That afternoon she took me to her yoga class. Her friends were dying to meet me. It would be good for me to get out of the house. She had a whole bunch of reasons, and I figured I owed her one. She was being pretty decent putting up with all my moping around, eating her out of house and home.
I gave new meaning to the phrase “fish out of water.” A huge, gangly thing in the midst of a whole bunch of 50 and 60-something women who could still practically touch their noses to their knees, we all had moments of laughter. Afterward, the instructor gave me a little talking to about the importance of taking care of myself now that I was transitioning into a new phase of life.
“You don’t want to sit around on the couch all day!” she cautioned me. “Keep moving!” I shot my mother a look and she gave me the “I didn’t say a word” innocent look back. Because, yes, that was exactly what I had been doing.
Later at the house, she made us some tea. I watched her putter around, humming to herself. Maybe she’d changed. Or maybe I’d been wrong. I might have been buying into my father’s portrayal of her. She seemed so much happier now. I guessed in the past I’d seen her so frequently with my father, fighting her way through that incendiary battleground. Without him, in her own context, she was much more peaceful.
“Blow on it, it’s hot,” she warned me, as if I weren’t 26 with years of experience living on my own. I smiled. I guessed once a mom, always a mom.
Then, all casual, as if it were a continuation of a topic of conversation, she said, “She hasn’t published a story on you, you know.”
I looked up at her, wondering if she was talking about what I thought she was.
“I’ve been checking,” she continued, stirring a drizzle of honey into her tea. “There hasn’t been a single post on that blog.”
I’d been checking, too. Every morning—or afternoon, sometimes I didn’t really make it out of bed until after noon—wondering if I was going to go online and find a play-by-play account of the accident. But I never did.
My father hadn’t thought to ask. He assumed I’d never told Emma a word about it. I wasn’t supposed to, and I knew he never would have opened up like that. He wasn’t that kind of a guy.
My mother had made the opposite assumption.
“Have you spoken with her since Rio?” she asked.
“No.” I had not picked up the phone. Emma had sent me an email that I childishly hadn’t opened yet. And a text that said, “I miss you.” I hadn’t responded.
“You seemed happy with her, Chase. Happier than I think I’ve ever seen you.”
I didn’t have much to say to that. Out in my mother’s yard, a bunny was hopping in the bushes. I watched it, thinking that would be much easier, being a rabbit. Then you just had to worry about food and shelter. And bobcats and cars. Maybe being a bunny wasn’t such a great idea.
“I know you’re probably not going to like me saying this.” She paused, as she got my attention. “Chase, don’t be like your father. He holds on to grudges like nobody I’ve ever met. And he’s never happy unless he’s on the hunt, after a new woman, a new business deal that’s going to take him to the next level. But he’s never satisfied. Never.”
She was right. I didn’t like hearing it from her. I’d never liked being put in the middle while they badmouthed each other. But now, at 26, there was another reason I didn’t like listening to her. I knew what she said was true.
I had a lot of my father in me. The relentless drive, the constant striving for an ideal of perfection. He was a restless, unhappy man, always focused on the next rung, never enjoying what he had around him.
“You need to figure out what makes you happy,” she continued advising me, giving me pearls of wisdom I didn’t quite know what to do with. “And the good thing is, you have so many options. You’ve got a degree from one of the top universities in the world. You’ve proven that you’re one of the best athletes of all time. I’m sure people are tripping over themselves to get you on board with any number of ventures. You just need to pick the right one.”
I nodded, still silent in the face of her eloquence. I knew, in my heart, what she said was true. But I felt strangely adrift, unable to articulate my next step. I guessed that might be expected when you’d had tunnel vision for so long. Once you finally got out of the long, dark stretch, what had once been a pinpoint of light engulfed you. It could feel blinding and disorienting.
“Why don’t you go visit Liam?” she suggested, moving to the pantry to take out some biscuits. “You’re welcome to stay here, but I think a visit would do you good. Liam’s a true friend.”
