EPILOGUE
Two Years Later
I was sweating heavily, and every breath was short and shallow; it just didn't feel like my lungs could take in any more air, as desperately as I wanted them to. It felt like my throat and indeed the entire insides of my chest was on fire – but that didn't matter.
I had to push on.
This was a deciding moment in my life – indeed, perhaps one of the greatest moments of my life. And what I did in the next few minutes would determine whether I would forever remember it as one of my greatest triumphs, or one of my greatest disappointments.
The other team served, and I jumped to intercept the ball as it came sailing over the net, but it was too high, and it passed over my outstretched fingers and dropped abruptly. One of our players dove to try save it, but it hit the floor just inside our line.
The referee blew the whistle, and shouted out, “Point for China! Team China 23, Team USA 22!”
I glanced across at Wade, who was sitting in the stands. His hands were clasped together in front of his face, and he wore an expression that shouted out worry in loud silence, but he fired me an encouraging smile as soon as his eyes met mine.
“You can do it, Eryn!” he shouted out, his voice ringing out loud and clear over the clamor of the huge crowd.
Our captain asked the referee for a quick timeout. We hurried to get together in a huddle while Team China did the same thing on the other side of the net.
“Listen, girls, this is it,” she said. “We're two games to two, this is the decider right here. We've made it this far – and I know it's been tough. I know that you're all exhausted. Hell, I am, too. But do y'all want to go home with Olympic silver or Olympic gold?!”
“Gold!” we all screamed out in unison.
“That's what I thought!” she shouted in response. “Come on, girls, we can do this; we can do this! Bring home that gold, bring it home!”
The Chinese had been destroying us the last three games with their killer server. We had won the first two games – only just, though – with scores of 25 to 21, and 25 to 20.
Since this new girl had come onto the court, she'd been dropping ace after ace with her unusual serving technique, which seemed to involve putting a crazy amount of backspin on the ball and combining it with a height that wasn't usually used in volleyball.
I'd been studying her technique for the last half hour, and suddenly, an idea hit.
“Harriet,” I said to our team captain, “if we can win this next point, give me the serve.”
She raised an eyebrow, obviously feeling unsure about this. “Are you sure, Eryn?” she asked. “I mean, you're strongest up at the net. That's where we need you most.”
“We're in a tough spot right now, Harriet. I've been watching their server very closely, and I think I've got her technique down. If you give me that ball, we can use the same technique they're using to break us against them.”
She breathed in a deep breath as she considered this. Eventually, she nodded.
“My arm's real tired anyway,” she said. “I don't think I've got it in me to serve another one. All right. If we win the next point, you and I will switch positions.”
I nodded. “We'll get this point; trust me.”
We broke up the huddle and all went back to our respective positions. The referee blew her whistle to indicate that the game was back on, and the Chinese team member took up the ball again to serve. This time, I glanced back over my shoulder and saw our captain, Harriet, subtly moving back; she knew what was coming, and was getting prepared to receive it effectively.
Once again, the ball sailed over the net, and once again, the unusual serve almost tricked us with its height and trajectory, but Harriet made a spectacular dive to save it. Then another teammate set up a perfect spike for me, which I smashed over the net with every ounce of force that remained in my body.
The Chinese players made a valiant effort to block it, but my spike was on target. It smacked the floor of the court with an explosive punch, and triumph blitzed through my veins as the referee blew the whistle.
“Point to Team USA! Team USA 23, Team China 23! Team USA has the serve!”
Harriet nodded to me, then passed me the ball as we swapped positions. I could feel a tingle of nerves as I made my way to the back of the court and prepared to serve. I'd been watching their best server and analyzing her technique for the last half hour, but watching and doing were two entirely different things. Even if I felt totally certain that I knew exactly how to do something. Which I didn’t.
One thing I had noticed was that as she tossed the ball up to serve it, she put a lot of front spin on it, which was very unusual and probably what contributed to the exceptional amount of backspin she was able to get. It wasn't how I usually served, and it wasn't anything I'd ever tried or even thought of trying in a game.
I couldn't help chuckling. What better time to try out a technique that you've never used in a game before than the deciding game of an Olympic final?
Still, it was this or lose. We had to pull some sort of ace out of our sleeve, and it was about the only thing we had left: using their own secret weapon against them.
I breathed in deeply as the referee blew the whistle to give me the go ahead to serve. I focused all my thoughts on the ball and the exact spot I wanted it to land, drowning out everything else around me.
Everything vanished into a blur – the roar of the crowd, the colors of the stands, and the vastness of the indoor stadium. All I could see in this tunnel vision I had induced was the ball and where I wanted it to go. I heard Leena in my head, reminding me how the technique worked.
