Chapter 24
LEDGER
Ishould’ve been floating.
I’d just made Worlds. The thing I’d been chasing since I was a kid with chlorine-burned eyes and a stopwatch permanently burned into my brain. The thing that had defined my entire adult life.
But the moment that kept replaying in my head wasn’t the touch on the wall or the roar of the crowd.
It was Roxie’s voice in this hallway.
He’s not an accessory. He’s not a headline or a paycheck.
I hadn’t meant to overhear her. I’d stepped out of the locker room still half dazed, towel around my neck, phone in my hand—and then I’d heard my name. Her tone. Sharp. Protective. Real.
Its impact rippled through me more than the races ever could have.
Not because she was angry, but because she was certain.
She hadn’t softened her words or tried to make them palatable. She hadn’t hedged or smiled or played nice. She’d drawn a line and stood by it, like there was no question which side she belonged on.
On mine.
I’d been trained my whole life to expect praise only after performance, loyalty only after results. But this—this wasn’t that. This was someone choosing me when there was nothing left to prove.
Because no one had ever defended me or wanted me like that without wanting something in return.
And then she stood in front of me, her heart probably pounding just as hard as mine, and told me she didn’t want temporary.
I’d spent years telling myself that wanting less protected me. That needing someone made you sloppy. Distracted. Weak.
Every time I’d let myself believe otherwise, it had come with a price.
Expectations. Conditions. People who loved the idea of me, but only when it matched their version of success.
An ex who’d made it clear she didn’t think I was good enough.
That my goals were na?ve. That chasing a professional swimming career was impractical, embarrassing, not worth the sacrifice.
Amelia had looked at the thing that mattered most to me and treated it like a phase I should outgrow. Like something embarrassing I’d eventually need to apologize for.
Loving swimming had never felt childish to me, until she’d made it sound that way. Until every conversation about the future ended with a version of when are you going to grow up and do something real?
I’d carried that doubt longer than I wanted to admit. Let it creep in during bad races and slow mornings. Let it convince me that maybe wanting this life meant wanting too much.
Roxie hadn’t done that.
She hadn’t fallen for the medals or the rankings or the possibility of sponsorships. She hadn’t asked me to be smaller or smarter or safer. She’d stood up to her own mother—defended me—before I’d even realized I was listening.
She believed in the work. In the grind. In the man who showed up every morning long before anyone was watching.
In me.
And standing there, fresh off the biggest win of my career, it felt like the universe was laughing at me.
Because the thing I’d spent years protecting myself from wasn’t failure.
It was being seen—and realizing I wanted her to keep seeing me anyway.
The realization settled slowly, like my world finally clicking into a new alignment. Not all at once. Not cleanly. But unmistakably. The fear didn’t disappear—it just stopped being the loudest thing in the room.
For once, it wasn’t driving every decision.
I didn’t suddenly feel brave. I didn’t feel invincible. I just felt clarity. Like I could finally tell the difference between caution and self-sabotage. Between protecting myself and shrinking to fit old wounds.
I’d been calling it focus for years.
But maybe it had just been fear dressed up as discipline.
Just months ago, my life had felt like it was collapsing in on itself. My career teetering on the edge of a cliff. My reputation skating on thin ice. A marriage that had started as a strategy and turned into something so important, I wasn’t sure I’d survive if I lost it.
And now?
Worlds qualification.
A woman who saw me—really saw me—and chose me anyway.
A future that looked bigger than anything I’d dared to imagine.
Roxie was still standing in front of me, eyes searching my face like she was bracing for impact.
I didn’t give her time to second-guess herself.
I stepped forward and kissed her.
Right there in the hallway, chlorine and adrenaline and noise were bleeding around us while I anchored myself to the one thing that felt steady.
She made a soft sound of surprise before kissing me back, fingers curling into the front of my hoodie like she needed proof I was real.
I pulled back just enough to rest my forehead against hers.
