Chapter 21 #2
“Qualifiers,” he explains as Nox reaches the end of the lane and flips, easily staying a length ahead of all the other swimmers.
“Each event has too many swimmers to all go at once. For this event, the 200m fly, they have six preliminary heats and the eight fastest times will swim in the finals tonight. No one at this invitational is even close to his level, so he just needs an easy swim to get to the finals. He really shouldn’t waste his time with these college meets.
He should focus on the international competitions.
But why would he listen to me? I’m just the most decorated male swimmer of all time. ”
It takes all my effort not to snort derisively in his face.
And the most pompous, too. I know exactly why Nox is wasting his time.
It doesn’t take a genius to understand. He sacrifices so much, he’s alone so much—sleeping when we’re out partying, training when we’re lazing around our dorms, traveling and working.
There are competitions and interviews with press and photo shoots with his sponsors, not to mention living and breathing nonstop at the pool.
Being on the swim team at least gives him brief moments of camaraderie.
My mind drifts to the chants of wasabi and the belly flop competition.
Maybe his dad is too much of a self-centered jerk to get it, but I do.
Nox deserves those moments of friendship, of normalcy, of fun.
A ferocious need to defend him sends a question whizzing up my throat. “You have eight gold medals, right?”
“That’s right,” his dad replies, superiority dripping thick as syrup from his voice. “Plus six silver and three bronze, for a total of seventeen. No one else is even close.”
Wow. This guy really is full of himself.
“Well…except Nox, right?” I ask, finally turning to him, keeping my face and tone as innocent as possible. “He has five gold medals already. After the next Olympics, he’ll probably have you beat there.”
Most fathers would beam with pride. Peter Monroe just narrows his eyes. “Who are you again?”
“Clara Hayes,” I say, extending my hand. “Nova’s roommate.”
He glances down at my hand, then back to my eyes. “And how do you know Nox?”
“We’re friends.”
I drop my arm and turn back to the pool, over this conversation. Nox stares at us while he treads water and waits for the rest of the swimmers to finish. His brow furrows, etched with concern. I hate it. So I do the only thing I can think of to make him feel better.
I give him a thumbs-up.
A freaking thumbs-up.
What am I—five?
Kill me now.
Just as a groan starts rumbling at the back of my throat, he grins. Quick. Closed-mouth. But undeniably there as he whips his head to the side, flinging the water from his hair, and climbs out of the pool. It’s impossible not to notice how cut his ass cheeks are in that suit.
Fuck my life.
How am I going to survive eight more hours of this without self-combusting?
Nova to the rescue. She keeps me distracted and entertained, pulling me into the stories she tells her mom—how the three of us snuck Willa’s dog, Brigitte, into our dorm in a suitcase when her parents were visiting for a weekend, how we all dressed up as Disney villains for Halloween in honor of Nova’s role as the Witch in the winter production of Into the Woods, how we toilet-papered the hockey house the night they won their first away game with some help from Grant and the rest of the football team.
Her dad only speaks to us when Nox is getting ready for a race, when he’s watching.
I can’t help but feel like a pawn in a game I don’t want to play.
Desperate for an escape, I volunteer to grab provisions for everyone during the midday break.
Nova’s mom has been slurring for the past forty-five minutes, obviously enough even Nova can’t pretend not to notice.
Embarrassed wrinkles pull at the corners of her eyes as she holds her mom around the middle, keeping her upright when they stand to let me shuffle by.
It makes me wonder if today was about more than just inviting me to the meet—if it was about inviting me into her secrets, her real life, all the stuff she’s been trying to hide, now that I’ve finally shown her mine.
At the concession stand, I take my time, grabbing chicken fingers and French fries and chips and sodas and just about anything I can fit on my tray.
When I return, Nox’s dad has his arm across the back of my seat.
He doesn’t bother to move it when I sit down.
So I keep my spine ramrod straight, trying to ignore the infringement on my personal space.
Nox clocks it the second he walks out of the locker room in a green Swiftmore hoodie to warm up for the finals.
With those big headphones over his ears, he’s the picture of focus until his gaze locks on the hand behind my shoulder.
A frown tugs at his lips. His dad chooses that second to reach his other hand over to the tray on my lap for a fry, lingering a second too long.
I shift my weight as Nox’s eyes practically flash red.
Nova doesn’t notice. She’s too busy trying to get her mom to eat something.
But Madeleine sees. Her bloodshot gaze darts to the spot where Peter’s fingers accidentally brush up against my back as she takes another swig.
I feel stuck, trapped.
By the time Nox finishes his second final, Madeleine starts drawing the wrong sort of attention.
The worst part, though, is the soft, resigned sigh I hear from Nova, and the way she turns, gesturing without words to her mom’s driver-slash-bodyguard, Carl, in the row behind us.
Despite the muscles bulging beneath his suit and the intimating combo of his clenched jaw and shaved head, tenderness fills his gaze.
He knows exactly what she means. They’ve been here before. Many times, by the looks of it.
“I’ve got to get her out of here,” Nova whispers apologetically. “I’ll be right back.”
The two of them help Madeleine to her feet, a well-oiled machine as they discreetly guide her out of the pool. Cell phones track their movement. Whispers follow.
Their absence emboldens Peter. He leans over, lips too close to my ear, breath unwelcome on my skin. “So how long have you been fucking my son?”
I flinch.
Nox sees. He should be focused on the pool, on his next race. But he’s not. He’s looking at us, at me.
“I’m not.”
“That’s even worse.” Peter laughs softly. My skin crawls as warm air brushes against my neck. “He likes to think we’re so different, but we’re not. We’re the same, he and I. Same talents…same weaknesses.”
He strokes his fingers up my bicep, then back down, up, then down, deliberate, goading.
I freeze, not sure what to do, unwilling to jump up and make a scene when Nox is already bent over on the starting block.
Those green eyes aren’t tilted down toward the water, though.
They’re angled up toward the stands, zeroed in on his father’s hand, tracking every subtle movement.
The horn blares.
Nox doesn’t move.
Every other swimmer leaps off the block, but he freezes, same as me, stuck in the moment. It barely lasts a second. He launches into the pool and quickly catches the competition. But the damage is done.
“Swimming is a sport of milliseconds,” his father murmurs with an oily slickness. “If he does that at the next Olympics, you won’t need to worry about my record.”
Peter drops his arm and leans away.
I take the opening and leap to my feet while Nox is still finishing his race.
I don’t want to abandon him or Nova, but I can’t spend another second sitting next to their father.
I recognize a few swimmers in the student section and make a beeline for them.
Nox finds me there when his race ends, eyes blazing.
“Oh man, he looks pissed.” One of the guys laughs.
“He should be,” another comments. “What the fuck was that?”
“He still won,” another adds.
I don’t want to hear them, don’t want to acknowledge the fury radiating from every one of Nox’s muscles as he pulls himself from the pool, but it’s impossible not to. He may not be angry at me, but he’s angry about me.
You’re a distraction, Clara!
His words from last spring echo in my ears. I didn’t get it then, not really. Now, with an awful, sinking realization, I do.