Chapter 32
Denial is such a treacherous path. Once you bury one thing, the soil turns soft. It’s easy to slip another under the dirt, and another, then another, until eventually the ground is so unstable, one wrong move drags you under.
That’s how it happens with Nox.
A few days after the boys kidnap us, I see an empty handle of vodka in the bin under his desk. I shrug it off—probably from some party Logan threw.
A week after that, I go to his class to surprise him for once, but he’s not there. When I text him, he says he skipped because he’s sick. I take him at his word and bring over some soup.
When he gets so drunk on Halloween he needs to be carted home by the football team, I tell myself he’s just making up for lost time.
I stop noticing the minty freshness of his breath when he comes to find me after class. I stop wondering why his hair is never wet when he says he’s just come from training. It never seems strange that when we go out for food, he only orders one plate when he used to buy three.
When we’re together, it’s so easy.
We’re so happy.
I take one look at the love practically beaming from his eyes, feel it melt into my heart, and think, How can anything possibly be wrong?
Until the ground finally gives way.
I sense the heaviness in the air before I even fully open the front door of my dorm.
There’s this static charge that prickles across my skin in warning, a tension that tugs at the hairs along my neck.
I pause halfway inside to brace myself, pulling in air I somehow know I’ll need before I swing the door wide and glance up.
Nova is sitting on the couch with Coach Fleishman. I can’t see his face, but hers glistens with tears. She looks at me when I walk in, her eyes bloodshot. She’s got her hands clasped around her chin, covering her mouth as if to hold in a sob.
For the tiniest beat, I freeze. My heart stills. My thoughts screech to a halt. I don’t hear, don’t feel, don’t smell. The whole world just stops.
Then it all comes rushing forward like a crashing wave of panic so large, so overwhelming, I realize I must’ve been holding it inside for a lot longer than I realize. There’s no surprise as I run across the room and throw my bag to the floor. I think maybe I’ve been expecting this moment all along.
“What happened?” I beg, turning to Coach. “Is he okay? Is he hurt?”
“He’s not injured,” Coach says carefully, in that deep, authoritative yet caring timbre.
My worst fears ease. I breathe a sigh of relief, clutching at my chest. “Oh, thank god.”
I turn to Nova, but there isn’t an ounce of solace to be found on her face.
She’s dead serious, somber, aching. I look back to Coach.
He’s regarding me sadly, the hint of an apology at the corners of his downturned hazel eyes, as if he’s sorry to be the one bringing me this news.
I take a seat in the open chair. “He’s not injured,” I say again, seeking reassurance as my heart slowly sinks deeper into my ribs. “But he’s not okay either. Is he?”
“No,” Coach confirms. “He’s not okay.”
“Tell her,” Nova whispers, her voice scratchy. “Tell her everything.”
Coach nods, his eyes still on me. “What do you know?”
“Um, Nox said he needed to take some time off from competing to clear his head. I know he’s been partying a bit more than before, but, I mean, so do a lot of the guys. I didn’t think— I don’t think—” I break off to release an unsteady breath.
Coach cuts right to the issue. “He hasn’t stepped foot in the pool complex this entire year.”
My face scrunches. A protest bubbles to my lips. “No, that’s not— He’s there every day.”
“He might tell you he’s there every day, but I can assure you, Miss Hayes, that Nox has not been in a pool since that 4x100m freestyle relay. He’s been ignoring his training. He’s been avoiding me. And if that were all it was, I would let him have his space, but it’s not.”
My chest inverts. “What do you mean?”
“I got a letter this week. He’s been on academic probation for a month and if he misses another meeting with his advisor, he’ll be kicked off campus and put on a formal academic suspension next semester. He won’t graduate.”
All the air seeps from my lungs. I manage a breathy, “Why?”
“I’ve been informed that he hasn’t attended a single lecture this year, hasn’t turned in a single paper, hasn’t completed a single exam. And he is, in fact, failing all four of his classes.”
A knot clumps in the back of my throat. I can’t speak. I just look at Nova as a sting burns the backs of my eyes.
He lied.
It’s all I can think, over and over. He lied. Yes, skipping his training is bad. Missing his classes is not ideal. Failing is awful. But I could’ve looked past all that. Made excuses. Focused on the intense pressure he’s been facing, something none of us have ever had to deal with.
But lying to my face?
I can’t rationalize that.
I can’t shrug it off.
Memories flit across my mind—the casual way he mentioned heading to the pool when he dropped me off at class, the unbothered responses when I asked about midterms, the times he skirted his way around my questions about training or kissed me to change the subject.
