Chapter 23
TALON
Itouched the wall and came up gasping, arms trembling from the final sprint. Coach’s whistle blew, sharp and merciful, signaling the end of the set.
“Good work, Everhart,” she barked. “You’re starting to look like someone who might make the Olympic team.”
I managed a grim smile as I hauled myself out of the pool.
Second training session of the day, and with only five weeks left until the Trials, I still felt like I was falling short.
Water streamed down my skin, pooling at my feet, but the ache in my body wasn’t just from exertion.
It was the load of everything else I carried—the things I still hadn’t said.
I grabbed my towel, rubbed it over my head, and then froze when I spotted her.
Livvi.
She leaned against the bleachers, her hair pulled back in a messy knot, wearing jean shorts that showed off her legs. The humid air had flushed her cheeks pink, and when our eyes met, she smiled.
I swear my heart forgot how to beat.
I smiled back, and just like that, the ache in my lungs didn’t matter so much.
“You survived,” she said as I slung my towel around me.
“Barely.” I shook out my wet hair, earning a laugh from her. “Pretty sure Coach is trying to kill me.”
“She doesn’t look that murderous,” she teased, nodding toward where Coach was scribbling notes on a clipboard.
“That’s what makes her dangerous.”
Her laughter rang across the humid space, and it felt like oxygen.
By the time I’d showered and changed, she was waiting for me in the lobby, scrolling through her phone. She looked up as I approached, slipping it into her pocket.
“You ready?” she asked.
I nodded, and we fell in step together as we left the Wilson Center.
We had planned to meet at my apartment to eat dinner at my place tonight so she could see Sapphire.
She must have been studying for her final exams at the library and swung over to the pool to meet up with me instead.
Which—I wasn’t complaining. This was definitely something I could get used to.
The late-afternoon sun was still hot, the sidewalk shimmering faintly in the heat.
She matched my stride without effort, her hands stuffed into her pockets, and for a few precious moments, it felt easy, like the most natural thing in the world, like we hadn’t spent months circling each other, pretending we weren’t gravitating closer every single day.
But maybe it wasn’t that easy because I couldn’t stop thinking about the truth pressing against my ribs, begging to be let out.
I wanted to tell her everything. The words burned at the back of my throat.
I’m TheWriteGuy. I’ve been the one you’ve been talking to all this time.
You don’t have to choose, because it’s already me.
But every time I opened my mouth, fear shoved the confession back down.
What if she hated me for not telling her sooner? What if she felt tricked, betrayed? What if knowing ruined everything we had—both online and here, face-to-face?
So instead, I asked, “How’s work?”
She glanced at me, lips curving. “Deflecting with small talk, huh?”
“Maybe.”
“It’s going okay,” she said. “Busy. But … good. I like accounting more than I expected to.”
“That’s good.” My shoulders relaxed. I wanted that for her—to be happy. “You deserve that.”
Her eyes softened in a way that made my pulse stumble. “Thanks.”
We walked in silence for a few steps, the sounds of our shoes against the sidewalk filling the air. Our arms brushed once, twice, and I had to fight the urge to take her hand. To claim something I wasn’t sure I had the right to claim.
I kept turning over the truth in my head as we neared my place. Maybe I could ease into it. Test the waters.
“You ever think about how weird timing can be?” I asked.
She gave me a quizzical look. “Weird how?”
“Like … sometimes people come into your life right when you need them. Almost like fate or something.”
Her smile flickered. “Yeah. I think about that a lot, actually.”
“Do you—” The words caught in my throat. Do you ever wonder if the people in your life are connected in ways you don’t see yet?
I chickened out. Again. “Do you believe in fate?”
She gave me a thoughtful look. “I don’t know. I think I believe in choices more. Fate might bring people together, but it’s what you choose to do with it that matters.”
Her words struck me square in the chest, and for a second, I couldn’t breathe. Because wasn’t that exactly where I was stuck? Fate had tangled us together in every possible way, but I still hadn’t chosen to tell her.
We ended up in my kitchen, putting together a dinner of pasta and garlic bread. She leaned against the counter, reading instructions off the box while I stirred sauce in a pan.
“You’re very domestic,” she teased.
“Don’t spread it around,” I said. “Ruins my reputation.”
“What reputation?”
“The one where I’m mysterious and broody. You know, like a vampire in a YA novel.”
She laughed so hard she nearly dropped the box she was holding. “Oh, my gosh, stop. You’d make a terrible vampire.”
“Why’s that?”
“Too warm,” she said without hesitation, eyes flicking over me before she realized what she’d said. Color flooded her cheeks, and she busied herself with the bread.
I bit back a grin, heat curling low in my belly.
“And you’re not broody, by the way,” she added. “At least that’s not what people say about you.”
I raised one brow, suddenly very interested in where this conversation was going. “And what do people say about me?”
“That you’re cocky, the life of the party, and a player who is always going from one woman to the next,” she said without missing a beat.
