CHAPTER 32
ALEXANDRA
After the sponsorship dinner, I let myself hope that something between us had shifted.
That maybe Olivia would unblock me, even in the smallest, quietest way.
But nothing came. Every channel was still sealed shut, every line still a wall.
I told myself to accept it for now, to sit with the distance, even as it burned.
When the time came, I’d earn her trust again, if not as more, then at least as a friend.
But that was a problem for later. The Olympics were too close now.
No longer a distant dream dangling in front of me, they were real.
I’d sealed my qualification through months of brutal consistency, early mornings, controlled races, finishing strong when my body begged me not to.
Olympics was calling, and I had to answer with every shred of focus I had.
I still spoke with my therapist from time to time, less than before, but enough to steady me when the nerves clawed up my chest. I was doing better but the anxiety still lingered. This was the Olympics. Everyone was counting on me, and the pressure pressed harder than any race clock.
On the plane bound for France, I sat among the Philippine delegation, the boxers, both men and women, filled rows with their booming laughter.
The gymnasts, some Manila-born and others Fil-Am, whispered in bursts of Taglish that even I could follow.
Around us were athletes from every corner of Philippine sport, each delegation carrying the same quiet weight of expectation, different disciplines, one flag.
The moment I boarded, it felt like eyes slowly found me. Some approached shyly, others with open excitement, telling me they’d watched my races and matches, that they were proud to finally meet me. A few asked if I spoke Tagalog, and I answered in a messy mix that made them laugh.
The Olympic Village was exactly what I’d imagined: a city of its own, flags snapping in the wind, athletes moving with the effortless purpose only Olympians carry.
The buses dropped us at our building, a modern high-rise housing hundreds of competitors, each floor marked with our delegation’s colors.
I had no roommate, just a single room. The rooms were compact but functional. Security was tight but unobtrusive, letting athletes move freely while keeping the village safe.
The first thought as I set down my bag was Olivia. Had she arrived here in the village with her team? Was she preparing for her event? My chest tightened, but I shoved it down.
Dad showed up, clipboard brain in a polo shirt and a cap. “Your schedule’s locked,” he said. “Practice blocks tomorrow morning, time trial two days after. You’ll get your timetable on the app, but I figured you’d forget to check it.”
I snorted. “Wow, thanks for the confidence. Good to know my Olympic journey depends on your ability to micromanage.”
He didn’t rise to the bait, which meant he had more updates. “Archer’s also here now. Just checked in with their Village.”
I raised a brow. “He’s not holing up in a five-star hotel with blackout curtains and soundproof walls? That man practically invented the word ‘control freak.’”
“Said he wanted to feel the Olympic spirit. Community. Atmosphere. All of it.” Dad’s mouth curved in that sly way he gets when he knows more than me.
I groaned. “He’s going to hate it when his neighbor practices taekwondo at 6 a.m.”
Dad chuckled, then added, “By the way, me and your mom will stay at the hotel. She’s probably with Archer right now. And Bobby’s around too, already making friends like it’s summer camp.”
“Of course he is,” I muttered.
Dad’s hand landed gently on my shoulder this time, steady rather than pushy. “Listen, Alex. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone, you’ve already made it. Just enjoy being here. Don’t think about pleasing people, just think about racing free.”
“Easier said than done. You’ve seen me, I overthink tying my shoelaces.”
“Sure, but you don’t overthink when Olivia’s around. Funny how that works.” He grinned.
“Dad…” I groaned, heat climbing my neck.
He only shrugged, smug. “Just saying. Maybe she’s your shortcut to racing free.”
I had no comeback for that, I let the silence settle between us. Then curiosity gnawed at me. “Tell me this. Back in your day, how did you get Mom? Because I know it wasn’t just your charming personality and that tragic haircut from the archives.”
He chuckled.
“I’m serious!” I jabbed a finger at him. “You two met during the Olympics, right? Same kind of chaos. So how’d you pull it off?”
His face softened in a way I wasn’t used to. “We met at the opening night. Parade of nations. Afterward, some of us went out for dinner with different athletes from different countries and she was there. Smart, funny, stubborn. I was gone in one night.”
