Kitchen table and counters cleaned, Alex slung the dish towel over his shoulder, leaned against the cool stainless steel fridge, and closed his eyes, the past twelve hours finally catching up to him. Weary from a restless night and a dream destroyed, he almost dozed, lulled by his dad’s snores from the adjacent family room, but on the edge of standing sleep, Dane’s face came to mind, followed by those damning test results, and rest slipped from his grasp.
Getting home late yesterday, he’d thought half a bottle of tequila would do the trick, but then he’d spent the dark hours of the morning puking it back up, stomach soured on alcohol and despair. At sunrise, he’d crawled off the bathroom floor, forced down two pieces of toast and a bottle of water, and driven out to the farm, hoping a hard morning’s work would knock him out and blank his mind. But it wasn’t enough, nor were the hours spent in the kitchen, preparing his family’s lunch, then cleaning the kitchen top to bottom after. Alex continued to walk the zombie edge, a dark cloud looming over him.
In forty-eight hours, he’d gone from having everything he wanted within reach—an unbeatable team, multiple gold medals, and Dane—to grasping at empty air, all hope of medals, his career, and Dane gone. Not only had he been suspended from the team, he’d probably also lose his job at USOC, maybe his side coaching gigs, maybe also his teaching position. And lost jobs meant lost money. No bigger apartment with a second bedroom for Carla, no funds to contribute to the farm, no rainy-day savings, and no way out for himself.
All gone because of something he’d never even consider doing. He’d made it clear to his teammates that drugs of any sort—performance, recreational, or otherwise—were strictly off-limits. And now he was being punished for using a banned substance. Only the banned substance that had gotten him into trouble wasn’t drugs; it was Dane Ellis.
He’d foolishly hoped for a second chance with a man he could never have, a man who would never own up to himself or his feelings, his parents and his image always standing in the way.
Outside of what it’d cost Alex, his stupidity had also cost the team two medley relay swimmers. First Mo, taken out in the crossfire, and now himself. Dane and Ryan were excellent swimmers, but after two weeks of drama and shifting lineups, Alex wasn’t sure they could bring home the gold that had eluded the team four years ago. If they fell short of gold again, it’d be because Alex had been weak and had forgotten to act like the captain his team needed. He’d set his responsibilities aside instead, his dick and heart overruling his head. What bothered Alex most, though, was the shred of sympathy he still felt for Dane. Dane had loosened up at the club. He’d had fun and been free, and maybe even a little in love, if his words could be believed. It hurt Alex deep to know that Dane—his Dane—was doomed to the poster boy’s cage, unless he made a different choice, unless he accepted himself and stood up to his parents once and for all. He’d tried, they’d hit back, and he’d caved. Alex couldn’t hold fear of coming out against him—only Dane would know when he was ready for that—but he could hold letting others take the fall against him. He’d flown back to his gilded cage, and Alex had paid the steep price for his flight out.
“Careful, mijo, you’re going to shred that dish towel.”
Eyes snapping open, he spied his mom clutching the doorframe leading to the back porch, to which she’d retired with Carla after lunch.
She shuffled forward, and Alex jolted into motion, stepping toward her. “Let me help.”
She shooed him off with her knitting needles. “I can walk five feet to the table.”
He knew better than to argue. It was a wobbly five feet, and he stayed at the ready the entire time until she collapsed into a chair with a huff. “You can breathe now,” she said with a wink, knowing exactly what he’d been thinking.
He let the held breath out slowly. “Carla still outside?”
“Cursing Excel. Hurts my heart.” Before getting sick, his mom had managed the farm’s books, her days filled with invoices, order forms, and spreadsheets. Carla was training to take the reins, a little sooner than expected. “And it’s too hot out there for me.” She wiped sweat from under the edge of her brightly colored headscarf. “Even in the shade.”
Snagging a glass out of the dry rack, Alex filled it with cold water from the fridge door and slid it in front of her. “How are you feeling?”
She took small sips, easier on her stomach. “Better than last week.”
“Which I wasn’t here for.” He worried a nick in the table with his nail, until she stopped him, hand over his. He couldn’t help but notice how flaky dry and pale her skin was in comparison to his, lacking its usual golden brown tone.
“You had more important things to take care of than a sick old woman.”
Turning his hand over, he squeezed hers. More than could be said for the words failing to squeeze past the lump in his throat. “Mom,” he croaked.
She kissed the back of his hand, then dropped it, taking up her knitting again. “What happened to those things?” she pressed, undeterred.
He should have made a break for it when he’d had the chance. His dark mood had scared away questions when he’d shown up unannounced this morning, but his mom braved the storm now, no matter her own battle.
“I got kicked off the team,” he answered.
“Not the first time. Soccer, first grade.”
The surprising response, and the amusing memory it invoked, made him laugh, his first since everything had gone to shit yesterday. “Two practices and I was done,” he said, recalling his bumbling display of ineptitude on the grass pitch. “You took me to the pool the next day.”
“You do great things in the water, mijo, but on dry land . . .”
“I was a mess. All limbs and zero coordination.”
She smiled, tapping his arm with a needle. “You grew into them.”
“Still hate soccer.” Before he or she could say more, his phone rang, trilling ringtone piercing the quiet afternoon and causing his dad’s snores to stutter. He dug it out quickly, silencing the third incoming call from Bas today, the sixth since last night.
“Don’t want to talk to your best friend either?” his mom asked.
He laid the device facedown on the table, waiting for his dad’s sleep to resume, then answered quietly, “He’s calling to check up on me.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“I’m accused of doping.”
“Like the East Germans?”
