Her smile faltered, just a little. “So… this means we won’t see each other for a while.”
I nodded. “Yeah. Unless we invent teleportation, we’re stuck with calls and highlights until summer.”
“Summer,” she echoed, like she was testing the word. “That’s… far.”
I didn’t answer. Instead, I wrapped my arms around her, holding on longer than I probably should have. She let me, resting her chin on my shoulder, breathing me in like she was trying to memorize it.
When I finally stood, suitcase handle in my grip, I caught her hand again at the door. “I’ll call when I land. And don’t let your coach talk you into any insane training drills while I’m gone.”
She laughed, quiet but real. “No promises. But… go. Earn your points. I’ll be watching.”
I kissed her before finally pulling away. “See you soon, Liv.”
“See you soon,” she echoed, voice steady but eyes saying the rest.
And with that, I walked down the hall, suitcase trailing, feeling like I’d just left more behind than I was carrying.
The flight itself was a blur of half-slept hours and restless thoughts. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her standing in that hotel doorway, trying to look composed while I was falling apart inside.
By the time I landed in Abu Dhabi, I’d already checked my phone half a dozen times, half-expecting Olivia to somehow pop up between the flight updates and hydration reminders. She hadn’t, of course. Just a string of safe flight texts and a photo of her and Maddie at breakfast that made my chest ache in the best and worst way.
The desert heat hit me like a wall the second I stepped out of the terminal, but the real shock came a few minutes later at camp.
“Cadiz.”
Standing there like some dramatic plot twist was Cassandra. For a second, I honestly thought jet lag was making me hallucinate. She was supposed to be halfway across Europe with the French team by now.
“You’re supposed to be in France.”
Her mouth curved into that trademark half-smile, all confidence and fire. “Not anymore. Your dad called. Convinced me, actually.”
Dad materialized behind her, grinning like he’d just pulled off the coup of the century. “Told her what I’vealways said, together, you two were a machine. She’s the best out there, but even the best need someone to push them.”
Cassandra tossing her bag like it weighed nothing. “Your dad reminded me how it felt, back when we trained side by side. No shortcuts. Just two engines burning each other out until one of us cracked.”
“And you came all the way here because you miss our training side by side?”
Her gaze sharpened, almost daring me. “Yes, and also because I need someone to push me. Especially on the bike. You’ve got power that I don’t, and I’d rather chase you than plateau with people who can’t keep up.”
Dad clapped me on the shoulder, practically glowing. “Cadiz-Dubois, back in business. Just like old times.”
“So? Ready to suffer again?” Cassandra tilted her head, a smirk tugging at her mouth.
A laugh slipped out of me, half disbelief, half adrenaline. Two stubborn forces locked in a loop, because neither of us ever backed down.
OLIVIA
Training days blurred together, the kind where my body clock woke me before my alarm. Court, gym, physio, repeat. Coach Dani had me locked into drills that left my lungs burning, and honestly? I welcomed it. She once told me after one session, “That’s the version of you I’ve been waiting for.” It stuck with me.
What made the training more bearable was Alex. Somehow, in both our packed schedules, we carved out little pockets of time every single day. Quick texts between practice blocks. Late-night calls when she was stretching after an intense training session. Sometimes we just updated each other on mundane things, me whining about footwork ladders, her venting about swim sets that felt like drowning drills, but it became our rhythm. A routine I didn’t know I needed until I had it.
One night after a brutal day, I had her on speaker while I rolled out my shoulder.
“How was the swim?” I asked, wincing as the foam roller hit a knot.
“Survivable,” she deadpanned. “Dad says I need to find another gear. I told him the only gear I’ve got left is collapse.”
I laughed, tilting my head back. “You’ll be fine. You always are.”
