For the Win

by Rochelle Allison

  “I just needed some quiet, you know?” Now she looks at me, eyes skirting from my face to my bare chest...and then lower. For once there’s no hate or regret in her eyes—just a sort of sleepy wistfulness.

  I nod, yawning again. “It’s been a busy day and tomorrow will be worse.”

  Crickets and cicadas fill the night air with their noise, while trucks barrel down the nearby highway. I lean against the doorframe, unsure of what to do. I’m about to leave her when she says, “Lay down with me?”

  She scoots over, leaving me space on my foam mattress and, despite my reservations and the comfort of a real bed upstairs, I crawl in.

  This space is small for one person, so there’s no way for our bodies not to press against one another. Melina remains still, facing the ceiling and I do the same.

  “So what’s going on?” I ask her.

  Her sigh rattles her chest. “I’m excited. And nervous. And anxious.”

  “Nerv-cited? Or N-anxious?”

  “Shut up.” Her hand slaps my chest, warm and familiar. She moves it quickly, but I snatch it out of the air, linking her fingers with mine. It’s impulsive, but it feels right.

  “You’re going to be great.”

  “I’m worried about Allie.”

  I shift to look at her. “Yeah?”

  “Her Achilles’. I don’t know. Never tell her I said this, but I’m surprised they’ve kept her on the team. She’s struggling. I doubt she’ll get to play. It almost seems weird that they’d bring her.”

  My chest tightens. “Maybe it’s not as bad as it seems? The PT is clearing her for play, right?”

  “Yeah. I can just tell, I guess. We’ve played together for so long. She’s off. And…”

  “And what?”

  “I feel like a total bitch for saying this, but... what if it hurts our chances?” She bites her lip, conflicted. “If it was anyone else I’d have a problem with it.”

  She’s right, of course. The entire reason I’ve been brought in is to strengthen the second line after Saxon’s injury. I want to tell Melina the truth—that Allie is here because of me, but I can’t. No one can know that.

  “It’s not our job to second-guess the coaches,” I say after a moment.

  She reaches for the ceiling, picking at the rough edge of peeling paint. “I know—and you’re right. I’m just nerv-cited.”

  A motorcycle screams down the highway, startling the silence. I scratch my chest, feeling the van grow warm with our combined body heat. I break the silence and say, “I don’t know if it matters, but I’m really proud of you.”

  The mattress shifts, and I look over to see those brown eyes blinking at me. “I’m proud of you, too.”

  Our fingers are still linked. I rub my thumb over her hand, and she reaches up, rubbing the hair on my jaw. God, I’d give anything to kiss her right now. Just once, to pretend I’d never blown it with her, to taste her mouth and feel her skin against mine. The air turns thick and her lips part and my heart hammers so hard she must hear it. I’m wondering what she’d do if I took a chance when the van door opens with a loud slide.

  “Uh, what’s going on?” Allie asks.

  I give Melina one last look but she’s already up on her elbow, smiling at my sister. “Just some last minute jitters.”

  “Yours or his?”

  I press my back against the mattress and shift over, smashing Melina into the crates. “Come on,” I say, making room for my sister. “We’ll all freak out together.”

  I lift my arms and they both snuggle against my sides. For the first time in years we’re bound together again.

  And for the first time in forever a sense of peace settles in my bones.

  Part 3

  Rio

  Chapter 30

  The truth about the US Men’s National Team is that we haven’t played competitively in the Olympics for the last two games. The age range for the athletes is U23, meaning all players have to be under the age of twenty-three. The big guns on our World Cup team are older, stronger players with more experience, and we managed to squeak through, beating Colombia 2-1 in the qualifiers.

  Both the women’s and men’s teams get to Rio early, our matches starting before the Opening Ceremonies. We’re at different fields, in different cities, but I hear the news that the women beat New Zealand on Wednesday. Melina scored two goals. Allie rode the bench, but in the TV clip we watched in our room, she was smiling with pride after the win.

