Chapter 3
LEDGER
Talon had been hovering all day.
Most people didn’t notice when I was off my game—not unless my split times tanked—but Talon noticed everything. Probably came from spending years living and breathing the same brutal routine I had—early mornings, aching shoulders, chasing fractions of seconds like they were oxygen.
After Tokyo, he’d walked away from competing.
Just walked away.
Said he was done grinding his body into dust, done structuring his entire life around a clock unless it was for coffee or Livvi.
I still didn’t fully understand how someone did that. How you spent your whole life clawing toward the top, actually made it there, then decided it was enough.
Not that he’d disappeared from the sport.
Talon had slipped into helping Coach Saunders with the next wave of Olympic hopefuls like he’d been born on deck with a stopwatch in his hand.
Hard not to listen when the guy giving stroke corrections had two gold medals—one in the hundred fly and another for a relay—and the kind of calm that only came from knowing he’d already proven everything he needed to prove.
He’d met Livvi during that insane year leading up to the Olympics. First online, both of them hiding behind fake usernames on some writing platform, then in real life without realizing the other was their anonymous late-night confidant.
After that, something in him had shifted.
He still had the same competitive edge, the same stupid level of talent, but there was a steadiness to him now. A kind of grounded happiness I didn’t remember him having back when we were freshmen trying to outswim our own shadows.
Like he’d found something that mattered more than shaving another tenth off his time.
I didn’t know what that felt like.
Most mornings he was on deck beside Saunders, stopwatch in one hand, protein shake in the other, calling out corrections like coaching had always been the endgame.
Which meant he’d had a front-row seat to my entire meltdown this afternoon.
He wasn’t supposed to know something was wrong.
Coach Saunders had talked to me alone when she’d told me about the sponsorship collapse. Talon had only seen what happened today—my pace off by tenths, turns that weren’t as sharp, a hollow tightness behind my breathing.
And he’d noticed. Of course he’d noticed.
So by the time I’d showered, grabbed my swim bag, and tried to disappear into the Florida humidity, Talon had already been texting.
Then calling.
Then texting again.
Relentless.
And that was how I’d ended up outside his apartment at seven thirty, bracing myself for the interrogation I didn’t want to have.
The hallway smelled like someone had burned popcorn, and the distinct hum of his aquarium filtered through the door.
I knocked once.
He opened immediately, like he’d been standing there with his ear pressed to the wood. “You look like you want to bail.”
“I do,” I said.
He stepped aside anyway. “Too bad. Come in.”
The big aquarium lit the whole living room in soft blue, casting ripples of light across the walls. Sapphire, the blue tang Talon and Livvi had adopted during a freakishly emotional moment in their lives, darted between coral decorations like a tiny aquatic diva.
I nodded toward it. “Your fish looks … energetic.”
“Sapphire is thriving,” Talon corrected, shutting the door behind me. “Unlike you.”
I groaned. “Not tonight, man.”
“That’s exactly why we’re doing this.”
He clapped a hand on my shoulder and steered me inside. If Talon had ever decided to become a therapist instead of an Olympian, he’d have been terrifyingly effective.
Ridge, Talon’s brother who had also become my friend since we’d started swimming together four years ago, was already on the couch watching TV, long legs stretched out, remote in hand.
His dark hair was still wet from whatever training session he’d just finished, and he was wearing an old US National Championships swim sweatshirt that he definitely kept for nostalgia points.
He looked over. “Ledger.”
“Ridge.”
His brows rose instantly. “You sound like someone stole your goggles.”
“Pretty sure someone stole my future,” I muttered.
Talon shot me a concerned look. Ridge blinked.
“Okay,” Ridge said finally. “We’re diving right into trauma tonight. Cool.”
I dropped onto the opposite end of the couch with a sigh. “Sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” Talon said, heading to the kitchen. “Water?”
“Yes,” I said.
Talon returned and handed me a bottle.
I uncapped the water. “Where’s Livvi?”
“She’s on her way.”
Ridge angled toward me. “So what’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I lied. The response was automatic.
Talon snorted. “He says, in the tone of a man actively falling apart.”
I glared at him. “I’m not—”
The front door opened, and I expected Livvi to walk in, but it was Roxie.
Her blonde curls were piled on top of her head in a messy bun that somehow still looked intentional. She had dark circles beneath her eyes like she’d fought a war today, but she still looked, well … like Roxie—put together in that effortless way that made it annoyingly hard to look away.
I inwardly groaned. Great.
