That’s met with silence, and the tears are back, slowly blurring my vision before spilling out onto my cheeks, one by one. I try to blink them away, but all it does is make more come.
Leo shifts around, looking me in the eye, holding that contact for a second and then another. “Can I?” he asks, lifting his arm out, and I nod, practically falling into his shoulder, letting that arm tighten around me before it’s joined by the other. I bury my head in the warmth of his neck, inhaling the scent of his skin—a hint of salt and soap and gym chalk from the competition earlier—and then he pulls me in closer.
I’m not even crying anymore, but I don’t ever want to leave his arms, and that’s kind of terrifying in its own way. The good kind of terrifying. Like jumping out of an airplane or cliff diving or chucking a triple twist off the end of the beam—the kind of heady, dangerous rush that I’ve craved my entire life. And it is dangerous, way more dangerous than just sitting with a boy should ever be, but right now it’s the only thing I need.
My stomach twists at that thought, and I pull away. He lets me go. I haven’t processed it all, not yet. I’m not sure I’ll be able to until after the Olympics, until after I know how it all ends. And it will end. One day, all of this will just be a memory.
And what do you want to remember about it, Audrey? Tears and awkward hugs and pulling away when you didn’t want to?
“Promise me something?” he says as we stand up, dusting the sand off. “Don’t let that asshole ruin this for you. You’re going to the Olympics, Rey. Your dreams are coming true, and that’s something most people won’t ever get to do. Enjoy it.”
Nodding, I reach out and lightly grasp the cotton of his T-shirt. “Maybe I should start now?”
He raises his eyebrows, asking how I plan to do that without uttering a word, but I just smile and spin away from him, sprinting to the water. The ocean air whips my hair into my face, but I don’t let that stop me, pulling my T-shirt over my head and tossing it into the sand, stopping at the edge of the water for a second before I slide out of my cotton shorts. The thumps of his feet racing over the sand sound behind me, but I’m already thigh-deep into the chilly water by the time he reaches me, his arms immediately going around my waist before dunking us both into the surf.
We emerge together, laughing. My hair is plastered over my eyes and mouth, and he chuckles softly, wiping it away so I can see him again. His shirt is gone, abandoned on the shore like my clothes.
“You’re amazing, you know that?” he whispers.
“So are you.”
I brush a kiss on his jaw, the highest part of him I can reach without his help. I can feel him shiver at the contact, and I’m smiling even before I pull away.
“Cold?” he asks, running his hands up and down my arms, his fingers briefly catching against my bra strap, but the shivers suddenly wracking through me are only half because of that.
“Oh my God, yes,” I confess, my teeth beginning to chatter.
“You East Coast girls with your warm ocean currents thinking you can just dive into the Pacific at night.” He laughs before taking my hand and leading me back out of the water.
When we’ve finally reached dry ground, I blink up at him, drops of salt water still dotting his shoulders and chest. His smile is warm and true, maybe even a little bashful, when he leads me back to the towel and lifts it from the ground, wrapping it tightly around my shoulders.
I clutch my shirt and shorts in one hand, and he takes the other before we walk back toward reality, but I’m not quite ready yet.
“Wait!” I tug at his hand to stop him. He halts immediately and looks down at me, concern flashing through his green eyes. “Thank you. This was … this was perfect.”
He doesn’t say anything, not with words. He just looks at me, his eyes holding mine, and there’s something in them, something that’s the same kind of terrifying as before. Finally, he looks away and clears his throat. “C’mon, let’s get you back.”
The walk back feels way shorter than my desperate flight from the house, and it’s not long before it looms in the distance. I hesitate as we get closer. I’m glad I ran into Leo tonight, but reality is setting in, and that caution I threw to the wind not so long ago comes back with a vengeance. I need to get inside without anyone seeing me, and he needs to go.
I drop the towel that’s still wrapped around me and pull on my shorts and shirt before turning back to Leo, whose eyes fly up toward mine quickly. Way too quickly. I smirk at him but let it go.
“You should probably …” I trail off.
“Yeah,” he says, hesitating for a second. I watch his gaze flicker to my lips ever so briefly, but then he leans away, taking a step back and then another before he disappears around the edge of the property.
I slink up against the side of the house, around to the back, where the dock lines up against the rocky shore of the bay.
There are two lumps at the other end of the dock. In the low light from the outdoor sconces, I can barely make them out, but then screechy giggles burst into the night, and I’d know that sound anywhere. Sierra and Jaime.
Sighing, I step forward, and as I get closer I have to tiptoe around the cans of cheap beer and a half-empty bottle of vodka. The urge to roll my eyes at them is nearly overwhelming, but I’m not sure I would have reacted differently if I were in their shoes. Missing out on the Olympics, not once, but twice. A dream dead with no idea what comes next.
I should help them into the house before they hurt themselves.
“Audrey?” Sierra slurs. “Is that Audrey Lee, Olympian? Oh my God, can I have your autograph?”
Jaime just giggles as I reach for her, slinging her arm around my shoulders. I turn to Sierra, now leaning heavily against the house, keeping herself upright, but barely. I shift Jaime against my side, and she spits out some of my hair from her mouth.
“Ugh, why is your hair wet?” she asks, but her alcohol-soaked mind doesn’t wait for an answer as we walk through the sliding glass doors into the—thankfully—dark living room and up the stairs.