  I hold a similar position—deep on the sidelines. Dom crushes it, blocking a handful of shots, but our defense is strong. He takes a major hit in the second half, and for a brief second I think Mitchell may put me in, but Dom waves medical off and finishes the game, clobbering Sweden 5-1.

  It’s not until after those matches are over that I get my first real taste of the Athlete’s Village, which has the look and feel of a small city. Clusters of high rises shoot toward the sky, providing lodging to the thousands of participants.

  The place is like a compound—if not an actual fortress. The Village is known for being a safe place for athletes. No press, family or visitors are allowed outside of specific areas and even then only with approved access. Each athlete and coach is given a card on a lanyard we’re to wear at all times unless actively competing. The card gets us into our rooms, the dining area, gyms and medical center. For an adult it’s like being at an all-inclusive resort. For the underage athletes, like the gymnasts, it’s a taste of delirious freedom. For the first time in their lives they aren’t under the constant supervision of coaches and parents. I pass a group on the way to the gym and feel the glee vibrating off their tiny bodies.

  Not everyone’s checked in when we first arrive, but by Friday morning the hallways and walkways are crowded with thousands of the world’s best athletes.

  Rory and I room together along with Pollard and Johnson. I can only assume the room-assigners figured it would be good to give me a stable—religious—roommate to lessen my temptation. It’s way better than dealing with Mendez and Dom all day, though, so I won’t complain.

  The atmosphere in the Village is intense. Even the dining area feels frenetic, high-octane energy pulsing through the room filled with unfamiliar faces and languages. A group of German weightlifters chant and laugh loudly as we pass, muscles bulging beneath their red, black and gold tracksuits. Allie texts her location. Rory follows me through the crowd, and we sit with our food trays at the seats she’s saved us.

  “Isn’t this the wildest thing you’ve ever seen?” she gushes, unable to drag her eyes from the room.

  “I guess it’s what happens when you have so much adrenaline in such a small proximity,” I agree, understanding a little better what the guys were saying in the locker room the other day. Win or lose, play or not, why not let loose a little? Especially once your personal event is over?

  A tray clatters down on the table next to mine. Melina looks frazzled, hair slipping from her ponytail. Easing into a seat she says, “Holy crap, that was intense.”

  My sister leans over the table. “What?”

  “I got invited to like, six parties.” She takes a sip of her drink.

  “Six? Who were they?” Allie asks.

  Apart from a shared glance, Rory and I keep quiet. I know he’s thinking what I’m thinking.

  “I don’t even know.” Melina turns, glancing over her shoulder. “Those guys...they’re from Britain. I think they’re track and field. And those guys in the green? Archery.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said thanks and ran off. Of course Lucy stuck around to get the room and building numbers.” Allie snorts; their team’s left back is known for her fondness for men. “I’m here to win,” Melina continues, waving a carrot stick around. “Not party like a bunch of sorority girls. I mean, you know, not until later maybe.”

  Like us, the women have matches lasting the majority of the games. Schedules like that will definitely cut into the partying, for those interested. “Are you guys ready
for the Opening Ceremonies?” Rory asks.

  “They delivered our outfits today. What the heck is up with those hats?” I shudder. The uniform committee went a little overboard this year and I imagine by the time it’s over every blog and newspaper will have opinions on our not-so-stylish clothing.

  “The winter games seem to get the better outfits. They get Tommy Hilfiger’s cozy sweaters.” Melina stabs at a piece of pineapple on her plate. “While we’re stuck in white shorts and polyester blazers.”

  “I kind of like it,” Rory says. “It’s classic.”

  “That’s because you look cute in anything,” Allie says, prompting a blush to spread over his cheeks.

  I give my sister a look because the last thing I need is her encouraging Rory. Between her break up with Marcus and her heel problems, she’s changed—especially with the way she relates to guys. It’s a confidence thing. She and Melina have always been independent, but lately there’s a falter in her step and as her brother I can’t help but notice she’s trying to fill a hole.

