Chapter 23
ROXIE
There was something electric about the air inside the pool deck, like the whole building was holding its breath.
The smell of chlorine was strong and recognizable, the echo of voices bouncing off the walls layered with the sharp whistles of officials and the rhythmic splash of swimmers warming up.
Banners hung from the walls, proud and unforgiving, each one a reminder of how narrow the margin was between history and heartbreak.
US National Championships.
Ledger stood on deck with his cap pulled low, goggles resting on top of his head, wearing his navy-blue tech swim jammers, his shoulders loose but ready. Even from the stands, I could see it. The way he shifted his weight, the way his fingers flexed like he was counting down inside his own body.
I could still remember how those fingers had felt as they’d skimmed against my collarbone last night. And the way his voice had sounded when he’d said he didn’t want to be my friend.
The kiss hadn’t been reckless. It hadn’t been about impulse or adrenaline. It had been about truth pressing too hard to stay contained. About two people standing at the edge of something terrifying and choosing, just for a moment, not to step back.
And now here he was, standing on the starting block like nothing in the world existed except the water waiting for him.
The buzzer sounded, and he dove in.
Ledger moved through the pool like he belonged there.
Strong, precise, and relentless. Each stroke was controlled power, every turn sharp and clean.
This was his event, the 100-meter breaststroke.
This was what he’d chased for years. The thing that demanded everything from him and still asked for more.
I leaned forward without realizing it, my hands clenched together in my lap, my heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with nerves for myself.
When he touched the wall and looked up at the board, the pause felt endless.
The time flashed, and I let out a spontaneous yell as I shot to my feet, hands above my head.
He’d done it. He’d won the race and officially made it to Worlds.
The cheer that erupted around me barely registered because all I could see was him—his head dropping back, a grin breaking across his face like relief had finally cracked through something solid. He punched the water once, then looked up toward the stands, scanning.
When his eyes found mine, something warm and fierce spread through me.
Pride. Pure, unfiltered pride.
I gave one more holler of excitement before I blew him a kiss and gave him a cheeky smile, which I knew would make him laugh.
Right on cue, a smile broke out across his face, and it was almost like I could hear his low chuckle from here.
The sight had a warmth spreading through me, reminding me again at how good it felt to have his attention like I had last night.
Heat rushed to my cheeks at the memory, and when he winked up at me, I wondered if he somehow knew what I had been thinking.
He pulled himself out of the water, and I tried not to ogle him in his swim jammer, tightly molded to his sculpted body, which didn’t help my cheeks to return to their normal color.
By the time his final race ended, the 200-meter freestyle, there was no denying it. Ledger had punched his ticket to Worlds.
I watched him stand on deck afterward, towel slung low around his hips, chest still heaving, eyes bright with disbelief and joy. Teammates clapped him on the back, Coach Saunders pulled him into a rare hug, and for a moment, he looked untouchable.
Not because he was perfect.
But because he’d done the thing he was most afraid he might fail at.
I didn’t even remember standing up. I was just suddenly moving—down the concrete steps, through the aisle, weaving around spectators who were still buzzing and cheering.
Security barely glanced at my credential before waving me through, and then I was on deck, the air warmer here, thicker with sound and energy.
Ledger spotted me immediately. His whole face changed.
He crossed the deck in long strides and stopped just in front of me, breath still uneven, eyes shining.
“You did it.” My voice wobbled despite myself. “You really did it.”
He laughed once, disbelieving, and pulled me into him without thinking. The hug was tight and sudden, his damp skin cool against my cheek, his arms strong around my back.
For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to that.
Then he pulled back, his hands still at my waist, his grin crooked and boyish and so very Ledger. “Guess I get to pack for an international trip.”
“You earned it,” I said. “Every second of it.”
The interview happened fast, like it always did. Cameras appeared out of nowhere, microphones thrust forward, questions fired, rapid and eager.
Ledger answered them with practiced ease—resolute, humble, honest. He talked about preparation, about trusting the work, about staying present in the water.
Then the reporter smiled and turned.
“And you must be the wife,” she said brightly, gesturing me forward.
Ledger’s head snapped toward me, surprise flickering for half a second before he held out his hand without hesitation.
I took it.
As the cameraman asked him to recreate the moment when he’d touched the wall, the footage replayed on a nearby monitor. Over and over, they showed his finish, his reaction, his eyes lifting to the stands.
Each time, his gaze landed on me.
And each time, I felt it like a pull.
Ledger’s arm slipped around my waist, natural and easy, his thumb brushing a slow, reassuring circle against my side. The cameras loved us. I could feel it. The way we fit into the frame like something effortless, like something real.
“Ledger,” the reporter said, “you swam incredibly today. What made the difference?”
He didn’t hesitate.
“My support system.” He glanced down at me. “Having someone in my corner who believes in me, even when I’m in my own head.”
My breath caught.
I smiled for the camera, but inside, something real and fragile unfurled.
I hurried to chime in, not wanting to discount everything he’d done to get here. “And a lot of hard work, discipline, and dedication.”
Ledger chuckled, the sound warm, his arm tightening just a bit like he appreciated the save.
