Chapter Eleven

Riley

Lena's words still weigh on my mind as I give her swimming lessons the next morning--her final request, since we're free to do whatever we want on our last day.

It was just a whisper, and yet I heard it. Maybe Lena didn't think so, because she hasn't repeated it since, nor has she acted differently after. If anything, she's back to the caring, independent and sometimes feisty Lena I know, the one from before yesterday.

Maybe she didn't mean that confession? Just like she didn't mean it yesterday when she said she was tired of me and wanted nothing more to do with me. Maybe it was just the sex talking. Maybe she just got carried away.

But no. Something tells me she meant it. I've heard the words before, after all. I know how they sound when the one saying them is only doing so to please, to get something in return, like a kitten purring so it can be petted.

Lena didn't say them like that. In fact, I've never heard anyone say the words quite the way she did. That's why it's bothering me.

Yes, I wanted her to fall into my trap. I wanted to make her mine. But to make her say those words? That wasn't part of my plan.

"Hey," her voice jolts me out of my thoughts and I turn to her.

She's still gripping the kickboard like I told her, her legs still moving up and down along the water's surface.

"Now you're the one being quiet."

She's right. It's not like me.

I place my hands on my hips beneath the water. "Well, now you know how I felt yesterday."

Lena frowns. "So this is revenge?"

I shake my head. "No. Sulking isn't my thing."

"Not even after you lose a race?"

I shrug. "I just take a cold shower, punch the wall a few times, go to bed and train harder the next day. Sulking won't change things, after all, and it definitely won't make you better."

She nods. "I'll keep that in mind."

I place my hands between her chest and her stomach and push her up, then lift her knees. "For now, keep in mind that you have to keep your body straight. If not, your feet will sink. That's why you're kicking too much. Kicking is for moving forward, not for keeping yourself afloat."

"Yes, sir."

I wonder how she can be so calm today after what we did in this very same pool last night. We were just like this--her body afloat, my feet firmly planted on the tiles as I tried to keep her from sinking while I carved myself into her body. Just the thought of it, just the sight of her in a two-piece swimsuit, just the feel of her skin beneath my palm is enough to make my cock stir in my trunks, raring for another go. But I step back.

She manages to keep her body straight and afloat for a few seconds. Then she starts to sink again. She kicks frantically then she stops kicking altogether. Her feet drop to the bottom and she lets out a sigh.

"I'm tired," she complains as she rests her cheek against the kickboard.

"Then rest." I pat her shoulder. "You deserve it. I'll just go for a swim."

I pull my goggles over my eyes and am off before Lena can say a word. My body sinks below the water then aligns with it. My legs propel me forward. My arms rise and fall, paving a path in the water which the rest of my body follows.

As usual, the water washes my worries away. The tension in my muscles uncoils. The heat that spreads through them like wildfire sets every cell ablaze, and when it's gone my body feels renewed.

In a way, swimming is like having sex, I guess. It's a workout. It sends adrenaline pumping through your veins and leaves you sweating, grunting and gasping for breath. In the end, you're spent but you feel refreshed, left with a lingering satisfaction unlike any other.

"You're really good at swimming," Lena says when I go back to her. "In fact, I can say it comes naturally to you."

"As natural as breathing," I agree as I push my goggles up.

"So why quit?"

I wipe the excess water off my face with my palm.

It's not the first time I've been asked that question. When I first announced my retirement, everyone was spouting it.

"Because I've reached my peak and I've done everything I can with swimming," I give Lena the same answer I gave them.

"Bull. What about Phelps?"

That's exactly the reaction I got from a few of the journalists, too.

"And even if that was the case, so what? You love swimming. I can see that. You have a right to do it for as long as you like."

"I never said I'd stop swimming. I'll just stop doing it competitively."

Lena shakes her head. "That's like saying you're just going to keep breathing and not living. It's not the same."

I glance at her. When did she begin to understand me so well?

I sigh. "It's not that simple."

She questions me with creased eyebrows. "Why not?"

Because I promised my father I'd be the son he wanted once I turned twenty-eight. Because as the heir to a billion-dollar fortune, I was never free to begin with. Because life is fucking unfair.

But I don't tell her any of that. I've already accepted my fate.

"It's just not."

Lena moves closer to me. Her narrowed eyes peer into mine.

"You're not dying, are you?"

I give her a puzzled look. "What?"

She looks away. "That's the only reason I can think of to explain why you're quitting. I mean, swimming is your life. Giving it up would be like dying. So maybe you're already dying."

"I'm not dying," I tell her.

"Then why give it up?" Lena sighs. "I just don't understand. You keep telling me not to give up on little things, yet you're giving up on what seems like the most important thing in the world to you. I know you must have a reason. I just hope that you're doing this for yourself and not for anyone else."

I frown.

She notices it. "Sorry. I'm going to shut up now."

I, too, fall silent, her words still ringing in my head. I thought I'd resigned myself to my fate. Why, then, do I feel irritated now?

Lena pats my shoulder. "Just promise me you'll be happy."

I don't know if I can.

"Oh, and one more thing. You know what's going to happen later, right?"

I shrug. "Pretty much."

"They'll give you the divorce papers and then you'll sign. Then we'll have dinner, our last dinner, which will be romantic just like our first and hopefully not as disastrous."

I grin at the memory.

"And afterwards, you'll hand me the papers, too. The end."

I scratch the back of my head. "Yeah. I think they said something like that."

"Well, I just wanted to ask you, no matter what, can you just try not to get serious? Just keep things light, you know. Because I don't want to cry."

She already looks like she's about to.