  The irony of my thoughts strikes me. When did I become the stable twin?

  Chapter 31

  August 6

  (Women Play/Men Rest)

  It’s dusk and I’m on my way back from the med center. With the travel and change in altitude, the team doctors want to keep an eye on my levels. A muffled grunt snags my attention, and I look over at the grassy area next to my dorm. And then I look again, because what looked like two bears wrestling in the shadowy light reveals itself to be a man and a woman. And they’re wrestling, all right.

  Okay, they’re having sex. Outside. I try not to see what flags are embroidered on the jackets tossed to the side. I don’t want to know.

  I’m still mentally scrubbing my brain when I come face to face with Allie and Melina on the walkway.

  “Jules!” Allie shouts, louder than necessary. “Where have you been?”

  “Hey,” I start, but my greeting is crushed under her weight as she throws her arms around my neck. Her breath reeks of alcohol. I hike an eyebrow over her shoulder at Melina, but she just shakes her head. The frown on her lips tells me everything I need to know.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, removing myself from Allie’s grip.

  “Letting loose post win, you know,” she says, sighing happily. “Experiencing The Village.”

  “You’ve still got matches coming up.”

  She shrugs. “No, we’ve got two rest days coming up...and it’s not like I’m getting any playing time.”

  “You may,” Melina interjects.

  Allie makes a face at her best friend. “Remember that time we all went out before the Southeastern Conference game and got smashed and still won the next day?”

  “I remember you puking in our hotel room at 3 AM.”

  “Lighten up, Mel. We’re only going to get one chance to experience this and I, for one, am not wasting it.” She throws up a peace sign and walks backwards. “I’ll be over at high-rise thirteen. They’re having a party.”

  Melina and I are left alone on the walkway. Music pulses nearby, seeping from the walls of yet another party. Relieved the wrestling bears are tucked away out of sight, I fall into step with Melina, heading in the direction of building thirteen.

  “Feels a little bit like Lexington Acres, right?” I say. I’ve had the strangest sense of familiarity since we’d arrived. The variety of languages and skin tones remind me of home.

  “A little bit,” she agrees.

  A breeze ruffles her hair, and I catch the scent of that damn shampoo again...or maybe it’s her perfume... or maybe it’s just her laundry detergent. Suddenly, I have little interest in spending another night alone in my room.

  “Now that your wing-girl left you, what are your plans for the night?”

  Her eyes don’t connect with mine. “I was headed over to twenty-three.”

  Twenty-three is the building closest to The Village practice pools. The swimmer dorm.

  “Oh.”

  “Tyson offered me a couple tickets for the meet tomorrow morning. Relays. They’re nearly impossible to get.”

  “Yeah, I heard that. Everyone loves those events.”

  “I’m giving my dad the other ticket…” Her voice fades. I’m not sure why this is awkward, other than the fact maybe there’s a reason it should be awkward. Is she actually into Tyson? I wouldn’t blame her. He’ll be on the cover of a dozen magazine covers by the end of the week. “But after that I’ll probably just head to bed and try to ignore the fact Allie is off making a fool of herself.”

  I give her a weak smile. “Same.”

  Another group of athletes passes us, laughing and headed in the direction of thirteen. A couple wearing two different flags kiss passionately, and I can only assume it’s another random hook-up.

  “Sometimes I wish I could relax like that, you know?”

  There’s an almost wistful quality to Melina’s voice. I glance down at her, noticing how the fading daylight darkens her eyes. “What’s that?”

  “I’m just not that person—the one that can party while I’m focused on an important series like this. How do they do that? Separate the two?”

  I laugh darkly. “I’m clearly not the one to ask. I was a miserable failure at balancing partying successfully with games.”

  We walk without speaking then, and it’s fine until Melina sighs, nodding toward another building. “I’m gonna go on in. Tyson will probably be in bed by nine...their coach sets an early curfew.”

  I don’t really want to think of Tyson, the Adonis-like swimmer, in bed. “Let me know if you need any help with Al tonight, okay?”

