CHAPTER 35
OLIVIA
The morning of the Closing Ceremony felt strange. Half the Village was already gone. Athletes dragged duffels behind them like tired ghosts, accreditation lanyards clinking softly, pins knocking together like the last keepsakes of a summer camp no one wanted to admit was ending.
Nico caught me early, fingers closing around my wrist before I could disappear into the crowd, insisting we detour to the cafeteria now, before everything shut down, and apparently, that was a crisis he refused to risk missing.
“Trust me,” he said, steering me straight toward the cafeteria. “One last chocolate muffin before we go home. They’re the only reason I survived the last two weeks.”
I laughed, letting him tow me along. “Only you would wake me at this hour for cafeteria pastries.”
“Elite pastries,” he corrected, already peeling back the wrapper like it was something sacred. He took a bite, sighed dramatically, then looked up at me with a grin. “Also figured you’d appreciate five minutes off Cadiz-watch. She and Archer have gone full twin mode.”
I snorted, sliding onto the bench across from him. “That bad?”
I’d seen the twins earlier, already deep into their own version of goodbye.
They were swapping pins with anyone who paused long enough: a gymnast from Brazil, a judoka from Japan, a whole group of swimmers trading stories along with badges.
Archer was animated, gesturing wildly; Alex laughed easily, relaxed in a way she rarely allowed herself. They looked like kids again.
“Oh, catastrophic,” he said. “They’ve got the pin binders out. It’s international diplomacy out there.”
I glanced around the hall. Athletes were scattered in loose, pins changed hands mid-joke, phones were passed back and forth, Instagram handles typed in with exaggerated care, numbers saved with promises no one wanted to think too hard about yet.
People who’d been rivals a week ago now stood shoulder to shoulder, trading stories, trading plans, trading pieces of a version of themselves that only existed here.
Nico followed my gaze, softer now. “Closing morning does that,” he said. “Everyone’s suddenly sentimental. Best friends with people they met twelve days ago.”
I nodded, fingers curling around my coffee cup. The Games always ended like this with everyone half-packed and half-nostalgic.
Nico had drifted back toward the counter, squinting at the pastry display with exaggerated seriousness. “I think they’ve restocked,” he called over his shoulder. “This feels like a two-muffin morning.” Before I could answer, he was already gone, mission renewed.
I was looking at him in disbelief when someone slid into the seat in front of me.
Cassandra.
For a heartbeat, I braced, but her expression was more tired than anything, like she’d laid her weapons down.
“Olivia,” she said, her voice low. “I just wanted to say thank you. For showing up for Alex at that race. For being there when she needed it.”
“You don’t need to thank me,” I said, steady. “You’ve always wanted what’s best for her, even if we didn’t see it the same way.”
A shadow of a smile tugged at her mouth. “Guess we were both too stubborn to admit the other wasn’t wrong.”
“Stubborn,” I echoed, and for the first time, it wasn’t an insult. “She needs that. People who won’t let her carry it all alone.”
Cassandra’s eyes softened, just a fraction. “Then maybe she’s luckier than she realizes.”
I held her gaze, steady. “Or maybe we both are. To love her in our own ways.”
For a beat, neither of us moved. The air between us was different now, like a truce finally laid down.
Then she hesitated, her voice softening. “Take care of her. I know she’ll take care of you, too.”
Something shifted in my chest at that. Respect. Permission, even.
“I will,” I promised quietly.
She rose with her tray, pausing before she left. “Just… don’t let her shut you out. She’ll try. You know how she is.”
“I know,” I said. “And I won’t.”
She gave the faintest nod, almost like approval, then walked away. And for the first time, I didn’t feel like I was carrying this battle alone. A wound closed and a weight gone.
Nico came back, balancing two muffins and a coffee, looking far too pleased with himself. He set one of the muffins in front of me like an offering.
Maddie arrived moments later, sliding into the seat across from us.
“Just so you know,” she said, carefully, “Some media outlets are… sniffing around. A little too interested in your love life.”
I barely glanced at the headlines, with familiar words and familiar framing. Speculation dressed up as concern. Curiosity sharpened into entitlement.
I took another bite of the muffin.
Nico blinked. “That’s it? You’re not even going to doom-scroll?”
I shook my head. “I don’t need to.”
Maddie studied me, searching for cracks. “You’re really okay with it?”
