February (18 months since everything changed)
Jeremy spends every second of his free time for a week caring for me until I’m recovered enough to return to classes and light workouts. He spends most of that time watching movies on my laptop with me, or forcing me to eat. But between that, he talks a lot about his dream of competing with me at the Olympics.
In case anyone was wondering, the internet does not know everything. Case in point: I googled how to tell your diver boyfriend that you don’t actually care about going to the Olympics, and got absolutely nothing helpful in return except some articles about publicly proposing at the Olympics.
Which . . . yeah. Nope.
The thing is, I get that Jeremy is completely, one hundred percent focused on the Olympics. It’s been obvious since the first time we met, and nothing has changed about that. Sometimes I think he’s running from something, and using the Olympics as a theoretical safe haven; other times I think he’s using them to prove to himself and the rest of the world once and for all that he’s not the weak, shameful human being that his family has clearly made him think he is.
And I want him to succeed. I want to see him stand tall on the podium in Toronto this August.
I just don’t especially care if I’m standing next to him at the time.
We won our synchro event at Nationals, which secured us a place in the World Series events, but the FINA World Cup is something else entirely. It’s a bunch of desperate athletes who want to go to the Olympics almost as much as Jeremy does, which means . . . well, I don’t think we have a chance.
We have to be in the top five of twelve teams in order to qualify the US for the last synchronized diving spot. Each country has a chance of securing up to two spots for the event, and the team we replaced in the World Series last year already secured one of them at the World Championships.
(I asked Jeremy exactly how many ‘world’ events there are, and he just sighed. I keep getting them confused, and Val has to calmly correct me before Jeremy’s head explodes.)
Unfortunately, I don’t work up the courage to tell him before we get to Toronto. It doesn’t help that I’m also still not at peak performance after that nasty bout of the flu hit me at the end of January. It doesn’t show in my diving, but I do get tired easier than usual.
Andrey and Val have noticed, and Andrey has pulled back my training a bit while I recover.
But Jeremy is so fired up about the Olympics that he seems completely oblivious.
“Are you ready?” He’s wide-awake, bouncing on the balls of his feet while he warms his body up. We’re at the newly built natatorium, where the Olympic aquatics events will be held this summer, and the boards have just opened for practice before our event.
“Yeah.” I’ve had two cups of coffee this morning, but I’m still not feeling energized. The competition isn’t for a few hours, so I have plenty of time to get my body going. And I did get enough sleep last night; Jeremy might be happy to sneak off in the afternoons, but he’s laid down the law about having sex on the night before a competition.
Val wordlessly passes me an energy bar as we walk beside the diving well on our way to the locker room. She seems even more tired than I do, although it’s immediately obvious why: her mother is walking a few steps behind us, shoulder to shoulder with Andrey as she talks to him and Andrey nods, face carefully blank.
“I can’t believe I’m here right now.” Jeremy says the words reverently, looking around the pool like he’s in the middle of a cathedral. The comparison probably isn’t far from the truth for him. And, well, this is the Olympic pool.
I nudge him. “You’ll get to be back in August.”
His eyes are bright when he glances at me. “We’ll get to be here in August. All three of us.”
I shove the last bite of energy bar into my mouth as an excuse to not respond, and Val glances away.
Jeremy doesn’t notice.
“Come on.” I swallow. “Let’s go warm up.”
Some of the pairs that we’re diving against are ones I recognize from the World Series last year. Others are names that I’ve heard Jeremy or Andrey mention before. A few are unknowns . . . like us.
I catch him after we change and get a quick practice in. “Hey, Jeremy.”
He pauses and turns.
The words are harder to say than I want. “If we don’t place . . .”
Jeremy frowns. “We will.” He sounds certain.
Except I’m certain that we won’t. As good as we are, we’ve only been diving together for a year. “Listen to me.” I make sure to catch his gaze and hold it. “It’s okay if we don’t. I won’t be upset. And you shouldn’t be either, because when you go to the Olympics, you can bet your ass that I’ll be right there with you, cheering you on from those stands.” I point to the side, to where a small crowd of people are waiting to watch us dive.
“I want to win this,” Jeremy says.
“I know. And hell, babe, you know we’re good. We won Nationals, which . . . okay, I didn’t see that coming, but it’s proof that we’re a good pair, right?” I put my hand on his arm, and he freezes, eyes widening. Shit, we’re in public. I’d forgotten, even if he hadn’t. I drop my arm back to my side, and lower my voice, though it hurts to have to do either. “We’re a good pair on the platform and off. I don’t need a spot at the Olympics to prove that.”
After a second, Jeremy nods. He seems grim, but I don’t think he’s too upset. “But you’ll still try your hardest?”
I wish I could reassure him with a kiss. “Yeah,” I promise.