"Can you do that?" she asks me. "I know we're getting divorced, but can we just end this on a happy note? Can we just be the happiest soon-to-be divorced couple ever?"

I nod. "Okay. I'll see what I can do."

Lena smiles. "Thanks."

~

I told her that, but now that the divorce papers are in front of me, I find myself wavering.

After all, before I came on this show, I already had everything planned. I'd make my wife fall for me, have as much fun as I could with her, and then when the show was over, I'd just sign the divorce papers and leave without saying a word.

That was how I always ended things. In the morning, before the woman I'd bedded the night before woke up, I'd just leave without a word. And then it would be over.

Goodbyes are just so tedious.

So why should I go through that routine just because Lena asked me to?

I glance at the first page of the document on the table, frowning as I see her name.

Lena Hunt. Just a week ago, I didn't know her. I definitely didn't expect her. Now, I don't know how to get rid of her.

Part of me thinks I owe her a goodbye like the one she asked for. Another part doesn't want to say it at all. She'd definitely make a better wife than Judy or some spoiled, snobbish heiress whose pastime is to match the right dress with the right shoes or argue with her friends about whose nose job looks the best. At least, I'd be happier with that.

But I can't marry her. So I might as well say goodbye.

Or should I?

I tap my fingers on the table. The golden band on one of them glistens.

Didn't I pay for this ring? In the end, it's supposed to be auctioned and the proceeds will go to charity. Same with Lena's. With hers, though, she can choose whether or not to keep it.

What if she gives it up? Can she still keep herself from crying? Or what if she decides to keep it? What do I say to her then? Can I still keep things light then? Can I still leave her then? What if things get messy and complicated?

I shake my head. I don't want to risk it. I came on this reality show to have fun, not to deal with drama, although I'm sure that's exactly what the producers want. But I have enough of that to deal with in my real life.

Yes, Lena will be hurt, especially if the words she said to me are true. But then she'll be hurt whatever happens. Wasn't that why she was crying the other day? Because she was already hurting? Because she knew it would just get worse? She knew this was coming.

We both did.

Maybe if I just leave, it will even do her some good. She won't have to fake as many smiles for me and she won't be tempted to cry. She won't have to make a mess of herself in front of everyone. It will be a swift, decisive end, one that will crush all her hopes and make her forget about me more easily. She'll be able to move on, just like all those women I've walked out on before.

I owe her that much.

My mind made up, I sign the paper in front of me. Then I glance at the crew member who's watching.

"Call your director or your producer or whoever is in charge of this show," I tell him.

He goes. When he comes back, he's with a petite woman in a striped black and white dress. As she pushes her sunglasses up on top of her blonde hair, I realize she's the one I spoke to before the wedding ceremony.

She turns to the cameraman, who puts down his camera and stands next to me.

"Is something wrong, Mr. Boyle?"

"You're the producer, right?" I ask her.

What was her name again? I can't remember.

She nods. "Delia Jasper-Boyd, although everyone calls me Deedee."

Right.

"I've signed the papers," I tell her. "Not that it was necessary."

"Ah, but it is for the show," Deedee says.

"Yes, for the show. The one I'm done playing my part in."

"Yes, you're right. After dinner and--"

"I think I didn't make myself clear." I stand up so I'm towering over her and hold her gaze. "I'm leaving. Now."

Her eyes grow wide. Her jaw drops. Then she glances at the table as she fidgets with her golden watch.

"But--"

"I agreed to be here because I owed Dan a favor. You know Dan, right? I believe he's one of the top network executives now."

"Yes."

"He used to be a producer in the sports department. He was a fan and in some ways, a friend. He asked me to be on this show because he said you needed an athlete. And so I came. But I think I've done enough now." I touch my chin. "Or should I just tell him myself?"

Deedee shakes her head. "No, that's..."

Just then, the door opens again. This time, a man with gray hair and glasses enters. Deedee looks relieved to see him.

"I'm Kevin Rothers, the director," he introduces himself to me before turning to Deedee. "What's going on here?"

"Mr. Boyle wants to leave now," Deedee informs him. "But if he does, the dinner will go to waste and we'll lack material for the final episode of the show. You do know it's the one people watch the most, right?"

"I want to leave," I repeat as I face the director. "I got married and I've done everything you asked, all the stupid challenges, without complaint. Now, I want to go. And I don't know if you've followed my career, Mr. Rothers, but when I say I'm done, I'm done."

He says nothing.

"He's threatening to call Dan if we don't let him go now," Deedee says to him.

Kevin sighs. "You've signed the papers?"

"Yes."

"And the ring?"

I take it off my finger and hand it to him. "You want me to take the suit off, too?"

He shakes his head. "You can mail it or keep it."

"I'll send it back. Now, can I go?"

He nods.

"What?" Deedee sounds horrified.

"The show will be fine," Kevin assures her.

She doesn't look convinced, but I no longer care. I slip my hands into my pockets and walk to the door.

"At least say something to the camera," Deedee pleads. "Something for Lena."

The camera turns on and points at my face.

I sigh. Fine. I'll do this last thing.

"It was fun while it lasted," I say. "But we both knew it would end. Just give up on me, Lena."

With that, I turn to the door and walk out of the room.

That's it. Just walk out. Calmly.

I'm used to this. After a race, I don't talk to my competitors or smile for the camera. Regardless of the results, of all the cameras flashing in my face, I walk to the showers without paying anyone else any heed. It's the same after a press conference. Once it's done, I walk to my car with my earphones on to drown out all the questions that I don't care to answer.

This is how I do things. This is how it's supposed to be.