The flashes go on and on, because that’s how deep the deception is.
Every day, multiple times a day, for weeks, Nox has stared into my eyes with a perfectly straight face and lied.
My house of cards tumbles.
I plummet.
“What has he been doing?” My voice is hollow, my eyes unseeing as I continue to sort through the web of dishonesty spinning through my thoughts.
But as soon as I say it, I already know.
My gaze snaps to Nova, to the despair carving the life from her eyes, cutting so deep so fast because all the cracks were already there. I hear Nox in my mind. It’s what my mom always does. I figured I’d give it a try. I taste the minty freshness of his lips. And I know.
“He’s been drinking,” I whisper.
“I believe so, yes,” Coach says evenly. “And given the family history, I’m concerned.”
I think back to my time in LA, how Nova was alone with Nox when I got there, how she’d been out all night searching for him with Carl, how in the week I was there at the house, I didn’t speak to Madeleine once when she didn’t have some sort of beverage in her hand. It’s not family history. Far from it.
“I think he might be suffering from post-Olympic depression, or gold medal syndrome as some people call it. After so many years of intense, singular focus, elite athletes such as Nox can often experience a surprising amount of loneliness and emptiness at finally achieving their goals, like they have no purpose, no mountains left to climb, nothing else to strive for. At first, I thought it was just a little bit of burnout. He didn’t take any break after the last games.
I thought he was due for a bit of time off to reset.
But now…” He releases a long, heavy breath.
What’s the point, Clara?
What’s the fucking point?
Whether Nox knew it or not, he was begging me for help. And I missed it. I chose not to see. “Beating his dad’s record really messed with his head,” I try to explain.
Coach nods. “I gathered as much.”
“Nox hates him,” I continue, glancing between Coach and Nova, trying to make them understand.
My tone is defensive, protective, even as my heart’s breaking.
“He wanted to take something from him. He wanted to hurt him back. But I think, maybe, surrounding himself with so much negativity, focusing so much on the bad, just ended up hurting Nox instead.”
“I didn’t know,” Nova whispers.
“Don’t do that.” I shake my head. “It’s not your fault. He didn’t want you to know. He didn’t want anyone to know.”
She doesn’t respond, just retreats back into herself, anxiety a monster in her eyes, clawing at her. I scooch my chair closer and take one of her hands, squeezing her fingers tight.
We’ll figure this out. We’ve got this.
I turn to Coach. “What can we do?”
“You can start by getting him to the meeting with his academic advisor. It’s a week from Tuesday.
I want to make sure he graduates. The pool will be there for him if he wants to return—or not.
He can find a new dream if that’s what he wants.
But if he flunks out of college, it’ll be hard to keep the story contained, to give him the privacy he needs to sort it all out. ”
“We can do that,” I say with complete conviction, the logistics already turning over in my mind, as though this is some new project I need to champion.
It’s the only way my brain can process the information—as a problem I can fix if I just work hard enough, hand out enough flyers, gather enough signatures, make enough signs.
If I think of it any other way, I’ll fall apart.
By the time Coach leaves, I’m already five steps ahead. We’ve got to call Logan. We’ve got to fill him in, get him on board, put together a game plan to confront Nox tonight. The sooner the better. Should we do it at our place? His? Somewhere neutral?
I turn to Nova, thoughts spinning, but she’s still as a statue, staring off into the distance with a hopelessness that terrifies me.
“Nova?” The sound of her name barely registers. I lean in closer. “Did you hear what I said? Should we go to his place or tell him to come here?”
“It won’t matter,” she murmurs softly.
“What do you mean?”
“All my life, I’ve been so worried about Nox turning into my dad.
I never for one second thought to worry he might turn into my mom instead.
” She looks at me then, eyes sharp with pained resignation.
“I’ve been here before, Clara. Too many times.
We won’t be able to force him to change.
He’s going to have to realize it for himself.
You can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped. ”
It’s old wounds talking, old scars that cut too deep.
“Listen to me.” I take her by the shoulders, force her to hold my gaze.
“He’s not your mom. He’s not your dad, either.
He’s Nox. It’s not too late to help him.
He’s the most confident, stubborn, disciplined person I know.
If we can just snap him out of it, if we can just make him see, he’ll do the rest. I know he will. ”
Her gaze softens.
She wavers.
“He’s not gone, Nova,” I whisper, gripping her tighter. She nods slowly, not fully convinced, but not despondent either. “He’s just lost. And together, we’ll find him.”