Chapter 29 #2
My family and I explode out of our seats the second he touches the wall, a full body-length and a half ahead of the rest of the competition, shattering the world record by nearly three seconds.
The entire arena goes wild. The cameras immediately form a split screen to Nox in the water, heaving with that same focused expression, and his father in the crowd.
Peter Monroe cheers along with the rest, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
He’s too media trained to not act the part when he knows the world is watching, but I see the strained muscles in his neck, as though it’s taking all his effort to hold that proud expression.
Nova and her mom are totally losing it a few seats down, close enough to still be in the shot, but not so close either of them has to deal with Peter all night.
They’re jumping and hugging and crying. An envious pinch tightens my chest—I could have been there.
I could have seen it in person. I could have been the one Nox found the moment he achieved the victory he’s been working for his whole life.
But I’m not.
I didn’t realize until now exactly how bittersweet that would feel.
The longer the camera stays on him, the more hollowed out I become.
I should have been there. I shouldn’t have let my fear keep me away.
My mom and dad are still chatting a mile a minute about the race, fully converted into Nox Monroe fans with all this hype, but I feel my lips flatten and my eyes dim.
My heart thumps, no longer light and airy, but heavy with regret.
I’m so proud of him.
I’m so angry at myself.
Nox climbs out of the pool, not speaking to anyone, not acknowledging the reporters or the camera or the hype.
He walks straight over to the stands to take Nova’s hands and clutches them in his while she leans half-over the banister to reach him.
Tears of happiness fall down her cheeks, but the moment they lock gazes, her joy wavers.
No one who didn’t know her would notice, but I see it, and everything within me goes still.
I stop thinking about myself.
For once, I focus entirely on him.
Nox’s back is turned while his mom stretches out to grip his shoulder.
On his other side, Peter elbows through the crowd.
Nox starts to pull away, but his father gets there just in time.
He tugs on Nox’s other shoulder, forcing his gaze.
I’m not sure what passes between them, but I sure as hell know it isn’t the sentimental father-son passing-of-the-torch moment the announcers are making it out to be.
They’re seeing what Nox trained them to see, because pretending everything is good was easier than facing the notoriety of it being so bad.
But now I wonder, as Peter lets go and Nox steps back, his jaw tight, his face stony, if the truth might have been better.
When he takes his place atop the podium, gold disc gleaming around his neck while our national anthem blares, a foreboding slither tightens my stomach in knots.
Two tears leak from the corners of his eyes to draw glistening stripes down his cheeks, the rest of his mask unflinching.
The announcers comment on the rare show of emotion from him, explaining to the audience the overwhelming mix of pride and joy and reflection an athlete might feel at a moment like this, but that’s not what I see.
I don’t see someone overcome by achievement.
I see a man fighting like hell with every ounce of his considerable control to keep it the fuck together.
As the song continues playing, the light in his eyes dims, down, down, down, until there isn’t an ounce of feeling left within them.
He holds his fist up in victory and smiles at the crowd, waving, but I see it for what it truly is—going through the motions.
He doesn’t call me that night.
I try him three times, but he doesn’t pick up. I get an email an hour later. It’s only seven words long.
Sorry. Just tired. 8 days, then forever.
I’m so worried I text Nova.
Have you spoken to Nox?
No. You?
No.
Am I totally losing it or did he seem off tonight after he won?
I felt it too.
Do you think he’s okay?
I don’t know. Probably. He’s Nox.
I’ll tell you one thing, though, I’m about ready to kill my dad. Did you see him taking all those interviews at the end of the night? He’s sucking up every ounce of attention he can, the prick. I knew he’d make it all about himself. He always does.
I read Nova’s text again and again.
Probably. He’s Nox.
Nox, who has it together. Nox, who never shows any fear. Nox, who always keeps his cool, always maintains control.