He paused, almost embarrassed, then grinned. “So I started slipping her letters. Passed them through her teammates, left them in her locker. Little notes, nothing flashy. Just… letting her know I was there.”
“You were running a full-on secret pen pal operation in the middle of the Olympics?”
He smirked. “And one night she mentioned she missed the stars, said the city lights drowned them out, and it made her homesick. So I snuck out of the Village and sprinted to where hotel she stayed, got a bellboy on my side, even slipped the manager a few bills. We set up a table on the rooftop. Just the two of us, hot chocolate in paper cups, the whole skyline laid out, and above it… every star she thought she’d lost. I told her I’d spend the rest of my life making sure she never felt that far from home again. ”
I stared at him, slack-jawed. “…That’s not a courtship story Dad, that’s a blockbuster. You bribed a hotel manager for love? That’s insane. And weirdly impressive.”
He grinned. “Worth every centavo.”
I slumped back, muttering, “You are running Olympic heists for romance, and I can’t even get Olivia to unblock me.”
“Then maybe it’s time you stop trying to hack your way in and do it properly. Court her. Show her you’re serious. Not just apologies or quick fixes, show a real gestures. Real patience.”
I peeked at him from the corner of my eye. “You offering to be my wingman now?”
He smirked. “Worked once before. I could probably manage again.”
The thought of Dad plotting with me to win Olivia back was both mortifying and… maybe exactly what I needed.
OLIVIA
France. Finally. The Olympic car picked us up straight from the airport, and by the time we hit the hotel I already knew I’d made the right call and not stay in the Olympic Village.
I needed quiet, blackout curtains and real rest. The Village had its charm, yes but it also had a thousand athletes buzzing on nerves and energy drinks. Not exactly ideal for sleep.
Still, accreditation around my neck meant I could come and go from Team GB’s building whenever I wanted. Meals, lounges, everything was open to me. But my nights? They’d be here. Away from the noise.
And I wasn’t alone. I flew Dad, Nan and Bianca out with me, tucked them into the same hotel so we could move through this madness together. It felt right having them near.
It’s strange, though. First time being an Olympian, and part of me expected the Village to feel like a dream I’d been chasing since I was little. The kind of thing you only ever see through a screen and now I was here, part of it.
Opening night came fast. Team GB in full kit, kitted out in matching blazers and trainers, all herded like a school trip, but one with the weight of a nation strapped to it.
We gathered in the staging area with athletes from every corner of the world, flags draped around shoulders, cameras flashing, everyone trading pins and snapping photos like it was summer camp with higher stakes.
I’d seen this a thousand times on TV, thought I knew how it would feel. But nothing prepares you for the sound of eighty thousand people cheering while you step onto that track. My heart thumped so hard I thought it might crack my ribs. Bianca was right, I was combusting. But in the best way.
And then like I’d accidentally willed it into existence, my eyes found Alex in the Philippine delegation, flag colors splashed across her kit. God, she looked good. Too good.
But then I noticed some gymnast from her team practically glued to her side, arm brushing hers. Clinging on like a leech. Of course. Alex never walked into a room without someone orbiting her.
Still, my chest tugged. Because even from a distance, even with fireworks exploding above us, she was still the only person I couldn’t look away from.
And when the night ended, I told myself it was just the magic of the opening ceremony, the kind of spell the Games cast on everyone. But the truth followed me into morning.
I drifted into the Village to eat with Team GB. The cafeteria was massive with every language you could imagine, and yet my eyes always betrayed me.
She was everywhere, loud at the Filipino table, athletes clinging to her again like she was their national crush, laughing like the Olympics was just another summer holiday. It looked less like high performance and more like Love Island. My blood simmered, though I’d never admit it.
And if it could get worse? One afternoon I spotted her chatting with Cassandra and her dad, all easy warmth and inside jokes, like they were already family.
But then I remembered I wasn’t innocent in this either. Because I wasn’t alone.
Nico had become my shadow. The Team GB football squad was also staying in the Village, so Nico and I usually hung out during our free time.
Cafeteria meals, downtime, he was always there, cracking jokes, keeping me sane.
He was familiar in a way nothing else here was.
And I didn’t think twice about sitting with him until I noticed Alex’s gaze across the room.
If looks could kill, Nico would’ve been buried already.