Just what I needed.
She froze when she saw me. “Oh. You’re here.”
“Unfortunately,” I said. My attention snagged on the way a loose curl slipped free near her temple before I forced my gaze back to neutral territory. My body was reacting in ways I chose to ignore, and I planned to keep it that way.
Her eyes narrowed. “Do you greet everyone like that, or am I just special?”
“You’re something.”
Ridge choked on a laugh. Talon shot him a look.
Roxie kicked off her flats and crossed the room toward the kitchen, ignoring us all with theatrical precision. She popped open the fridge, muttering something about work and emotional exhaustion.
Talon cleared his throat. “Rox, hey.”
“Sorry.” She grabbed a bottle of iced tea. “Hi. Long day. My boss scheduled six campaigns for the next two weeks and then told me to ‘work smarter, not harder.’ I hope his pillow is lumpy forever.”
Ridge grinned. “Sick burn.”
“Thanks,” she said dryly.
Her gaze flicked back to me. I braced.
“So,” she said. “Why do you look grumpier than usual? Did someone beat your time again?”
I shot Talon a look that said I swear if you told her—
He raised his hands like I didn’t say anything.
“I’m fine,” I said.
“You’re not,” Roxie replied immediately. “You look like someone canceled Christmas.”
“And you look like someone who naps in meeting rooms.”
She gasped, hand to chest. “I’ve only done that twice.”
“Three times,” Talon corrected.
She whipped around. “You swore you wouldn’t tell him!”
Talon shrugged. “He guessed.”
“I did not guess,” I said. “It’s obvious.”
Roxie narrowed her eyes. “You know what else is obvious? That you shouldn’t bring wet hair into air conditioning. Your brain cells can’t afford the frostbite.”
Talon made a strangled sound like he wasn’t supposed to laugh. Ridge hunched over and pretended to contemplate the aquarium rocks.
I took a breath. Calm. Rational.
“Roxanne—”
Her nostrils flared. “Do not call me that.”
Normally, this was almost fun. Our banter was a well-practiced blade—sharp, stupidly efficient, endlessly irritating.
But tonight?
I didn’t have the defenses.
Talon must’ve sensed it, because he walked over and gently pushed Roxie toward the couch.
“Okay, children,” he said. “Let’s ease off the murder attempts.”
Roxie plopped down beside Ridge. I stayed on the far cushion, as distant as the couch allowed.
Silence stretched.
Talon sat on the coffee table, facing me. Ridge eyed the TV like he wished it would magically turn on. Roxie cracked open her iced tea and sipped it like she was preparing for a show.
Talon spoke first, ignoring that I wasn’t in the mood to chat.
“Ledger. Talk to me.”
I stared at the aquarium lights. Sapphire zipped through the fake coral again, unbothered by anything beyond her fish world.
Must be nice.
“Just drop it,” I said quietly.
Roxie’s head snapped toward me.
She’d heard it. The crack in my voice I hadn’t meant to let slip.
There was a subtle shift in the air, so subtle I almost missed it. Her posture straightened a little. Her brows pinched. Concern flickered across her face before she smoothed it.
She was perceptive. Always too perceptive.
“Talon,” Ridge murmured softly. “Maybe give him space?”
But Talon shook his head. “He doesn’t need space. He needs to not implode in silence.”
I scrubbed my hands over my face. “The sponsorship fell through.”
Ridge winced. “Shoot.”
Roxie blinked, expression unreadable. “What does that mean for you?”
Talon’s head dipped down, his face grim as he ran a hand through his hair, obviously knowing exactly what it meant.
I let out a heavy sigh. “It means the lane privileges and the apartment go with it.”
This time, nobody spoke.
Because they knew.
They knew what it meant to lose access. To have your career suddenly hinge on finances that didn’t exist.
Roxie didn’t speak right away, but she didn’t look away either.
“Ledger …” Her voice softened. “I didn’t know.”
I stiffened.
Sympathy from Roxie Montgomery felt like someone suddenly switching languages mid-conversation.
“I don’t need—”
“I know you don’t,” she said quickly.
Her tone wasn’t pitying. Just understanding. Logical.
It threw me so hard, I forgot to breathe. I caught the faint citrus scent she always carried, clean and distracting at the worst possible time.
Talon leaned back. “We’ll figure something out.”
“There’s nothing for us to figure out,” I said. “I’ll find a way.”
Ridge nodded slowly, like he accepted that but didn’t like it.