Of all the things she said, I found that the most surprising. I’d always thought she didn’t approve of Liam, so working class, so uncultured. But, maybe I’d been wrong? Or maybe she’d changed? Either way, she was right. I should head out to Naugatuck. Where it had all begun.
§
“Mom! Your boy’s back!” Liam announced my presence to his mother, who was in the kitchen as usual.
“Hello Mrs. Connolly.” I followed him in.
“Look at you!” She came at me, wearing an apron, a full foot shorter but reaching up to pinch my cheeks. “So big!” she marveled, taking a step back.
Looking between me and Liam, who was a big guy himself, almost my height, she shook her head. “I remember you two when you came up to here.” She motioned to her shoulder. “And neither of you ever once asked me if you could get so big. I never gave my permission.”
“Hi, Ma.” Liam gave her a bear hug and she shooed him off, telling him she had to go stir the sauce.
I delighted her, as usual, with my third and then fourth helping. “I made extra knowing you were coming!” she declared. She loved how much I ate, though I knew I should probably start dialing it back. I wasn’t swimming and working out for six hours a day every day anymore.
Afterward, Liam and I retired out back. Technically, Liam lived with his mother, a fact I liked to tease him about. Logistically, he had his own place, a converted barn right on the water. His family had lived on Naugatuck for generations, and they’d snapped up a prime piece of real estate back before the island was developed into its current upmarket tourist destination. Now, the Connolly property, over an acre right on the ocean, was likely worth at least five million. But they weren’t selling.
“How’s your mom doing?” I asked him as we settled out on the deck with beers. The ocean breeze on a warm summer night, the sound of the waves lapping against the shore, it was a bit of all right.
Liam took a swig before he answered. “She’s a trooper. But I worry about her.” That was another reason he was living there with his mom. His father had died of a sudden heart attack about a year ago. A big man with a voracious appetite for all the good in life—food, drink, laughter, family, friends—I was sure he was sorely missed. I’d flown back for the funeral, but I hadn’t exactly been around much to see how the family was coping in his absence.
“How’s your mom?” Liam asked. “Did she make that face when you told her you were coming to visit me?” He twisted his face like he was sucking on a lemon. The Liam face, we’d called it. I swear, my mom used to be much more uptight. She’d never liked how much time I spent with the Connolly family over the summers.
I surprised him by telling him how much she’d mellowed out. “She actually was the one who suggested I come visit.”
“No.” He shook his head, refusing to believe it.
“Scout’s honor,” I swore.
“You never were a scout.” He called me on that one. That was the problem with old friends, they knew you too well.
We sat out for a while, shooting the shit, sometimes not saying much of anything, and then he came out with it. “So, have you given her a call? Or are you being an idiot?”
“Jesus, you too?” I knew exactly who he meant. First, my mother had defended Emma, suggesting I give her another chance. Now it seemed Liam was on the same bandwagon.
“I’m not going to ride you,” he assure
d me. “I’m just telling you you’re being an idiot.”
“Is that right?”
“That’s right.”
“How do you know I haven’t called her?”
“Because I know you, Chevy.”
I reminded him of the circumstances. “She lied to me. The whole thing was a lie.”
“Don’t go all drama queen on me.”
I huffed and puffed, my feathers all ruffled like…a drama queen. I took a sip of my beer, trying to keep an open mind instead of defend myself. “So what do you think, then?” I asked. “Do you think it was all made up? Because she told me herself, she’s a blogger.”
“I think she did something stupid.”
I snorted. What she’d done was more than stupid. She’d been purposely deceitful, lying to me for weeks. She only came clean because a blog forced her to do it.
“She made a mistake because she’s human,” Liam continued. “But I bet she regrets it now.”
“I bet she does.” The tone of my voice conveyed my mixed emotions. She might regret it for a lot of reasons. Like because her identity got unveiled and she couldn’t blog anonymously anymore. Or maybe she was catching some flack for it back at work.