  “Yeah, thanks. I’m sure she’ll be fine. She just needs to blow off some steam. She’s frustrated.”

  “For what it’s worth, you played a great game.” I smile, wishing it was normal for me to give her a hug. “I’m glad you’re doing so well.”

  “Thanks, Jules.”

  The old nickname kindles something warm in me. She turns, walking briskly toward the swimmer dorm, and I watch her go.

  *

  I’m in the middle of my third set of push-ups when I hear a soft knock at my door. Pollard holed up in his room hours ago to Skype with his very pregnant wife, and Rory and Johnson are both out, having gone to meet their families for dinner. Left on my own, and still humming from the events of the day, I finally caved and poured my excess energy into a late night workout.

  Hopping off the ground, I grab a protein bar. Half of it’s already shoved in my mouth when I swing open the door and find Melina on the other side. I chew and swallow, looking around for anyone else, but the hallway is empty and quiet.

  “Hey. Everything okay? Allie?”

  “She’s fine, or so she said in her text ten minutes ago. Said she’d be back in the room by curfew.” Different teams have different rules. The gymnastic and swimming coaches are hard core, as are track and field. Mitchell wants us back in our rooms by midnight, but no one is keeping track. The women’s coach has similar expectations.

  I glance at my watch; it’s nearing eleven.

  “Good, that’s good.” I nod, waiting, but Melina just stands in the doorway, hands shoved in her back pockets. It’s kind of uncharacteristic of her. “Did you need something?”

  She swallows, looking like she may walk off without ever saying anything, but then in a strained voice asks, “Can I, uh, come in?”

  “Oh.” I step aside, gesturing. “Sure.”

  She brushes past me and I close the door. The four of us share a small two bedroom, one bath. There’s a kitchenette with a tiny living room, complete with two uncomfortable chairs and a small love seat. A gift basket on the countertop is filled with local treats as well as brochures on the Village, health information about the Zika crisis. There were a ton of condoms, too, most of which are already scattered across the hard surface of the counter. Stopping at the mini-fridge, I grab a bottle of water and offer her one.

  She shakes her head. “I’m okay
.”

  I join her in the living room, watching as she looks around.

  “Our suite is the same but just flipped.” She points to the other side of the room. “The kitchen is over there.” I nod, following her gaze. And then her eyes slide over me, like she’s seeing me for the first time since she walked in. “Were you working out?”

  “Yeah—just some extra energy.”

  She nods, understanding. “It’s so hard to channel it. The games, the adrenaline, the…” She gestures, searching for a word. “All the stuff going on around The Village.”

  “Definitely.”

  The silence stretches between us. Melina’s hands clench together, so hard I’m afraid they’ll crack. She still hasn’t said why she’s here, so I wait, feeling my heartbeat slow from the pushups. I’m about to ask her what the hell’s going on when she coughs and says, “I’m tired of holding it together, Jules.”

  I set my bottle on the edge of the couch.

  “Everyone is out there having the time of their lives, and I’m walking around like some kind of room-mother, checking on the players, making sure everyone is safe.”

  “Is that why you’re here? To check on me? Because I promise I’m doing everything—“

  “No.” She cuts me off. “Believe it or not you’re the only one I felt like I could come to. You’ve been really steady this whole time.”

  “I’m trying. Push-ups help.” I laugh but she doesn’t join in. “What can I do to make this easier on you? I can talk to Allie if you want—I know she’s a little out of sorts. Riding the bench, the fear over her injury...she’s blowing off steam, but I can try to rein her in a little.”

  “Thanks, but Allie’s not really the problem.” Her teeth press into her bottom lip. “It would be nice to have someone, you know, to lean on.”

  “Lean on?”

  Her cheeks flush. “Like, no strings attached.”

  I blink and cross my arms over my chest, trying to determine if I heard right. No strings attached means one thing and one thing only. It’s generally not a concept I’d ever assign to Melina.