Chapter 18
LEDGER
Ifound out on a Tuesday morning in mid-May.
No fanfare. No dramatic phone call. Just an email sitting in my inbox when I checked my phone between sets at the pool.
The sender was USA Swimming letting me know I’d been accepted to the US National Championships, the qualifying meet I needed to make it to Worlds.
For a second, I just stared at the screen like it might disappear if I blinked.
Then I couldn’t catch my breath. My throat closed. And something sharp and thrilling shot through me, so sudden and overwhelming I had to grip the edge of the pool to steady myself.
I’d made it.
After years of grinding. Of early mornings and late nights. Of scraping by, of wondering if I was insane for chasing something that so many people had told me wasn’t real. After injuries and missed cuts and doubts that had crept in during the quiet hours when it was just me and the water.
I was going to Trials.
I sank down onto the bench, dripping and shaking, pressing my palms to my thighs like I could anchor myself there.
This was it.
The thing I’d been running toward for so long, it had almost stopped feeling real.
I let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.
And the very first person I thought of, without hesitation, without logic, was Roxie.
The realization surprised me, a sharp jolt of awareness cutting through the adrenaline.
But just as quickly, it settled into something that felt right.
Natural. Like of course it was her. Like my brain had already rewired itself to measure moments like this against whether or not she was part of them.
That realization affected me more than the email had.
I didn’t think about my coach first. Or my parents. Or even Talon and Ridge, who’d been with me through every miserable, grueling season.
I thought about Roxie. About the way she’d looked at me that night at the bar. About her hand in mine when we’d walked home. About the way she slept closer now, like her body was slowly forgetting the invisible line we’d drawn between us.
I didn’t want to think too hard about what it meant that she was the one I wanted to tell.
Because if I did, I’d have to admit that this wasn’t just excitement looking for an outlet. It was instinct. The kind that reached for the same person over and over, without asking permission. The kind that trusted her with something fragile before I’d even stopped to protect myself.
I was already halfway there emotionally—already picturing her reaction, the way her face would light up, the way she’d say my name like it mattered—and that made the ground beneath me feel less certain.
But even that fear couldn’t stop me from wanting to tell Roxie.
So I grabbed my towel, dried off quickly, and left the pool, ignoring Talon and Ridge as I hurried back to my apartment.
I stopped just inside the doorway.
The sight of her hit me square in the chest, common and suddenly terrifying all at once.
She was in the kitchen when I got home, barefoot, wearing leggings and one of my old Kemery University swim T-shirts, hair pulled into a messy knot. She was scrolling on her phone, coffee steaming on the counter beside her.
It took me a second to breathe.
I’d seen her in my space a hundred times. Seen her in pajamas, in sweatshirts, curled up on the couch, half asleep in our bed. But this was different.
The shirt hung loose on her, the hem brushing her thighs, the faded Kemery logo stretched just enough across her chest to make something hot and possessive twist low in my gut.
It was mine. Something I’d worn through early-morning practices and late-night meets, something that smelled faintly like chlorine and home.
And now it was on her.
I liked it more than I should have. Liked how natural it looked. How right.
I shut that thought down hard.
Because clothes didn’t mean anything. Shirts didn’t mean anything. And yet my brain was already reaching—already wondering when she’d grabbed it, whether she’d hesitated, whether it felt familiar in the way my presence had started to feel to her.
Whether this was just convenience … or something else.
“Hey.” She glanced up. “You’re home early.”
It was true; I never came home right after morning practice. I usually talked to Coach, then to Talon and Ridge, grabbed some food, and headed to the recovery center.
“I—” My voice caught. I cleared my throat. “I got an email.”
Her brows lifted. “Is everything okay?”
I nodded. Then shook my head. Then nodded again.
“I made it,” I said. “The US National Championships. The Worlds Trials.”
Her phone slipped from her fingers and hit the counter with a clatter.
“You … Ledger,” she breathed. “Are you serious?”
I nodded, and that was all it took.
She was across the kitchen in a heartbeat, arms flying around my neck, hugging me hard enough that my feet actually rocked back a step.
“I knew it,” she said fiercely, voice muffled against my chest. “I knew you would.”
My arms came around her automatically, instinct overriding thought. I held her tight, chin resting against the top of her head, breathing her in.
For a second, the world narrowed to just this.
Her.
Me.
This moment.