I tossed it up and, like I'd seen the Chinese girl do, put a lot of front spin on the ball. And then I hit it in the same way I'd seen her hit it, the same way Leena had tried to teach me once before – giving it a ton of backspin.
It worked.
The ball sailed high over the net, and the Chinese girls were totally unprepared for it. They'd expected a standard serve, and this was about as far off standard as you could get. The player nearest to where it dropped made a desperate dive, but just couldn't reach it.
Again, triumph tore through me as I heard the pop of the ball hitting the floor and the shrill blast of the referee's whistle.
“Point to Team USA!” she shouted. “Team USA 24, Team China 23. Game point and match point! Team USA has the serve!”
The crowd was going totally nuts now, and there was so much cheering going on that it felt like I was at a rock concert. This was it. This next moment could be either the greatest triumph of my life, or the biggest disappointment.
I looked up into the stands to where Wade was sitting, and the look in his eyes boosted a last, fiery jolt of energy and strength through my tired limbs. It was a look of pride, pure and intense. I felt like I could do anything with him by my side – like I could actually win Olympic gold.
Harriet tossed the ball to me, and all of the players' eyes were on me.
“Come on, Eryn,” she said, and my teammates all echoed her words with their own phrases of enthusiasm and encouragement.
“Let's go, Eryn!”
“Kill 'em, Eryn, kill 'em!”
“One more ace, girl, one more ace!”
“You got this, Eryn! You got it! Make us proud.”
I looked once more at Wade, and the words he mouthed at me meant more than any words of encouragement from my team mates.
“I love you.”
That simple phrase was enough. I felt like I was ready to take on the world.
The Chinese team now knew what was coming, and realized that I had discovered the secret of their star server, and they moved into position accordingly. Once again, I drew in a deep, long breath, doing my best to focus completely and cut out every distraction from around me.
I focused again on the ball, and exactly where I wanted it to go, and with that I breathed in one final breath, tossed it up in the air with plenty of front spin, and then served.
It was a bad serve.
It veered right, looking like it was heading out of bounds, but thankfully the amount of backspin I'd put on it kept it in – only just though. It also made it very easy for the Chinese team to block and attack, and they sent it back over the net with speed. We defended well, and sent it back to them.
The crowd was roaring madly with each volley that we sent over, the tension was becoming unbearable. And then, I saw with horror, Harriet sending the ball over the net with a fumble, setting up a perfect spiking opportunity for the Chinese.
I didn't even think, or wait for them to do it. I just reacted, praying that I could make it in time.
I sprinted forward and dove through the air, aiming for the spot that I knew they'd spike it toward – an empty patch to the right of our court that had been left open after one of our players had just dove to save the ball.
It was a perfect spike, and the ball rocketed toward the ground. I was already airborne, but didn't know if I could make it. I hit the ground hard, and a sharp pain blasted through my shoulder, but my hand hit the ground a millisecond before the ball did, and I saved it.
The crowd cheered madly – it was a spectacular save, even if I said so myself. The ball bounced off my hand, and Harriet made up for her earlier error my smashing it back over the net with a precise spike.
The ball hit the ground in the very back corner of the Chinese court, and the whistle blew.
“Point USA! Game USA, match USA! Team USA wins the gold!”
The crowd erupted into a crazy roar. My teammates piled onto me, screaming with delight. I just laughed, and then cried – it was all too overwhelming.
“Oh my God, we did it! You did it!” shouted Harriet as she hugged me, with tears of joy streaming down her face. “We did it! We just won Olympic gold!”
After a lot more hugging and crying, we went to the side of the court, where our coach also gave us hugs and handshakes. My mom, Anne, and her husband were in the stands with Wade, and they hurried down to hug me and congratulate me. All of them also had tears of joy glistening in their eyes.
Wade was the first to reach me. He jumped out of the stands onto the court – and I jumped straight into his arms. He held me so tight that I never wanted him to let go, and I could feel just how proud he was of me and just how much he loved me. The warmth and love just radiated from him.
“You were amazing out there, Eryn, just amazing!” he exclaimed, before planting his lips on mine and giving me a deep and passionate kiss that left me breathless. “How does it feel to be an Olympic gold medalist?”
“It...it really doesn't feel real yet. It hasn't sunk in properly. I still can't believe it just happened.”
“You'll believe it when they hang that gold medal around your neck in a few minutes, trust me!” he said. We both laughed, and Wade hugged me again.
“Remember the house we looked at before we flew out here to the Olympics?” he said suddenly.
“In San Diego?”
“Yeah.”
“Guess who the proud new owners are?”
