Chapter 25
LEDGER
Five weeks later, I was standing in a hotel room halfway across the world, staring at my suitcase like it had personally betrayed me.
“I told you,” Roxie said, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed, lips twitching. “You don’t need three pairs of noise-canceling headphones.”
“They’re for different purposes.”
She arched her brow. “Oh?”
“Pre-race. Post-race. And emotional emergencies.”
She laughed, pushing off the wall and crossing the room to sit on the edge of the bed. “You are competing at the World Aquatics Championships, not preparing for psychological warfare.”
“You say that now,” I muttered, zipping the bag anyway. “Wait until someone touches my goggles.”
She snorted. “I still can’t believe I’m here.”
I glanced over at her. “Why?”
She gestured vaguely around the room. “Because five weeks ago, we were still pretending we weren’t a thing. And now we’re in another country, you’re swimming at Worlds, and I know your pre-race routine well enough to be genuinely concerned about how little sleep you got.”
Something warm settled in my chest.
Yeah. That tracked.
Five weeks ago, everything had shifted. We’d gone from carefully circling each other to … this. Shared meals. Shared conversations. Her coffee order memorized. My hand instinctively finding hers when things got loud or overwhelming.
I zipped the suitcase closed and crossed the room, stopping between her knees. “You okay?”
She tilted her head, studying me like she always did, like she was reading between the lines. “Are you asking as my husband-for-paperwork or as my boyfriend-for-real?”
“Boyfriend-for-real,” I said without hesitation.
Her smile softened. “Then yeah. I’m good. A little overwhelmed. A little proud. Mostly excited.”
“Good,” I said. “Because I need you to be here.”
She reached up, fingers tracing the neckline of my shirt. “I know.”
For a moment, neither of us said anything. She traced absent circles against my side, settling in a way she probably didn’t even realize she was doing. I rested my hands on her knees, solid and real, like I needed the reminder just as much.
Three weeks ago, admitting that out loud would’ve terrified me. Needing someone—this much—would’ve felt like handing over control. Now, it just felt honest. Necessary. Like acknowledging gravity instead of fighting it.
“I don’t need you to fix anything,” I added quietly. “Or make this easier. Just … don’t disappear on me.”
Her fingers stilled. Then she looked up at me, eyes bright and immovable. “I’m not going anywhere, Ledger.”
Something in me loosened at that. Not relief—trust. The kind that settled deep and stayed.
I leaned down, brushing my forehead against hers. “Okay.”
She smiled. “Okay.”
And then, maybe before either of us was ready, it was time to step back into reality where the World Aquatics Championships waited.
The pool was louder than I expected.
Worlds wasn’t just another meet; it was a spectacle. National flags hanging from the rafters. Cameras everywhere. Athletes from every corner of the globe moving with quiet intensity, each one carrying the weight of years of work on their shoulders.
I’d competed internationally before, but this felt different.
Maybe because this time, when I stepped onto the deck for warm-ups, I wasn’t alone.
Roxie sat in the stands, legs crossed, watching me like she was trying to memorize every moment. I caught her eye as I passed, and she lifted her chin in a silent don’t screw this up gesture.
I smirked and gave her a lazy salute.
She rolled her eyes.
That was our version of romance.
As I slid into the water, my body settled into familiar rhythms. Pull. Kick. Breathe. The noise faded into background static, muscle memory taking over.
Still, every time I surfaced near her side of the pool, I felt her presence like an anchor.
After warm-ups, I wrapped a towel around my shoulders and headed over to the stands.
“Well?” she asked. “You look adequately warmed.”
“High praise,” I said, dripping water onto the floor.
She leaned in conspiratorially. “Your flip turns were a little aggressive.”
“They’re supposed to be.”
“I’m just saying, you nearly murdered lane four.”
“Lane four started it.”
She laughed, then sobered slightly. “How are you feeling?”
I considered the question. “Nervous. Ready. Terrified. Fine.”
She nodded like that made perfect sense. “Good. Because if you implode, I fully plan to mock you lovingly.”
“Comforting,” I said dryly.
She reached up, straightening my swim cap. “You’re going to be great.”
Her voice was strong. Confident.
It got me in the zone more than any breathing exercise ever had.
Because when Roxie said things like that, she wasn’t trying to convince me—or herself.
She wasn’t hyping me up or throwing blind optimism at the wall and hoping it stuck.
She believed it. In the work I’d done. In the hours no one else saw.
In the version of me that showed up whether the results were good or not.
I leaned closer, lowering my voice. “You know this means you’re officially my good luck charm, right?”
She smirked. “I refuse to take responsibility for your superstitions.”
“Too late,” I said. “You’re already on the list. Right between the left-goggle-first rule and not stepping on the black line.”
She rolled her eyes. “You swimmers are ridiculous.”
“And yet,” I said, “you married one.”
“Temporarily,” she said sweetly.
I lifted a brow. “Careful. I might start calling you my wife again.”
Her lips twitched, then softened. “I don’t mind.”
That—that—had my breath picking up speed. It was quiet and simple but honest.
I brushed my thumb along her wrist, feeling her pulse there, steady and warm. For a split second, the noise of the pool faded. The cameras. The stakes. The pressure I’d carried for so long.
All that mattered was this moment. The woman in front of me. The fact that she was here by choice.
“Hey,” she said gently, sensing the shift. “No matter what happens out there, you don’t owe anyone anything. You’ve already earned this.”
I swallowed. “Yeah.”
“Go get your swim on,” she added. “I’ll be right where you can see me.”
I nodded, backing toward the pool deck. “Don’t disappear.”
She smiled, soft and sure. “Never.”
My first race day came faster than I wanted it to.
I sat in the call room, stretching, headphones on but no music playing. My leg bounced despite my best efforts to still it.