My heart was still racing, but not the way it did before a race. This wasn’t adrenaline begging to burn off. It was something steadier. Something that made me want to stay instead of surge forward.
I’d won today and made it to Worlds with my body.
But this felt like choosing something with my whole self.
“So,” I murmured. “This is us choosing chaos, right?”
Her breath shook out in a laugh. “Oh, absolutely. You thrive on chaos.”
“I do not.”
She tilted her head. “Ledger, your job is voluntarily jumping into a pool and suffering for fun.”
“Okay, rude. But fair.”
Her smile softened, and she brushed her thumb along my jaw. “You’re sure about this?”
The question mattered. I could hear it in her voice. The vulnerability underneath the bravado.
I covered her hand with mine. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
She studied me for a long moment, then nodded. “Okay. But just so you know—I’m still going to argue with you.”
“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”
“And you know I don’t do well with swimmer schedules.”
“Worlds training schedules,” I corrected.
She rolled her eyes. “See? Already insufferable.”
I grinned. “You like me.”
She smiled back. “I really do.”
We stood there for another beat, letting it settle. Letting ourselves exist in the truth of it.
“Come on,” I said finally. “Let’s go home.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Home home?”
“Our home,” I said, without hesitation.
The word didn’t feel fake or pretend like it once had.
It didn’t feel like a responsibility or a risk calculation. It felt like a decision. One I was making with my eyes open.
Something warm spread across her face, and she nodded. “Okay.”
Home felt different.
Not because the walls had changed or because the furniture was suddenly more meaningful, but because we were together. We weren’t skirting around each other or our feelings. We now cuddled on the couch with her tucked into my side, like it was where we’d always belonged.
That night, we went to Talon’s place for dinner. He’d texted the group something about “celebratory carbs” and “mandatory attendance,” and neither of us had argued.
The moment we walked in, it was obvious.
Livvi noticed first.
She paused mid-sentence, eyes flicking between the way my hand rested at Roxie’s lower back and the way she leaned into me without thinking.
“Oh,” she said slowly. “Well. This is new.”
Talon blinked. “Why are you standing like that?”
Roxie smiled sweetly. “Like what?”
“Like you’re happy to be standing that close to Ledger.”
Ridge snorted from the couch. “Gross.”
I laughed, dropping onto the armchair and tugging Roxie down with me so she was half sitting in my lap.
Livvi’s mouth fell open. “Oh, my gosh.”
Talon pointed at us. “You two finally stopped lying to everyone?”
“Mostly ourselves,” Roxie said.
I should’ve been more surprised by their lack of shock—or by the way none of them blinked twice before adjusting to the new dynamic. I’d expected teasing or maybe questions, but instead, they treated it like something inevitable.
And then it clicked. I guess we had been dancing around this for years, masking our observations with ribbing and exaggerated eye rolls, pretending it was hate or indifference when, really, we’d always noticed each other because we were drawn to one another, even if neither of us wanted to admit it.
That long-running, quiet tension had been obvious to anyone with eyes.
And now, it was finally out in the open.
I shook my head slightly, smiling down at Roxie. Not surprised at us. Just relieved to finally stop pretending, like everyone else had been waiting for us to catch up.
Dinner was loud and warm and full of easy teasing.
Roxie was the same she’d always been, trading jabs with Ridge and stealing food from my plate like she’d been doing for years.
But now I got to sit back and enjoy the fact that Roxie was mine in a way that wasn’t borrowed or temporary or pretending anymore.
We fit here—at this table, in this life—with an ease that made my chest feel loose in a way I wasn’t used to.
This wasn’t borrowed happiness. It wasn’t the kind you hold loosely because you expect it to disappear.
It was the kind that settled in your bones. That made you realize how long you’ve been bracing for something to go wrong and how exhausting that’s been.
The tension I’d been carrying for months loosened its grip, replaced by something quieter and soothing. Contentment. The kind that didn’t need to be loud to be real. For once, I wasn’t counting races or calculating risks or bracing for the drop. I was just here. Present. Happy.