I beamed a huge smile at him. “No way...you bought it?!”
He nodded, smiling. “And, of course, there's the detached area of the house that your mom can live in.”
“It'll be perfect – and Anne will only be three blocks away.”
“And with the university just a 10-minute walk away, it'll be great for me for work. Are you happy?”
“Thrilled,” I replied, looking around, wondering why Mom and Anne hadn’t made their way to me yet. Anne was still standing at the edge of the stands, videoing everything with her camera. She smiled at me and waved. I smiled back. She’d always been the shutterbug in the family.
Suddenly, an altogether different look came into Wade’s eyes – one of extreme seriousness.
“There's something else I have to ask you, right now,” he said. “It can't wait any longer.”
“All right,” I said, feeling suddenly worried. “You know you can ask me anything.”
He dropped down onto one knee, reached into his pocket and pulled out a little, black box. My jaw dropped with shock, disbelief – and, of course, pure joy and ecstasy and jubilation. I looked up and saw that the TV cameraman had focused his camera on us, and we were currently on the huge screen at the center of the stadium.
“Eryn Barnett,” Wade said as he stared up into my eyes, “you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. Would you make me the happiest man alive and do me the honor of marrying me?”
I didn't hesitate, not even for half a second.
“Yes, Wade! Oh my God, YES!”
He slipped the ring over my finger, wrapped his arms around me, and kissed me passionately – and once again, the crowd went wild.
By Claire Adams
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 Claire Adams
Prologue
Ollie
I had told her not to, but she went ahead and did it anyway.
“Of course I’m gonna make a cake for my baby on his eighteenth birthday!” my mother said when I protested. She was having trouble sticking the candles into the cake; the latest round of chemo had left her weaker than I’d ever seen, her bones brittle, her skin papery and translucent.
“Ma,” I said. “Two candles is fine. Really.”
She had that look on her face, though, and I knew she’d press on until all eighteen candles were in place.
“Now, Ollie,” she said. “I don’t want you to be too disappointed this year. It’s been hard for me to get around, you know that, so getting you a birthday present was a bit of a challenge.”
“You don’t need to get me anything.”
My mother coughed, a painful, wet hacking sound. I gritted my teeth so I wouldn’t cringe. Her last round of chemo had been exactly that—her last. At her appointment last week, Dr. Gordon had given her a hug, the look on his face clearly saying he knew this was probably the last time he’d see her. There was no reason to continue the chemo, he’d told us. The cancer, which had started in her lungs, was everywhere. Now it was just a matter of making her as comfortable as we could until she finally decided to let go.
Somehow, though, while I’d been at work over at Garrett Wilson’s ranch, she’d summoned enough energy to bake a cake. From a box, but still. She still had to pour, stir, and measure a few ingredients. Cooking and baking had always been her thing, though, and I knew she still felt that anything from a box was subpar.
“It looks great, Ma,” I said. She sang happy birthday to me, pausing every couple of seconds to cough. I blew out the candles, knowing the wish I wanted to make wasn’t going to come true.
I didn’t feel like eating cake right then, but I started picking the candles out and putting them on a folded up paper napkin.
“So, you’ve had a good birthday?” my mother asked, watching me as I pulled the candles out.
“Yeah, Ma. It’s been good.”
“You worked on your birthday! I would’ve thought you’d at least have taken the day off.”
“Garrett would’ve given it to me if I asked, but I wanted to work.” It occurred to me after I said it that maybe she’d been hoping I would take the day off; this would be my last birthday she’d be around for. “I’ve got most of tomorrow off, though,” I said. “Just have to go over there in the morning. Early, though, and it shouldn’t take too long.”
“What about Carolyn? Are you planning to see her tonight?”
“Not tonight.” I decided to leave it at that, not wanting to elaborate that the next time I saw Carolyn would be to break up with her. We’d been high school sweethearts, and I thought at one point, I probably really did love her, but the feelings had just faded. It’d be better to break it off with her than to keep stringing her along. She didn’t deserve that.
The problem was my mother’s feelings for her hadn’t faded, and if anything, had grown stronger over the months because she liked to imagine the grandchildren she thought we might give her one day.
“And I know Darren should be calling any second to wish you happy birthday!” my mother said brightly. “I can’t wait to talk to him and hear all about the big city.”
I looked at the stove clock, the glowing green numbers. My mother would be asleep soon. He wouldn’t call, I knew that, but I forced a smile.
“He’s just so busy,” she said.
My older brother had fled Colorado the second he turned eighteen, landing in San Francisco, where he promptly came out of the closet and declared himself gay.
I cut two slices of cake. She picked at hers, and I ate mine in four big bites, the sugar hurting my teeth and landing in my stomach like a big lump.