I’ve been guilty of thinking it too, but now I wonder, are we putting just as much pressure on him as everyone else by doing so? He’s seen the rawest parts of me, and every time, despite my discomfort, I walk away feeling stronger.
Has he ever been so vulnerable with me?
Have I let him?
The next day passes at a glacial pace. Nox texts a quick apology for missing my calls last night, but if anything, it makes me more nervous.
He skips the prelims for the 4x100m freestyle relay.
The announcers say it’s not a huge surprise.
The team is saving him for the finals later, giving someone else a chance to get on the roster to earn a medal.
My anxiety still spikes.
When he finally steps onto the pool deck hours later, he seems fine. Same focused expression. Same determined energy. He chats with his teammates while they all get ready. The knot in my stomach eases ever so slightly.
Maybe I am going crazy.
Maybe he was just tired.
You are totally losing it, Clara.
I sigh and sit back into my couch. He’s fine. He’s better than fine. He’s the best swimmer in history. He’s doing his thing. He’s—
My body tenses.
He doesn’t look at his father as he takes his place on the block. Maybe I just missed it. The cameras were focused on the race. He’s the anchor leg. I probably just didn’t see.
But then he leaps into the pool, and I know something’s different.
Even the announcers sense it. He’s a bit sluggish off the block, they say.
A line pops up in front of his fingers, showing how far behind he is from the pace he set just a few days ago.
Australia and China start to creep up on the lead.
The camera pans to his teammates, the concern etched on their faces as they cheer for him to come on.
It looks as if the Australian swimmer might overtake him, but at the last second, Nox gets a sudden burst, securing the victory.
Everybody cheers.
I deflate as they zoom in on his expressionless face.
His teammates pull him out of the water.
They holler into the rafters, grinning and smacking each other on the back.
Nick grabs him and pulls him in for an embrace.
The announcers talk about how the two of them grew up training together and what a special moment this must be.
Nox shows his first sign of life, hugging Nick back, but then it’s gone.
I realize what that little burst at the end of his swim was—him rallying to secure a gold medal for his friend.
He’s detached.
On autopilot.
I don’t get a call that night. I don’t get an email either. Nova tracks his location to the Olympic Village. There’s no way to get to him when he’s in there. She calls Nick. He says Nox is sleeping, getting ready for their last race tomorrow. There’s nothing we can do.
He skips prelims again the next morning.
The announcers say it’s common practice.
But six hours later, when the coaches announce the final roster for the 4x100m medley, Nox’s name isn’t on it.
Shock waves ripple across the internet. What happened?
Did he get hurt? Is he sick? Surely, he must be injured.
I call Nova immediately. “Do you know where he is?”
“No.” The crowd roars in the background.
On the TV, I watch her push her way through a mass of reporters, arm linked with her mother’s as the same bodyguard I met at Swiftmore creates a path for them to hustle through.
Questions rain down on them. Leaving will probably only make the speculation worse, but I guess we’re past that now.
The urgency forming a fist around my heart is reflected in her tone. “I’m tracking his location now.”
“I’m coming,” I blurt, sensing my parents’ eyes as I run for the stairs.
The decision is so obvious, so right, I can’t believe I only thought of it now.
I’m coming. Of course I’m coming. I don’t care if I have to burn through my entire savings to do it.
All the reasons I’ve been waiting seem so stupid now.
Maybe I will lose myself in him. Maybe that’s part of what love is.
All I know is he needs me. I watched him break right before my eyes on live TV and I wasn’t there to help.
But I can be there now. If there’s even a chance I can help put him back together, I have to take it.
Screw the risks. “I’ll catch the first flight I can. ”
“You don’t—”
“I do. He needs me. I know he does. I have to be there.”
“Send me your flight number when you have it. I’ll get you a car.”
“Okay, thanks.” I move to hang up as I throw clothes into a duffel bag, then think better of it. “Tell me when you find him. No matter what he says, tell me.”
She sighs into the line, as if she’s been here too many times before. “I will.”