We’re fourth in the dive list, which means we have a long wait after each dive before we can see the full results for each round. Jeremy doesn’t ever check the scores, but I’m curious. Our first two dives are the easiest, and we do them well. I enter crooked on our third dive and don’t manage a great pike, which screws up our scores, but Jeremy brushes a hand over the back of my arm, quickly when no one’s watching, and I smile at him and pull it together for our next two.
But I’m tired, and we’re not doing well. The scoreboard shows that we’re smack in the middle, sixth place, which is fantastic for a pair of new synchro partners at an international, highly competitive meet. But we slide out of sync on our sixth and final dive, so that even though we both get high individual scores, our synchro score is low.
We finish in the same position.
Andrey and Val both grin when we dry off. Jeremy . . . looks crushed.
Oh, he puts on a good face, smiles and shakes hands with some of the other divers, but I can see his shoulders are hunched forward, and his smile vanishes the second he thinks no one is looking.
I catch Val’s eye and pull her aside when Jeremy goes to change. “I’m gonna take him back to the hotel,” I say.
She nods. “He hates losing. And . . . I’m guessing he thinks he’s let you down.”
“He hasn’t.”
“Tell him that.”
Yeah, that’s the plan. I go change and collect my upset boyfriend.
“We should be doing a recovery workout,” he protests when I all but drag him out of the building.
“Later.”
He still fights me though, walking a step away, hands shoved deep into his pockets and hat pulled low against the Canadian winter. It’s a few blocks to our hotel, so I spend the time rehearsing a speech in my head.
Of course, the second we get up to his hotel room and close the door behind us, my carefully planned words fly out the window and I blurt out, “I don’t give a damn about going to the Olympics.”
Jeremy’s head shoots up.
“I thought—” He stands in the middle of the room with his hands frozen over his jacket zipper, the coat halfway off his shoulders. “I thought you wanted to win.”
“I do.” I unzip my own coat and toss it over the desk chair. “But we’re competing for different things, you and me.”
He shakes his head, forehead wrinkling like he doesn’t understand. “But you were so excited when we won the National Championship.”
“I was excited because I won that medal with you.” I exhale. “Jeremy, I don’t want you to be upset about this. We dove incredibly well today. And we’ll dive together next month at the World Series, and we’ll keep improving.”
He looks a bit lost. “But you don’t want to win. You said you did.”
“I’ve already won!”
Jeremy’s expression flickers between shock and bafflement. “Well, yeah, but that was just Nation—”
“No. Jeremy, I won you.”
For a second neither of us moves, and the only sound is the faint echo of cars on the street outside, horns honking.
“What?” His voice is low.
My dad always had this saying: In for a penny, in for a pound. I never think about my parents anymore, but the saying comes back to me in a flash. “Last year, when you and Val went to Chicago for Thanksgiving, I made a deal with myself. I would compete . . . but only against you, to show you that I was . . . worthy, I guess?” Once I start talking, the words cascade from my lips, and I can’t stop them. “I wanted to prove myself to you. And I did that. More than: I proved to myself that I could win, and to Andrey and the entire fucking country. And in return I got a gold medal and a boyfriend who I love.”
The last word hits the air between us like an explosion.
I take a step back.
Jeremy takes one forward.
I step backward again, and my knees hit the bed.
Jeremy moves closer. One, two steps and then he’s in my space, his hand flat on my chest as he shoves me backward until I’m sitting on the edge of the bed and he’s looming over me.
“Jeremy—”
“Hush.” Jeremy’s voice is calm, the single word loaded with fondness as he smiles softly. “At some point we’re going to have a very serious conversation about how much you suck at communicating important things to me.”
I sit silently, waiting.
“I’m not going to lie: I am disappointed that we didn’t get in the top five today. I wanted that last spot for the synchro event in August, and I wanted to be the team to compete in it. I’ve dived synchro events before, and I’ve always hated them because I never had a partner that I got along with.”
“That’s because you’re kinda mean,” I point out, but soften the words with a smile.
He flicks me on the shoulder. “Remember the part where you’re shutting up? It’s my turn to talk.” As he speaks, he starts stripping me down. My sweatshirt joins his jacket on the floor, and he pulls at my shirt until I obediently lift my arms over my head and let him tug it off. “The thing is, being with you is still terrifying. For all that you’re teaching me to accept who I am and what I want, outside these four walls I know I’m flawed. So I push harder, dive better, win more.”
Oh, Jeremy. I grab his hand and reel him in, sliding back on the bed so he can straddle me like he did on New Year’s Eve.
“I understand.” It’s the truth, even if I don’t like it.
“And I know you love me.” He says the words calmly, then laughs softly. “I was waiting for you to say them to me again. You let it slip when you were sick last month and barely conscious.”
“Oh.” I kiss him then. “I was afraid to say them. I might terrify you, but goddamn it, Jeremy, you scare the shit out of me.”
“I do?”