At one point, Talon leaned back and studied us. “Huh.”
Roxie shot him a look. “What does huh mean?”
“It means,” Talon said slowly, “this is weird.” He gestured between Roxie and me. “You stole his fries, and he didn’t even pretend to be annoyed,” Talon replied. “In fact, he slid the plate closer to you.”
I opened my mouth to argue, then stopped when I realized he was right.
Just because she’d been stealing food from my plates for years didn’t mean I had let her do so easily.
There had been threats and hand slaps every time, to which she’d just given me a cheeky smile while shoving whatever food she’d stolen into her mouth.
All I did in response to his comment was shrug, the conversation moving forward again.
But it wasn’t long until Talon was looking at me again.
“You know,” he said, “this is the first time you’ve looked relaxed in months.”
I glanced over at Roxie, who was mid-laugh, eyes bright as she and Livvi talked.
“Yeah,” I said. “I feel it too.”
And the realization startled me.
I’d spent so long believing that calm meant complacency, that ease meant losing my edge. But sitting here, hand in Roxie’s, I didn’t feel slower or softer.
I felt stable.
Like everything else could finally build from here instead of constantly threatening to fall apart.
Later, as plates were cleared and drinks were refilled, Ridge grew unusually quiet.
Talon noticed immediately … probably brother’s intuition. “What’s wrong with you?”
Ridge scowled. “Nothing.”
“Liar.”
He sighed. “We got a new transfer.”
I shrugged. “So? We get new swimmers joining all the time.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not a fan of this one.”
Talon smirked. “Uh-oh, are they a backstroker? Scared they’re going to steal your thunder?”
“No one is stealing my thunder,” Ridge said adamantly. “She’s just maddening.”
Livvi’s eyebrows shot up. “She?”
The room went still.
Roxie’s lips twitched. “Oh, this is excellent.”
Ridge groaned. “Do not do this.”
“It’s not like you will be competing with her. Why are you so threatened?” I asked.
“I’m not threatened.”
Livvi leaned forward. “You’re acting like you’re threatened.”
Roxie grinned. “What’s her name?”
“I’m not telling you guys.”
Talon clapped his hands. “I give it three weeks before you’re in love.”
“Shut up.”
I leaned back, Roxie’s hand warm in mine, laughter filling the room.
This—this—was what I’d almost convinced myself I didn’t deserve.
Not because I hadn’t worked hard enough or didn’t want it badly enough, but because somewhere along the way I’d learned to equate love with conditions. With performance. With being useful or impressive or worth keeping only as long as I was winning.
I’d told myself that needing someone made you vulnerable. That letting someone see you when you weren’t standing on a podium was dangerous. Easier to stay alone. Easier to keep my eyes on the target. Easier to believe that anything good never lasted.
But sitting here, surrounded by people who knew me, beside a woman who chose me without asking me to be anything other than myself, something new settled into my chest.
True happiness.
Not the sharp, fleeting high of a win. Not the relief of surviving another season. But something stable. Something that didn’t feel like it would disappear the moment I stopped earning it.
Roxie squeezed my hand, like she knew exactly where my thoughts had gone, and for once, I didn’t pull away from the feeling. I let myself believe that maybe this wasn’t something I had to outrun.
That this was something I could stay for.
Later, walking home with Roxie, hand in hand, I made the choice fully.
Worlds would be hard. Love would be terrifying. The future was uncertain.
I didn’t know how to balance training with vulnerability. I didn’t know what it would look like to fail in the water and still come home to someone who stayed.
I didn’t know how to be chosen without earning it first.
But I was done pretending I didn’t want that kind of life. Done believing that ambition and love couldn’t exist in the same lane.
Swimming had taught me how to push through pain.
Roxie was teaching me how to stay when things got real.
And for the first time in my life, I wasn’t running from that.
I was choosing it.
I was choosing her.