He nodded. At her age, that’s exactly where her mind would go.
“Did another team fix the results?”
Stinging tears pricked the backs of his eyes, and his shoulders sagged with relief. He hadn’t realized until just now how much he needed her to believe, without question, that he wasn’t guilty. Bas, Ryan, and Jacob had rallied behind him yesterday, but after Coach’s betrayal, he needed his family’s backing too. He needed the people who knew him best to believe he fought fair and worked hard for everything he earned. And they did. He folded over, resting his head on his forearms on the table, gathering himself as his mom’s hand soothed over his back.
“Thank you,” he said between gulping breaths, straightening after another minute. “I needed you to believe.”
“I may be sick, but I’m not stupid. I know my son.” After another sip of water, she relaxed back in her chair, needles clicking, blue thread looping in and out as she added to the blanket she knitted. “Now, really tell me what’s going on.”
“I pissed off the wrong people. Fell in love with their son.”
“The redhead next to you at the press conference?”
Chin, meet floor. “How’d you know?”
She winked. “A mother always knows, and he couldn’t take his eyes off you either. His parents don’t want you together?”
“To say the least.”
“What about this boy? What does he want?”
“Honestly, I don’t know.”
She pressed her lips together, dark eyes flaring with more life than he’d seen in weeks. Mama Bear protecting her cubs. She’d always been fierce when it came to her kids. He’d been heckled at a swim meet once, shortly after coming out, and her verbal takedown of the heckler, and his parents who didn’t think their son had done anything wrong, had been epic, earning a standing ovation from the other spectators. He was lucky as hell she had his back, always.
That shred of sympathy for Dane made itself known again.
“He’s not out, Mom, and I can’t force him to be.”
She simmered down, a little. “What do you want?”
Dane, but that was a pipe dream best forgotten. “I want to swim.”
“Then swim. Since when have you ever given up?”
“You need me here.”
Simmer heated to a boil again. “Do not use us as an excuse to give up on your dreams. Not when you’ve given up so much already.”
“What have I given up? I went away to school, I teach and work at USOC instead of here full-time, and I’m always gone when you need me most.”
“You’ve not been to as many meets the past few years.”
“You’ve been counting?”
“Of course I have, so don’t tell me you haven’t given anything up.”
“Mom . . .”
“If not for the responsibility you feel toward us, would you be here still? In Colorado? Or would you be in California with Bas?”
She’d watched the press conference, had heard Bas’s comment. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it before she’d gotten sick. But then she had, and all thoughts of leaving had been shifted to the back burner. She’d put the pieces together, though, just like she had about Dane.
She clasped his hand. “What we need—me and your father, your brothers, your sister—is a son to be proud of, a brother to look up to, and a good man to admire. Doesn’t matter where you are to do any of those things. Here, Colorado Springs, or California, just do what you do best. And that means not giving up. You have to fight for your dream. That’s how you’ll fight for us.”
His hand flattened on the table beneath hers, surrendering. “There’s not enough time, and it’s out of my hands.”
“Was it out of your hands when USOC turned you down the first two times you applied to the program? Or when you decided to swim only backstroke and became the best in the world? Each of those times, someone told you ‘no’ and you said ‘no’ back. Why are you saying ‘yes’ this time?”
Because this time his heart was broken too.
She must have read it on his face. She lifted a hand, cupping his cheek. “Oh, mi querido.”
He turned his face into her palm, fighting back tears again. She was right, he should fight, but hopelessness seemed too great a foe when he was so damn tired, mind, body, and soul, and so damn sick to his heart.
The dogs barked outside, startling him, but not half as much as his brother, Javi’s “What kind of fancy-pants shit is this?”
Alex and his mom glanced toward the front door, to where his brother’s long shadow stretched across the front porch, and that’s when Alex heard it over the dogs’ racket. A car bumping down the gravel road toward the house. His gaze whipped back to his mom, who looked as confused as he felt.
“You expecting any visitors?” he asked.
She shook her head.
He stood, helping her up, and they crept down the hallway. By the time they reached the front porch, a black town car was pulling to a stop in the gravel circle in front of the house.
Alex’s stomach hit the wooden planks beneath his feet. There were only two possibilities as to who was in that car. A representative from USOC or Dane’s parents. Neither outcome would be good.
“What’s going on?” his dad said behind them.
“They’re here for me.” Alex shifted his mom’s weight to his dad and stepped to the edge of the porch, praying no one noticed his shaking legs as he prepared to meet his fate.
The car door opened, and it was not a fate Alex had expected.
Dane climbed out of the car, squinting against the bright midday sun. Dressed in jeans and a wrinkled tee, hair a red rat’s nest, auburn scruff matted along one side of his jaw, and the rest of his face somewhere between flaming red and sickly green, Dane looked a sleep-deprived mess, worse even than Alex.
Alex stepped back, not forward.
And met his mom’s hand, pressed lightly against his spine. “I think you know what he wants now.” Alex could hear the smile in her knowing voice.
“Isn’t that Big Red?” Carla asked, drawn from the back porch by the commotion.
Alex nodded, still speechless.
His mom gave him a firmer push, and he stumbled down the first porch step. No going back now. Putting one foot in front of the other, he descended the steps and came to a stop in front of Dane.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, voicing the only question that mattered in this present world gone mad.
Clear blue eyes stared back at him, full of the same affection he’d seen there Saturday night, had seen for the first time ten years ago across a pool. Together with Dane’s shy, self-deprecating smile, the real one, it was a beautiful and dangerous combination.
And beautiful, dangerous words followed. “I came here for you.”