“That girl likes you.” Liam looked over at me. “A lot. She wasn’t faking that.”
I looked out at the dark horizon, the sun down but still leaving the darkest shade of purple above the black ocean.
“You stay here and have some deep thoughts.” He stood and clapped me on the shoulder. “I’m going to head in. I’ve got to be at the station at five tomorrow. You’ve got the couch there for you when you want it.”
“Thanks,” I grumbled. But I did mean it.
“That couch is wicked comfortable,” he added over his shoulder. He’d added in the “wicked” for me. As native Massholes, we felt it was our birthright to use the word from time to time.
“I know,” I answered. I’d slept on that wicked comfortable couch many times before.
He left me out on the deck with my beer, the ocean and my deep thoughts. I only had one thought, really. I missed Emma. I missed the way she laughed and the sweet blush she’d get when I talked dirty to her, but she’d always flush with arousal, too. I missed making her smoothies, hearing her tell me about her family or the run she was going to do that day. I missed the feel of her hands on me, kneading, massaging, stroking. I missed the way she looked when she came, glistening with sweat, panting, her mouth open with pleasure. I missed everything about her.
I gazed out on the water, where I’d nearly died 12 years ago. Right off of that coast. That was the worst thing that had ever happened to me. I still had nightmares about it to this day.
But it had also given me purpose. It had fired up an iron resolve that had powered me through all of my achievements, driving me past normal human limits to achieve something no one had before. I’d set a world record. All because I had to prove it to myself. I wasn’t the weakling who’d gotten tossed off the boat, letting my friend get trapped in a fire. The worst disaster had helped bring about the best achievement in my life.
Maybe disasters didn’t have to stay that way? Maybe the world wasn’t as black and white as I’d thought. And maybe the best thing that had ever happened to me wasn’t my gold medals or my world record. Maybe it was Emma.
I stood up and headed inside. I had an email sitting unopened in my inbox. It was time to read it.
CHAPTER 21
Emma
“How’s that? All right for you?” I gently helped my client into a seated position. She was close to 80 and recovering from hip replacement surgery. It was a tough road, especially for those without a history of exercise. I was working with her twice a week, and she was seeing a therapist in the pool the days she didn’t work with me.
“I think you’re coming along nicely,” I assured her, helping her get to standing. She still had a long way to go, but she could do it.
“Thank you, dear.” She patted my hand. “You’re a real godsend.” I held the door open for her, wishing I believed even half of the compliment.
It had been three weeks since the games, and I still felt like something scraped off the bottom of a shoe. I usually liked September, the temperatures in Florida starting to cool slightly, the kids with their new school backpacks. But this year I wasn’t enjoying myself too much.
I’d moved back in with my parents, on a temporary basis. It was time to find my own place, not living with Tori anymore. That had gone on for too long.
I wasn’t even angry at Tori. She’d behaved in exactly the same way she always did, impulsive, emotional and a little careless. She hadn’t been trying to do me harm. She wasn’t malicious, but she wasn’t always a good friend. I didn’t plan on cutting her out of my life, but I wasn’t going to let her in as close anymore. The best friends forever thing had worn out its welcome. Probably several years ago, if I was honest.
We’d had a couple of conversations as I’d packed up my things, officially moving out at the end of August. She’d even attempted to help, a little, but sorting, organizing and folding wasn’t exactly her thing. One afternoon, she’d come and sat at the end of my bed.
I was a big believer in weeding out your closet. I’d rather have a few, simple things that fit me well and made me feel attractive than a closet full of random stuff. I was trying to get rid of things, bring them to Goodwill instead of just pile everything into suitcases and lug it around with me. I wasn’t a big new-agey person, obsessed with chakras and auras and all that, but I did feel like I needed a fresh start. New karma in my life, I guess you could say. Out with the old, in with the new.
Tori started offering advice, which ran diametrically opposed to my own instincts.