She pulled back, eyes bright, hands now resting on my shoulders. “I’m so proud of you.”
Something in me cracked open at that.
“Thank you,” I said quietly.
Her hands slid down to my chest, reluctant, and for a split second we were standing close. Too close. Her gaze dipped to my mouth. Mine followed.
The air shifted. Thickened.
I leaned in without meaning to.
She did too.
Reality slammed back into place at the last second, and we both jerked away like we’d been burned.
She laughed nervously. “Wow. Okay. Sorry. Just—excited.”
“Yeah,” I said too quickly. “Same.”
Too much the same.
She busied herself by going back into the kitchen and grabbing her coffee, turning away from me. “So, what happens now? Training schedule change? Travel?”
“Yeah,” I said, grateful for the distraction. “More meets. More pressure. More everything.”
“And the marriage is …” she added quietly.
The word marriage fell between us like a dropped plate.
I stiffened.
“... getting close to the end,” she continued, wrapping both hands around her mug. “Looks like everything is going to plan, right?”
Her tone was light. Too light.
Panic flared in her eyes, fast and unguarded. She hesitated, like she was choosing her words carefully, like she didn’t want to say the wrong thing now that the end was suddenly close enough to touch.
Right.
She wants out.
“Of course.” I forced a casual shrug. “That was always the deal. A brief arrangement. You don’t have to worry. I won’t drag this out longer than necessary.”
Her head snapped up. “I—”
“Relax,” I added, sharper than I intended. “You won’t be stuck playing a supportive wife much longer.”
Her mouth pressed into a thin line. “Wow.”
I scoffed. “What? I’m agreeing with you.”
“No,” she said. “You’re assuming.”
“About what?” I shot back.
“That I’m counting down the days.” She stepped closer. “That I can’t wait to be done with this.”
“Are you saying you’re not?” I challenged, taking a step closer to her this time.
Silence stretched between us, taut and buzzing.
She opened her mouth, then closed it.
That answered that.
“Right,” I said flatly. “Thought so.”
She crossed her arms. “You’re being a jerk.”
“And you obviously can’t wait to be rid of me,” I fired back.
Her eyes flashed as she took another step. “Don’t tell me how I feel.”
“Then stop acting like you’re looking for the exit.” My feet brought me closer to her.
We were close now. Too close. Every word pulled us tighter together instead of pushing us apart.
“Well, maybe I’m scared,” she practically yelled. “Did you ever think of that?” Her stance was ready for a fight, but her eyes matched her words. “Is that so unreasonable?”
Something in her voice, raw and honest, made my chest ache.
“I’m scared too,” I shot back. “But at least I’m not pretending this hasn’t meant something.”
Her breath hitched, and her features softened.
“Wait. What did you say?” she whispered.
That was the moment I lost the thread completely.
I stepped into her space, hands coming up to frame her face before my brain could interfere. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t pull away.
“I can’t keep doing this,” I said hoarsely. “Fighting it. Pretending.”
“Ledger—”
“I know,” I cut in. “I know it’s messy and complicated and probably a terrible idea.”
And then I kissed her.
It wasn’t careful.
It wasn’t planned.
But it was everything we’d been circling for weeks—months—colliding all at once.
Her hands fisted in my shirt. She kissed me back like she’d been waiting for it, like she’d been holding her breath the same way I had.
For one perfect, terrifying moment, nothing else existed.
She pulled back first, breathless, eyes wide.
“Oh, my gosh,” she whispered.
Reality came crashing in hard and fast, like cold water over a hot burn.
She stepped back another inch, then another, hands slipping from my shirt as if she’d just realized what she was holding onto. Her pulse fluttered visibly at her throat. Mine felt like it was trying to break free of my ribs.
“This—” She swallowed. “We shouldn’t have done that.”
The words landed like a punch.
I dragged a hand through my hair, breath still uneven. “Roxie—”
“We can’t,” she said quickly, shaking her head as if she could shake the moment loose. “We’re supposed to be pretending. This was supposed to be clean. Simple.”
Clean. Simple.
Neither word applied anymore.
“I know,” I said, though the truth was I didn’t know how to go back. My body was still buzzing, still tuned to her, like it had finally recognized a frequency it didn’t want to lose. “I just … things have changed.”
She laughed weakly. “Yeah. I noticed.”
Silence settled between us again, but it wasn’t the same silence as before. This one crackled. Pressed in from all sides.