“I am,” I said, surprised by how true it felt. “They can believe whatever they want. Write whatever story fits. That part isn’t mine to control.”
I wrapped my fingers around my cup. “What I care about is that Alex and I are happy. That’s what we have is real. And right now, it’s ours.”
Maddie’s expression softened. “So… private?”
“For now,” I nodded. “Maybe one day we’ll let the world in. Maybe we won’t. But this—” I gestured vaguely between us, toward the truth of it “Doesn’t exist for anyone else’s consumption.”
Nico lifted his muffin in quiet agreement. “As someone who’s had his fair share of headlines, I can confirm: peace is wildly underrated.”
A small smile found its way to my lips. The kind that didn’t need defending.
“Let them talk,” I said. “We’ll live.”
Maddie leaned back, satisfied, a proud glint in her eyes. “That’s the healthiest thing you’ve ever said.”
I swallowed, nodding once. Around us, the cafeteria continued its slow exhale, athletes hugging goodbye, laughter tinged with something bittersweet.
By the time night fell, the city felt electric. No schedules taped to walls. No alarms set for dawn. Just athletes lingering longer than necessary, doors left ajar, laughter drifting down the corridors like no one was quite ready to let go.
Alex found me sitting on the edge of my bed, tying and retying the same lace without finishing it. She didn’t say anything at first. Just leaned against the doorframe, watching me with that look she had when she knew exactly what I was thinking and didn’t feel the need to interrupt it.
“You ready?” she asked eventually.
I looked up at her, at the loosened edges of her, the way the tension had finally eased out of her shoulders, the faint smile she didn’t bother guarding anymore.
“For what?” I asked, even though we both knew.
She stepped closer and held out her hand. “For the end of it.”
So we walked out together. Past Archer and Nico arguing about whether the ceremony food would be edible this year.
The Closing Ceremony wasn’t just a farewell; it was a release. And this time, I didn’t walk into the stadium alone.
I walked in with Alex. Archer was on her other side, already scanning the stands like a protective twin brother who refused to clock out, while Nico drifted just ahead of us, half-turning every few steps to make sure we were keeping up.
It felt oddly normal, the four of us slipping into the current of athletes, laughter, and music, carrying us forward.
Alex’s hand found mine without hesitation. Not for cameras. Not for headlines. Just because it felt right.
Because after everything, the doubts, the distance, the almosts, we’d earned the simplicity of it.
Inside the stadium, medals caught the light as athletes clustered together in loose, happy constellations. Somewhere nearby, someone was already crying. Somewhere else, someone was dancing like tomorrow didn’t exist.
We were just another knot of Olympians, swept up in it all.
Fireworks split the sky, color and thunder blooming overhead. Alex’s hand tightened around mine, drawing me closer until our shoulders brushed. When I looked at her, her face was tipped upward, eyes bright, soft in a way that had nothing to do with winning or losing.
“So,” she murmured, barely audible over the noise, “we survived.”
I smiled. “We did more than that.”
“This,” she murmured, eyes catching the green and gold sparks as they burst and faded. “This is exactly how I wanted it. With you. End of one story, start of the next.”
I turned toward her. “What’s the next, then?”
She grinned, a little sheepish. “Tennis. I already called my team. We’re back on court as soon as I land.”
“That fast?”
She shrugged, lips twitching. “I want to be where you are. I’ll still juggle both, though, two years of tennis, two years of triathlon.
By the next Games, I’ll be ready to take Cassandra head-on again for gold.
” Her eyes lit with that familiar fire. “But for now… I’m coming back to tennis.
To travel the tour with you. To make this.
..” she lifted our joined hands, grounding us back in the moment “Real.”
I slid my arms around her waist as we stood side by side. “So it’s you and me, on and off the court?”
Her arms came up, settling around my shoulders as she smiled and whispered, “Always.”
Above us, the fireworks kept coming, and for once, I wasn’t thinking about what came next or how this would look tomorrow.
I didn’t think about medals, or rankings, or the stories that would be written tomorrow. I thought about her hand in mine, about how far we’d both run to get here, about the strange, stubborn gravity that kept pulling us back together.
Some things aren’t decided on the podium, or in headlines, or under the weight of expectation. Some stories aren’t written in records or trophies. They take time. They demand patience.
Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow.
But somewhere.
Down the line.