Roxie kept watching me, a little crease between her brows like she was trying to piece together a puzzle. And I hated—absolutely hated—how it made something twist inside me.
She was supposed to be irritation incarnate.
Not … this. Not someone I kept noticing even when I was trying not to look at her at all.
She took another sip of her drink. “Well,” she said lightly, “it explains why you didn’t call me Roxanne yesterday.”
My gaze snapped to hers. “Didn’t think you noticed.”
“Please,” she scoffed. “You only use my fake name when you’re feeling cocky or petty. You were neither yesterday. It was weird.”
Talon coughed to hide a laugh. Ridge grinned into his sleeve.
“Thanks for the analysis,” I deadpanned.
“You’re welcome,” she said sweetly. “I could diagram it for you, if you like.”
“Please don’t.”
“Oh, I will.”
“Heaven help me.”
Ridge clapped his hands. “There it is. The tension is back.”
Talon groaned. “Can you two just—stop?”
“We weren’t doing anything,” I argued.
Roxie pointed at me. “He started it.”
I stared. “How?”
“By existing.”
I threw a pillow at her. She dodged, laughing.
And somehow—despite the wreckage of my day, my disappearing housing, my collapsing plans—the tightness in my chest loosened just a fraction.
Because of them.
Because even when I didn’t want to be here, they pulled me back from the edge.
And because of her.
Not that I’d ever admit that part out loud.
The front door clicked open again, followed by Livvi’s usual exhausted, “Please tell me someone ordered food.”
Ridge shot to his feet like he’d been waiting for his cue. “We did,” he announced proudly. “Three pizzas. And garlic knots, because we care.”
Livvi kicked off her shoes and shuffled inside, her hair falling out of its braid. She looked about one second away from face-planting onto the couch.
“Oh, thank goodness,” she breathed.
Talon tugged Livvi into his side, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
The apartment instantly felt lighter with her here, like she brought some kind of balanced energy none of the rest of us could replicate. Not only was I happy for Talon, but she was a great addition to our group.
Talon handed her a plate piled with pizza, and she sank onto the couch with a groan.
Ridge plopped down beside her. “Okay, important question: are we watching the heist movie or the terrible rom-com Roxie picked?”
“It’s not terrible,” Roxie snapped. “It has a forty-one percent on Rotten Tomatoes.”
“That’s terrible,” I muttered.
Livvi snorted around a mouthful of pizza. “I agree. Let’s do the heist movie.”
The debate settled, and as the movie started, the earlier tension in my body slowly unwound. Being crammed on a couch with these chaotic idiots … it was the first time all day I didn’t feel like I was drowning.
Halfway through, Talon stretched, looked down at Livvi zonked against his shoulder, and whispered, “We’re calling it. She’s out.”
Roxie yawned. “Same.”
Within minutes, everyone started peeling away for the night. Roxie and Ridge made their way to the front door, and Talon lifted Livvi bridal-style even though she swore she could walk.
Their laughter and muffled footsteps faded, leaving me alone in the living room with empty pizza boxes and the glow of the paused TV.
I lingered a moment.
It was the good kind of quiet—warm, relaxed, lived-in. The kind that made you feel like you belonged somewhere, even if you weren’t sure you deserved it.
I cleaned on autopilot. Tossing empty bottles, stacking plates, and straightening pillows Talon never bothered to fix. By the time the place looked ready for human habitation again, the heaviness in my chest had eased enough that I could take a full breath.
I grabbed my keys from the coffee table and flicked off the lights.
The hallway outside was cooler, quieter. As I made my way down the stairs and out into the night, the Florida air wrapped around me, thick and warm and reassuring. My car waited under the streetlamp like it always did, sun-bleached and dependable.
The drive home was short. Familiar turns. Empty roads. Too much space for my brain to replay my problems on a loop.
Coach Saunders’s warning.
My disappearing housing.
My evaporating funds.
And the way Roxie had walked into Talon’s apartment—exhausted, messy bun, crooked lanyard—and still somehow managed to knock the breath out of me.
I pulled into my apartment complex, parked, and climbed the stairs to my place. Inside, the dim light from the kitchen bulb washed over the counters. Quiet. Dark. Alone.
Usually the silence pressed in on me.
Tonight, it didn’t crush quite as hard.
I toed off my shoes and sank onto the couch.
Tonight hadn’t fixed anything. Everything was still a mess. My life was still one wrong move away from completely falling apart.
But I wasn’t facing it alone.
And somehow, that made all the difference.