“This is for you,” my mother said, pushing a rectangular wrapped box toward me.
“Oh, Ma, you didn’t need to go out to the store and get me anything.”
“It was no trouble at all. Marie and I went together and made a day of it. It was the nicest outing I’ve had in a while. I hope you like it,” she said.
I began unwrapping the box. I didn’t even want to think about how long it must have taken her to wrap the thing in the first place. What a pointless waste, wrapping presents. Just to tear the paper off in about two seconds flat. So I went slowly, sliding my thumb underneath the first seam, popping the tape off. I set the paper aside and sat there with the box on my lap for a few seconds, before lifting the lid. There was tissue paper to be moved aside, which revealed a bright pink Scully shirt, embroidered across the torso with a floral design. It was about the ugliest thing I’d ever seen.
“Wow,” I said, pulling it out of the box. “Would you look at that.”
My mother beamed. “I wasn’t sure about it, but I called Darren and he said that you’d love it. He’s got such good fashion sense.”
“He sure does.”
I stood up and slid the pink shirt over the black t-shirt I was wearing. The thing fit all right, and my mother smiled in approval.
“That looks wonderful!” she said. “Let me take a picture, and we can send it to your brother. I bet he’s going to call any second now.”
“No, Ma, you don’t have to take a picture,” I said. “Darren doesn’t need a picture of me in a pink shirt. I’m sure there’s plenty of guys wearing pink shirts out there, anyway.”
“You’ll have to make sure you bring it when you go out and visit him,” she said. A sad look crossed her face. “It’s kind of like I’ll be out there too, since I bought you the shirt… I really wish I had enough time so we could all go out there together…”
“Ma…” We hadn’t had the talk yet. Neither of us had admitted to the other that we knew she was going to die soon, that there likely wouldn’t be another Christmas, certainly not another summer, no more of the Fourth of July celebrations that she loved so much. Every time I’d sensed she was going to bring it up, I veered us away from that. Life was not fair, I knew that, but the whole situation with my mother was so far beyond fair I couldn’t really even think about it without becoming enraged. The doctors didn’t confirm it, but I knew her lung cancer was from breathing in all that secondhand smoke from my father, who had died just a few years earlier in a car accident. He was controlling and abusive, and even a blind person could see the immense weight that lifted from my mother’s shoulders once she was free from ever having to deal with him again. She was able to smile and mean it. She didn’t have to account for her whereabouts every second of every day. She was actually enjoying life. And then she got the news she had cancer, it was incurable, and she was going to die. There was nothing anyone could do about it. I didn’t want to have that conversation just yet. There was still time. It was running out, yes, but there was still time.
She smiled. “I know,” she said. “We can talk about it another time. No need to be a Debbie Downer on your birthday! I better get to bed; I’m exhausted.” She looked at me once more, evaluating the shirt. “But that shirt sure does look nice on you.”
“Thanks, Ma. I love it. I’ll wear it out tonight and show all the guys.” All the guys would give me a gigantic heap of shit for wearing such a thing, but I didn’t care. They’d have a laugh about it, and my mom would go to sleep knowing that I’d gone out in the gift she’d given me.
The Watering Hole was the hangout for all the locals, and because I’d grown up around here and had been working for Garrett Wilson since I was eleven, I was allowed into the bar even though I wasn’t twenty-one yet. And, as expected, there was a whole lot of hootin’ and hollerin’ from the guys when I walked in, wearing that pink shirt.
I went over to the bar and the bartender, Lauren, slid me a bottle of beer. “Happy birthday, sweetheart,” she said with a grin. “Almost legal.”
“Where the fuck did that shirt come from?” Alan, one of the guys I worked with on the ranch, asked as he came over and slung an arm around me.
“Gift from my mother,” I said. “Told her I’d wear it out tonight and impress you all.”
Alan grinned. “Figured something like that would be from your brother. But I guess it takes a real man to be able to wear pink like that out in public.”
“How is your mom?” Lauren asked.
“Hangin’ in there,” I said.
“Tell her we’re thinking of her.”
“I will.” I took a sip of the beer, cold and bitter as it went down my throat.
Aside from it being my birthday, though, there wasn’t much different about tonight. It was Friday night, so the place was pretty busy, but I recognized almost all the faces—all except for a girl sitting at a table with a couple guys I went to high school with. Her back was to me, but when she turned, I saw her profile, and she wasn’t anyone I recognized.
