didn’t want to speak to anyone besides my mom and my lawyer.

  “You’re a long ways from Miami, aren’t you?”

  He laughs and looks down the hallway, and then he slowly glances back at me. I’m jealous of all the sunshine he’s gotten. Of the carefree laugh. Of the unsupervised shaving he’s done on his face.

  “I’m here on business.”

  I know this isn’t about the money I owe him for finding Andi. He told me in his letter that I didn’t owe him anything, so I can’t imagine what he’s here to discuss.

  “What kind of business?”

  “You’re my client now, Adrian.”

  I shake my head. “My lawyer’s got this shit handled.”

  “Fuck that. If she had shit handled, then you wouldn’t be in here. I’m doing everything I can behind the scenes, but there are some details that only you can tell me.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like everything you know about Ravi Sharp.”

  It’s an easier question than I thought he was going to ask.

  “He was my business partner,” I say. “We did multiple deals together. All of them went really well and were profitable.” I’ve thought about this for so long. Did I miss the signs? Had he been stabbing me in the back since we met? “At some point, he turned against me.”

  He’s holding the phone between his ear and shoulder and writing on a piece of paper, which I assume means he’s taking notes. “I need to know how you met him. How you two communicated and anyone associated with him whom you think I should look into.”

  “This is going to take more than one visit.”

  He smiles. “Take your time, man. I haven’t booked my return flight yet.”

  I’m sure Ravi has destroyed any paperwork that he kept, but I know most of his communication is done through email. It’s how we passed documents back and forth and how we contacted the manufacturing company. Something as simple as a few sentences could prove my innocence. I just hope to hell I can give Russell what he needs in order to find it.

  “Ravi is the mastermind behind the marketing and promotions of the Olympic swim team. He has been for years. We met when I made the team and started working together almost immediately. I did my due diligence. He checked out just fine.”

  “Well then, do you have any idea why he went to France six times within the last year?”

  “Wait.” I have to make sure I heard him correctly. “You’re telling me he took commercial flights to France? Six times? All within a year?”

  How did I miss this?

  A member of our swim team, especially someone on staff, can’t just go to France without being noticed. The French are our biggest rivals. They trash us in the news. They fight with us on social media. They don’t just want to see us lose; they want to take us down, and they make that known.

  Russell leans toward the glass even though it doesn’t help me hear him any clearer. “Ravi flew private. None of the flights were paid for by him. He was just a passenger. But his cell phone proved that he was there, and then the flight logs confirmed it.”

  My hand shakes underneath the desk that my stomach is leaning against. If it wouldn’t land me in the hole—confinement worse than what I’m already in—my hand would be punching the glass.

  There’s no fucking reason Ravi would have gone to France if he were on our side.

  He’s flipped.

  And I’m the one who’s taking the fall.

  Andi

  Camille’s sitting two tables down from me, far enough away that you’d never suspect we’re together.

  When I tried to tell her I could handle meeting with Jacob on my own, she shot down the idea before I could blink.

  “Absolutely not,” she said in a rush as she stuffed important court documents into a folder and tossed them inside her bag.

  Now that the meeting is about to happen and I’m so close to the lead I need, I’m thankful she’s here. Jacob could be a perfect gentleman, or he could be nothing more than a slimy reporter searching for a story that will launch his paper back into the spotlight. If he capitalized on Adrian once, I’m almost positive he’d do it again.

  Russell warned me to be careful, to tread lightly, until I heard Jacob’s terms. I was only leaving Adrian’s side once, so that meant if Jacob wanted to see me, he had to play by my rules. Thankfully, he agreed.

  Now, with Adrian’s last letter folded in my pocket, I run my fingers over the paper he touched, praying it brings me the confidence and clarity I need to get through today. Because, if I want to have a future with him—a real future with a family and kids—I have to be strong for the both of us. I have to take those chances I keep talking about.

  As the waiter fills my water for the second time, I glance over the rim and look in Camille’s direction. She’s always watching, ready to jump in and save me.

  Her uneasiness sends my imagination into overdrive. Suddenly, I picture Jacob standing me up, choosing to go for a story with Ravi instead. I remind myself Jacob doesn’t have the same information about Ravi that we do. He’s only in the back of my mind because Adrian already knows Ravi is responsible for bringing him down.

  “Andi.”

  I quickly glance at Camille, and she’s on the edge of her seat, watching as Jacob pulls out the chair across from me and sits down, not even bothering to shake my hand.

  I grip the edge of the table, thankful Ravi didn’t get wind of this meeting and intercept him first. It wouldn’t matter how bad Jacob wanted to talk to me, I wouldn’t be able to compete with hush money.

  “Jacob, it’s nice to meet you.”

  He smirks, but it’s not the kind that makes my skin crawl. It’s more like he’s sitting on information that’s burning a hole in his briefcase, and he’s excited to unload it.

  “I’ll cut right to the chase,” he says.

  My heart thumps wildly against my breastbone. I feel it; this is going to be the game changer for Adrian.

  Jacob pulls out an envelope and slides it in front of me.

  “What’s this?”

  “This,” he says before pausing until my eyes meet his, “is going to free Adrian.”

  Could it really be this easy? Would a stranger just show up and hand me evidence that would overturn a possible conviction? There’s gotta be more to this.

  “Jacob, I know you expect a story, and I’ll try to give you what you need, but why are you doing this? What’s in it for you other than a story?”

  Jacob leans against the back of his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. It
’s a power move, one that screams, I’m calling the shots, and I’ll get what I want.

  But then his phone buzzes with a text, and his entire demeanor softens. Smiling as he reads it, he quickly types back and then focuses his attention on me again. “My wife. She’s the levelheaded one—the one who convinced me I had to do this.”

  “Okay. What do you have on Adrian?”

  “Andi, after the story first broke and Adrian’s name was plastered all over the news, I followed closely. Before working at the Free Press, I had worked as a reporter, covering everything from sports and weather to writing obituaries. Wherever there was a need, I filled it. During that time, I crossed paths with all kinds of people from all walks of life. But there was one person in particular that fascinated me—Adrian Dillon.”

  “Why?” My palms start to sweat because it doesn’t seem like he’s out to get Adrian, yet he still has his game face on—a game face I can’t get a read on.

  “Maybe it was his drive, or maybe it was his success. Everything he touched seemed to turn to gold. That kind of magnetism and electricity doesn’t come along often. So, I followed him and continued to do my other assignments. I read all the articles written about him. Watched all the interviews he gave. So, when the fallout happened, I knew something wasn’t right. Adrian wasn’t that kind of guy.”

  “What did you do then?”

  “I started looking at the people around him—his team and advisors. I figured, if there were a weak link, it would be there. And I was right.”

  I glance at the envelope sitting in front of me, afraid to look, but afraid not to. “What did you find, Jacob?”

  He nods toward the envelope. “Take a look.”

  The logical part of my brain tells me I shouldn’t touch the envelope because, once my prints are on it, it could incriminate me. Russell’s warning is loud and clear. But you can’t dangle closure in front of my face and expect me to turn a blind eye.

  Camille’s still watching every move I make. The suspense is killing her, too, because she gives me one strong nod, and I know I have her approval.