Now that he’s closer, I can start unbuttoning the flannel shirt he’s wearing, revealing the creamy skin I’ve become obsessed with. “Sometimes I have no idea what you’re thinking. I’m learning more about you every day, but I’m always worried that I’ll say or do something and upset you. And . . . I didn’t know if you would say the words back to me.”
He blinks. “Oh!” He kisses me. “Well, I do. Love you, I mean. I’ve never fallen in love with anyone before.”
“Fuck, Jeremy.” I have to kiss him again. I can’t physically stand not having him in my arms for another second. He makes a surprised yelp when I tug him close, but returns the kiss immediately, deepening it and pressing close against me.
“I love you,” I tell him.
His smile is blinding.
We fall back on the bed together, still partially dressed. I’m wearing sneakers, which I kick off one at a time to thump on the carpet, and we laugh and wriggle as we tug off jeans, socks, and briefs until we’re both naked and wrapped around each other.
This is the happiest I’ve ever been. Right here, this second.
I tell him that.
“Well, I think I could be happier if we’d won . . .” he says. His eyes are mischievous though, and I pounce, tackling him into the blankets and finding his ticklish spots until he’s howling for mercy. Then his cries change tone, voice dropping when I grind against him.
“Lick.” I hold my hand out, and he obliges, getting my hand wet enough that I can jack him off slowly, until his eyes roll back in his head and he’s thrusting his hips up to meet me. I don’t let him get close, and he groans with disappointment when I let go of his cock and move away.
Too bad. As much as I enjoy the foreplay, I have something else in mind this afternoon.
Because Jeremy is the kind of person who unpacks in a hotel room and puts everything away neatly, it’s easy to assume that he keeps the condoms and lube in the same place as he does in his apartment. And since we’re not competing tomorrow…
Sure enough, I open the nightstand drawer and find them next to the remote control.
I push them both into his hands, and he almost drops them.
“You want me to—”
“Yeah. Fuck me.” We don’t do this often, especially given how much we’re training, but the few times we have were the same as the first: Jeremy beneath me—or, on one memorable occasion, riding me, though he didn’t enjoy that nearly as much as I did.
His hands are shaking when he opens the lube, but his eyes narrow, and I can tell he’s plotting out every step. I start to roll onto my stomach, but he stops me. “No, I want to be able to see you.”
“Yeah.” I breathe the word, and he kisses me again, then pushes one slick finger into me.
There’s nothing slow and tender this time. Instead, it’s quick and messy, filled with laughter and gasps. I talk a lot during sex; not usually anything dirty, just whatever comes to mind, and I’ve noticed that it helps Jeremy relax. Right now he’s clearly tense, worried that he’s going to mess it up, so I pull him down for teasing kisses, lick the shell of his ear and blow on it until he laughs, and whisper into his ear.
“You’re incredible,” I tell him. He has one finger pushing into me, pulling out, but he moves to a second soon enough. “The first time I saw you, I thought you were gorgeous, knew immediately you were crazy talented. Oh, fuck, yeah, right there.” He’s found my prostate, and grins victoriously when I have to stop talking for a second to catch my breath.
“I want you to fuck me. Want to feel you inside me, want to know that you’re here with me.”
“I am.” Jeremy sounds desperate, and he struggles to put the condom on. I go to help him, and we both groan when my hand slides easily over the lubed surface.
He pushes my legs up, wraps one around his waist and the other over his shoulder, and kneels over me.
“Fuck me, Jeremy.”
He does. He slides into me, eyes fixed on mine, teeth worrying his lower lip. The frown on his face transforms immediately, worry shifting to awe, and he pumps his hips in short thrusts, sinking into me until there’s nowhere left to go.
“Brandon,” he exhales.
“Yeah.”
“Love you.”
I want to return the words, but he pulls out and shoves back in, and my words are a tangled mess of moans and something that might be his name.
It’s not perfect. It’s awkward and it takes us a while to find a rhythm, but one of Jeremy’s hands catches mine and pins it next to my head, our fingers wound together, and our mouths are close enough that we’re sharing breaths, inhaling and exhaling the same air, lips brushing every so often.
When his other hand wraps around my dick, the sex goes from incredible to mind-blowing. I dig my fingers into his arm, arch my back off the bed, and let Jeremy push into me over and over, hitting my prostate every time.
My orgasm is a slow build, starting at the base of my spine and unfolding through my entire body, a wave of fire that washes over me. I shout Jeremy’s name as I come, and he kisses me hard, absorbing my groans.
When my body tightens around him, I can feel his hips stutter, and it’s only a few more thrusts before he comes as well, collapsing on top of me.
It’s several minutes before I can speak. “I’m kind of madly in love with you.”
Jeremy looks up, smiling. “Me too.”
I think everything is going to be okay. I get that Jeremy has a goal in sight, and I won’t stand in his way, but I also know that he loves me, and that I’ll get to be there with him over the next six months, supporting him and helping him achieve that goal.
Our hands are still joined together, and neither of us lets go.