I sat at the bar and listened to Alan tell me about chasing down a few escaped heifers that almost made it into town. My phone was in the front pocket of my jeans, and I felt it vibrate against my leg. I pulled it out and flipped it open to see who was calling. Carolyn. She’d want to know where I was, and if I told her I was here at the Watering Hole, she’d first give me shit for being at a bar when I wasn’t twenty-one, then she’d come down there and hang out.
Carolyn was always after me to do the right thing. She’d want to leave the bar and go drive somewhere, somewhere that it could be just the two of us, and we could talk and she’d slide closer and closer to me and then we’d be kissing, and we’d probably have sex again. It had only happened once so far, just last week, actually, because Carolyn had wanted to wait. Only after did she tell me that she’d decided to do it this time because she knew that we’d eventually get married. Since then, there’d been several more opportunities to do the deed, and she certainly wanted to, but I couldn’t, not knowing that what I really needed to do was break up with her.
I closed the phone and slipped it back in my pocket. “Carolyn,” I said.
Alan smirked. “You hit that shit yet?”
“Shut up,” I said.
“’Cause if she was my girl…”
“Really, Alan, shut up. You couldn’t fuck your way out of a wet paper bag.”
“You gonna meet up with her tonight? She takes one look at that shirt and she’ll be on her back pronto. A shirt like that... That’s what they called a ‘lady killer.’”
“Then I better take it off right now and give it to you, since we all know you need all the help you can get in that department.”
“Someone buy this man another beer!” Alan shouted.
I drank the second beer, ignored another call from Carolyn, and endured more good-natured shit about my pink shirt. It was nice that everyone wanted to celebrate, but I wasn’t really in the mood. I hung out for a while, but then decided to call it a night. That way, I could get up nice and early and get over to the ranch and help Garrett repair the fencing and then get back home to spend some time with my mother. Maybe I’d even take her over to the ranch to see the horses; being around them always seemed to lift her spirits.
I heard something as I walked to my truck, though, a scuffling and then a girl’s voice saying, “No, stop it.” She wasn’t shouting or anything, and I almost kept walking, but then she said it again, a little more forcefully, but I also heard a note of fear.
I turned to my right and saw that it was Isaac Wentworth, one of the guys I’d gone to high school with. He had graduated a few years before me, and we’d actually been in shop class together, but we were never what you’d call friends. He had a twin brother, Evan, and they had their little group of friends that always stuck together. You got the feeling that they were always planning something, scheming, devising some sort of plan to try to take over the world. Now, though, he had that girl pinned up against the truck. There was just enough moonlight for me to see that he’d pulled her shirt up, exposing her stomach and the top of her jeans. Her hands were pushing his away.
“Hey,” I said.
He ignored me.
“Hey,” I said again, louder.
Isaac turned his head, the bulk of him blocking the girl from my view. “What?” he said roughly.
“What are you doing?”
“Something that doesn’t require an audience. We’re fine, Ollie; we don’t need a chaperone.”
“I just want to go home,” the girl said.
Isaac laughed. “The hell you do,” he said. “Don’t worry, sweetheart; you’ll get to go home, just not quite yet.”
“Leave her alone,” I said.
Isaac sneered. “Or what?”
“Or nothing. Just get off of her.”
He rolled his eyes like he couldn’t believe that I would actually be saying that to him and yanked the girl’s shirt up even higher. She shrieked.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I said, yanking him back.
“Fuck off,” he said. “This ain’t got nothin’ to do with you.” He started to turn back but let his gaze linger on me first. “Nice shirt, pussy.” He reached for the girl again, who was cowering against the truck, her face shrouded in the darkness.
“I don’t fucking think so, asshole,” I said, and I grabbed him and threw him back. He stumbled a few steps but didn’t fall; when he regained his balance, he ran at me swinging, one fist connecting with my side but I barely even felt it. My own fists were clenched, and every time I swung, I felt my knuckles make contact with his soft flesh. Even where I hit bone, it felt soft, and it seemed it took only seconds for us to go from standing to him flat on his back, me above him, pummeling his face. At first, he tried to get his arms up to hit me, then to just block me, but I couldn’t stop. Who the fuck did he think he was, trying to ruin some girl’s night by doing something she didn’t want him to do? But it wasn’t just for that reason I kept hitting him; all the stress and guilt and anxiety I’d been feeling ever since my mother told me she had cancer, the unfairness of it, that just when she’d finally been freed from my father and was starting to actually enjoy life that she’d find out she was dying... It wasn’t fair.
I kept hitting him because of all of that, and because it also felt good to have a release for the stress, for the anger, for all of that, and by the time I stopped, my arms ached, the girl was gone, and I was alone in the parking lot. I didn’t have to look at Isaac’s bloodied, pulpy face to know that he was dead—that my own two fists had just beaten the very life out of him.