The reporter asked a few more questions, and I let myself stay right there, tucked against him, playing the part that didn’t feel like acting anymore.
I liked being his wife.
The realization of that crashed into me like a tidal wave.
Because I wasn’t really his wife. This was supposed to be brief, strategic, a means to an end. Except standing there, with his arm around me and pride glowing in his eyes, the word didn’t feel fake at all.
Afterward, the adrenaline slowly ebbed, replaced by exhaustion and something softer. We walked back toward the athlete area together, our shoulders brushing, our steps instinctively in sync.
“I’ll be quick.” He angled toward the locker room. “Meet you right here?”
I nodded. “I’ll wait.”
Several minutes later, my phone buzzed.
It was my mom. Just seeing her name had my shoulders tightening.
“Roxie.” Her voice was bright in that way that always meant she wanted something. “I saw the interview. Very impressive.”
“Ledger swam incredibly,” I said evenly.
“Yes, well,” she continued, “it certainly doesn’t hurt your image. Worlds qualification comes with quite a bit of prestige. Sponsorships. Endorsements. I imagine the financial upside is significant.”
My jaw tightened.
“He’s not a stock,” I said sharply.
There was a pause. “I’m just saying it’s nice that things worked out so well. This marriage—it’s finally making sense.”
Something inside me snapped clean in half.
“You didn’t care about Ledger until today,” I said. “Until he became valuable to you.”
“That’s not—”
“He’s not an accessory,” I cut in. “He’s not a headline or a paycheck or a status symbol. He’s a man who has worked his entire life for this moment, and I’m proud of him. Not because of what he might earn, but because of who he is.”
My voice shook, but I didn’t stop.
“And if you can’t respect that—if you can’t respect him—then you don’t get access to any part of this. Not him. Not me.”
The silence on the other end sounded stunned.
“I have to go.” I hung up before she could respond.
My hands were shaking when I lowered the phone.
That was when I realized something terrifying.
Everything I’d just said—I meant it.
Not as a story. Not as spin. Not as part of the arrangement.
As truth.
Ledger stood a few feet away, wet hair curling at the nape of his neck, his expression unreadable.
My stomach dropped.
“You heard that,” I said quietly.
“Enough of it,” he replied.
The hallway suddenly felt too narrow, the noise from the pool distant and muffled. Every instinct screamed at me to minimize. To laugh it off. To explain it away as damage control, as spin, as something I’d said because it sounded good in the moment.
Except that fear was also tangled with relief, because although I hadn’t meant for him to hear, there was a small traitorous part of me that was glad he had.
We stood there for a long moment, neither of us moving.
“What you said,” he began slowly. “Was that … true?”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. I had a dozen ways to soften it, to retreat, to pretend it had all been for show.
But I didn’t use any of them.
The truth was complicated. And terrifying. And saying it out loud meant I couldn’t pretend anymore.
“I …” I started, then stopped. My fingers curled into the fabric of my jacket like I could anchor myself there. “I was angry,” I said instead. “She pushes my buttons. She always has.”
His gaze didn’t waver.
“That doesn’t answer the question,” he said gently.
Of course it didn’t.
I exhaled, staring at the floor. Buying time. Building walls. Doing the thing I always did when something mattered too much.
What if I said yes and he pulled back?
What if I admitted this and it changed nothing? Or worse, what if it changed everything?
“I don’t want to mess this up,” I said quietly, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
He took a small step closer. Not crowding me. Just there.
“You’re not,” he said.
The surety in his voice almost broke me.
I looked up at him then, really looked at him. The man who had just achieved his lifelong dream, who still smelled faintly of chlorine, whose eyes were searching mine like the answer mattered more than the medals or the headlines or the future everyone else wanted from him.
And I realized something else.
If I didn’t say it now, I never would.
“Yes,” I said finally. “It was true.”
The words landed heavy between us.
“All of it,” I added quickly, before I could lose my nerve. My pulse raced, but I forced myself to keep going. “And if I’m being completely honest …” I swallowed. “I don’t want temporary with you.”
His breath hitched—just barely, but I heard it.
“I don’t want careful or fake or convenient,” I continued, my voice shaking now.
“I want something real. And that scares me more than anything else I’ve said today.
” I let out a soft, humorless laugh. “Because wanting you like this means I could lose you. And I don’t know if you’re in a place where you want to try—or if you even should. ”
Silence stretched again, taut and fragile.
“But I know this,” I said. “I don’t want to walk away just because that was the plan. And I don’t want to keep pretending this is just a story we’re selling.”
Ledger exhaled slowly, like he’d been holding his breath for a long time.
“I don’t either,” he said quietly.
“You don’t what?” I asked, my chest tight, needing him to be specific. Needing the certainty.
“I don’t know what happens next,” he admitted. “I don’t have a plan. And that usually terrifies me.” His gaze softened. “But I know I don’t want to keep faking this either,” he said. “I want to see what happens when we stop pretending. When we let ourselves try—without the excuses.”
Relief hit me so hard, my knees almost buckled.
Standing there in the aftermath of his biggest victory, I realized something else, too.
That maybe wanting more didn’t mean losing everything.
Sometimes, it meant finally choosing it.