“You have to keep that!” she insisted, at the exact moment I was tossing something into the giveaway pile. I tried not to see it as symbolic, but it happened anyway. We were so different, she and I. Maybe we always had been. I’d been holding on to our friendship, but at the expense of moving on, myself.
“You’re sure you want to move out?” She looked wistful as she asked, and I was sure part of her felt that way. But I also knew she already had another roommate lined up, a friend from the restaurant where she waitressed. Her new roommate was the type who would stay out all night with Tori, instead of suggesting she switch to water around two a.m. when she realized she’d lost her panties. Without me as her emergency break, Tori might get into a lot more trouble. But she needed to sort that out herself. It didn’t really make either of us happy when I played that role.
“Are you still mad at me?” she asked, biting her nails. I’d assured her on several occasions that, no, I was not mad at her. I’d been angry when I’d first found out. But since then? The only person I was really mad at was myself.
I’d been so stupid. And Tori was right, the whole idea of scooping Chase had been my idea in the first place. Months and months ago we’d been sitting around, eating nachos late at night, playing the “who’s hotter” game. Chris or Liam Hemsworth? Buster Posey or Jonathan Lucroy? (Shout out to the catchers so hot they burned up their face masks!) I’d posed the question, who’s hotter, the Aussie swimmer James Magnussen or Chase Carter?
“Who?” Tori had shocked and appalled me by asking. She followed baseball, not swimming. That had led to some Google searches, which had led to some drooling, and the idle statement by me, “lucky physical therapist who gets to work with him.”
Tori had given me that look, the one that said, “that’s not such a bad idea.” And once I’d remembered he had that mysterious, untold backstory, it was all over. We were on the idea like white on rice. She’d gotten her job in PR, I’d started pursuing mine with the team, and the rest was history. I couldn’t pretend I hadn’t had a full part in coming up with the scheme.
My father had said it to me, back in Rio. I couldn’t change the past. All I could control was my behavior moving forward. It was up to me to decide how I was going to handle things in the future. Better, I ho
ped.
Which was why I’d brought up the whole thing with my boss. She was a big, intimidating woman who’d played water polo in college and still enjoyed hammering her opponents in supposedly “recreational” game play in her master’s league.
Hesitant, guilty, I’d asked if I could meet with her on my first day back in the office. She’d been eating a large pastrami sandwich while we spoke, the multiple layers of tomato and lettuce dropping out as she took bites.
“Spit it out,” she’d said to me, spitting out a few things, herself.
“Um, it’s about something you might read about me online. On a blog?”
“Have you broken the law?” She locked me in her steely gaze.
“No! No, nothing like that.”
“Then I don’t care.”
“Well, you might.” I didn’t want to push. She’d just given me a get out of jail free card. But I didn’t want any more unfinished business, any more worries about untold truths. “It might affect your opinion of me as a professional working for you.”
“Are you still the same person you were when you left here a month ago?”
“Yes.” Honestly, I felt pretty different. But as far as she was concerned, I had the same skills as a physical therapist.
“Then we’re good. Let me eat my lunch.” She motioned to the door. She wasn’t being rude; she was just to the point.
“Hey,” she called after me as I got up to leave. “What happens in the Village, stays in the Village.” And she gave me a wink.
Maybe she had seen that article after all.
§
I wanted to spend a lot of time crying. Behind closed doors, in bed, covers drawn up, shades pulled down. That was part of why it was good that I was between apartments. My parents weren’t having it. Up early every morning, they usually let me sleep until around eight. But that was it.
I’d hear a tap, tap on my door. “Hey honey, I’m heading to the Farmer’s Market. Let’s go pick some corn for dinner.”
Or, “Come on with me to the center. They need someone to help with the littles.” The facility where my mom worked had a large pool, and to make some extra income they offered community swim lessons. With the younger learn-to-swims, they needed to keep the student-to-teacher ratio low, and they were always happy when I could help out. A little extra cash in my pocket didn’t hurt, either.
In Deep: Chase & Emma (All In Book 1) Page 21