I nodded. It wasn’t anything I hadn’t heard before. “And what do you think?”
She paused, looking at me, and it was like she was wiping away any walls or masks that I’d put up to keep the world out.
“I think they’re wrong,” she said softly.
“I think you pretend to be like that. Maybe to hide something. Or maybe to fit in. But the real Talon Everhart is more solitary, would rather read a book than go out with lots of women, and … okay, you are kind of cocky, but it’s well-earned since you are such an amazing swimmer. ”
Her assessment made me smile. “It seems like you really know me. The person I really am.”
Her cheeks flushed pink, like maybe the thought of her being the one who got to see this side of me made her feel special.
She returned her focus back to the recipe.
Dinner was simple but good, and we ate on the couch, plates balanced on our knees. The conversation flowed easily—about work, about Cali’s multiple weird online dates, about the ridiculous playlist Coach had subjected us to during training.
Somewhere in the middle of it, Sapphire started zooming back and forth in the tank.
“Looks like she’s doing well,” she said.
“Yeah.” I watched the way Sapphire zipped around. “She’s back to her old self.”
“So a fish diva?” she murmured, smiling softly.
The sight of her there—laughing with me, watching our fish, looking perfectly at home—twisted something deep inside me.
This. This was what I wanted.
And yet I was still hiding.
Later, when we’d cleaned up, I walked her to the door. The evening air drifted through the open door, brushing against her hair. She stood close, too close, and I could feel the pull between us like gravity.
I wanted nothing more than to give in to that pull, to wrap her up in my arms, to feel her warm body against me.
Her eyes lifted to mine, searching, as if she could hear the thoughts going through my mind, and for a moment, the world narrowed to just us.
My body began to follow that pull, that need to be closer to her.
I leaned in before I could stop myself. The sweet scent of something floral and peach surrounded me; the heady smell that was Livvi had me getting lost in her.
As the distance between us slowly disappeared, I struggled to think of anything but the thought of finally getting to do what I’d been daydreaming about for so long. Her breath caught, her lips parting—
And I froze.
I couldn’t do it. Not like this. Not when she didn’t know everything.
I pulled back sharply, raking a hand through my hair. “I—uh. Thanks for coming over tonight.”
Her expression flickered, hurt flashing in her eyes before she masked it with a quick smile. “Of course. Anytime.” She slipped away quickly before I could say more, and the echo of her absence instantly filled the apartment like a giant hole.
I hated myself for pulling away. I hated that I had possibly made her feel dumb or that I didn’t want her. But worse, I hated the secret that kept me from closing the distance.
The buzz of my phone on the counter finally pulled me away from staring at the door, beating myself up for what had just happened. Or not happened.
Seeing who was calling didn’t help my mood.
Dad. Again.
For a second, I considered ignoring it. But avoidance hadn’t worked before, and I was done running.
I answered. “Hey.”
“Talon.” His voice was clipped, all business. “Did you read the article I sent you? I’m not the only one who thinks that going into business and finance is a smart career move.”
My jaw clenched. “No. I’ve been busy.”
“With what?” His tone sharpened. “You’re wasting time. This is your future we’re talking about. I want you by my side.”
“No,” I said simply, surprising myself with how steady my voice sounded. I was so sick of this conversation. “It’s your future. Not mine.”
A disturbing silence stretched on the line. “Excuse me?”
“I’m not coming to work with you, Dad. I’m not interested in stock reports or board meetings or whatever career path you’ve mapped out for me.”
“You think swimming laps in a pool is a career?” His scoff was sharp, practiced. “You’re throwing away everything I’ve taught you, everything you went to school for.”
“I’m not you,” I snapped, the words rising like a wave I couldn’t stop.
“I’ve spent years trying to do what you wanted.
I’m done. I want to compete in the Olympics.
” I took a big breath and dove into what I had feared telling him for so long.
“And I want to write. To create worlds readers can’t help but fall into.
” I paused and swallowed, gearing myself up for whatever his reaction would be.
“And I don’t care if it doesn’t fit into your definition of success—it matters to me. ”
“Writing?” he asked, like he must have misunderstood me. “What are you talking about?”
“Yes, writing.” I started to pace in front of the tank, mimicking Sapphire’s back-and-forth movements.
“I’ve been writing a book, and readers love it.
I think I have a real shot at making it something I could do as a career.
And as for swimming, that will always be a part of my life.
Even after the Olympics, I will still be swimming. ”
“Is this a joke?” he asked incredulously.
“No.” My voice was firm. “I’m more serious and determined than I’ve ever been. I’m going to be an author, and I’m going to keep swimming.”
His voice dropped, icy. “You’ll regret this.”
“Maybe,” I said, my throat tight. “But at least they’ll be my regrets.”
I hung up before he could reply, my hand shaking as I tossed my phone onto the couch.
The silence after was deafening, but after countless years, I felt lighter.
Like I’d finally broken the surface and taken a full breath.