Then I felt her.
Roxie slipped into the seat beside me like she belonged, even though she technically wasn’t supposed to be there. I wasn’t sure how she had made it past security, but I also knew I shouldn’t put anything past Roxie getting what she wanted.
“Hey,” she whispered.
“Hey,” I murmured.
She bumped her knee against mine. “You forgot your lucky hoodie.”
I grimaced. “I knew I was missing something.”
“Relax.” She handed it over to me. “Your wife is amazing and brought it for you.”
I took it from her, my shoulders relaxing on cue. With all my pre-race nerves, I’d forgotten it. But thankfully, my wife was amazing.
“You might owe the security guard an autograph after this, though,” she said. “That and the wife card were the only way I got in here.”
I leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I like when you use the wife card.”
A blush crept over her cheeks, and I loved that I could make her react like that.
We still hadn’t talked about our new relationship in terms of what that meant for our marriage, but if how my chest puffed out in pride at hearing Roxie being called my wife was any indicator, I wanted to keep things how they were.
She took my hand, squeezing once. Not tight. Just enough.
“Remember, you don’t need to win,” she said quietly. “You already accomplished your goal of getting here and making the USA team.”
I swallowed. “I still want to do well.”
“I know,” she said. “And you will.” Then she gave me a cheeky grin. “But no matter what happens, I’m still stealing your fries tonight.”
A laugh burst out of me before I could stop it.
There she was, cutting through the pressure with ease.
“Thank you,” I said.
“For what?”
“For being you.”
She smiled. “You’re welcome.”
Over the course of the next several days, my races were a blur.
The starts. The water closing over my head. The burn in my lungs. The roar of the crowd swelling with every stroke.
I didn’t think.
I swam.
Every time I touched the wall and looked up at the scoreboard, my heart was slamming against my ribs.
One bronze medal in the 400 freestyle relay, two silver medals—one in the 100-meter breaststroke and one in the 200-meter freestyle—and then one gold medal in the 400 IM relay.
It had been the championship of a lifetime for me. I knew I’d never get to experience something like this again, and I soaked in every moment of it.
I wasn’t necessarily done with swimming yet, but no matter what the future held, this was a finish I could stand behind.
As I climbed out of the pool after my last race, adrenaline still surging, my eyes found her immediately.
Roxie was on her feet, clapping like she was personally responsible for my success, grin bright and unapologetic.
I laughed, breathless and light.
Never in a million years could I have dreamed up what I’d been living the last several days. Racing with the best swimmers in the world. Standing on podiums I used to only picture in quiet moments. And most importantly, having the most incredible woman by my side through all of it.
When I finally got to see her after my last event, I didn’t slow down. I pulled her into a hug, arms locking around her like I was afraid if I let go, the moment might evaporate.
She fit against me perfectly, like she always did—solid and comforting and real.
As she melted into me, she said, “I’m so proud of you.”
The words settled somewhere deep in my soul.
I pulled back just enough to look at her. Her eyes were bright, a little glassy, like she’d been holding onto this feeling as tightly as I had. “You say that like I didn’t watch you nearly vibrate out of your seat the entire time.”
She scoffed. “Please. That was controlled enthusiasm.”
“Roxie, you almost tackled the woman next to you.”
“She was in the way,” Roxie replied unapologetically. “Of history.”
I laughed, forehead dropping to hers. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And you,” she said, poking my chest, “are a Worlds medalist.”
The word medalist still felt surreal. I shook my head. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
She softened instantly. “You did this, Ledger.”
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “But having you there—knowing you were watching—it mattered.”
Her hand slid up my arm, fingers curling at my shoulder. “I wasn’t going anywhere.”
Something in her tone, confident and sure, made my throat tighten.
I kissed her then.
It wasn’t rushed or fueled by adrenaline alone. It was warm and certain and full of our commitment to one another. The noise of the pool faded, the cameras forgotten, the world narrowing down to the way she smiled into the kiss like she’d been waiting for it too.
When we pulled back, she brushed her thumb under my eye, gentle. “You did amazing,” she said again. “And I’m not just saying that because I’m legally obligated.”
I grinned. “Good. Because I plan to keep you around well past the paperwork.”
Her smile curved, slow and dangerous. “Careful. I might hold you to that.”
I leaned in once more, kissing her softly. “I hope you do.”
I glanced around—the lanes, the banners, the bright, unforgiving lights. For years, this place had been everything. The goal. The measuring stick. The thing I’d thought I had to do to earn my way into deserving anything else.
But standing here now, medal weight still lingering in my muscles, Roxie in my arms, I understood something I’d been chasing without realizing it.
This wasn’t the finish line.
It was the beginning.
I kissed her again, slower this time, deliberate. The kind of kiss that wasn’t about urgency, but about connecting, about choosing to stay right here. Her hands slid up my chest, intimate and sure, and something in me finally unclenched.
With Roxie, my breathing evened out.
It was the same calm I’d only ever found underwater. The moment after the dive, when the noise disappears and everything narrows down to rhythm and control and trust in your own body. Except now, I wasn’t holding my breath.
I was breathing because of her.
She made the world quiet in the best way. Made me feel secure. Stable. Like I didn’t have to brace myself for the next thing or prove I deserved to be here. With Roxie, I wasn’t performing or chasing or surviving.
I was home.
And as I held her body against mine, our lips moving in a slow, synchronized rhythm, I realized something else too, something that felt just as monumental as medaling at Worlds.
Roxie had breathed life into me. She’d shown me that as much as I loved swimming, there was more to existence than races and times and the constant chase for the next finish line.
There was a whole world beyond the pool—full of quiet moments, shared laughter, and space to just be.
And standing there with her in my arms, I knew I didn’t want to explore any of it alone. I wanted all of it—with her.