The kiss hadn’t been reckless. It hadn’t been about impulse or adrenaline. It had been about truth pressing too hard to stay contained. About two people standing at the edge of something terrifying and choosing, just for a moment, not to step back.
And now here he was, standing on the starting block like nothing in the world existed except the water waiting for him.
The buzzer sounded, and he dove in.
Ledger moved through the pool like he belonged there. Strong, precise, and relentless. Each stroke was controlled power, every turn sharp and clean. This was his event, the 100-meter breaststroke. This was what he’d chased for years. The thing that demanded everything from him and still asked for more.
I leaned forward without realizing it, my hands clenched together in my lap, my heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with nerves for myself.
When he touched the wall and looked up at the board, the pause felt endless.
The time flashed, and I let out a spontaneous yell as I shot to my feet, hands above my head.
He’d done it. He’d won the race and officially made it to Worlds.
The cheer that erupted around me barely registered because all I could see was him—his head dropping back, a grin breaking across his face like relief had finally cracked through something solid. He punchedthe water once, then looked up toward the stands, scanning.
When his eyes found mine, something warm and fierce spread through me.
Pride. Pure, unfiltered pride.
I gave one more holler of excitement before I blew him a kiss and gave him a cheeky smile, which I knew would make him laugh.
Right on cue, a smile broke out across his face, and it was almost like I could hear his low chuckle from here. The sight had a warmth spreading through me, reminding me again at how good it felt to have his attention like I had last night. Heat rushed to my cheeks at the memory, and when he winked up at me, I wondered if he somehow knew what I had been thinking.
He pulled himself out of the water, and I tried not to ogle him in his swim jammer, tightly molded to his sculpted body, which didn’t help my cheeks to return to their normal color.
By the time his final race ended, the 200-meter freestyle, there was no denying it. Ledger had punched his ticket to Worlds.
I watched him stand on deck afterward, towel slung low around his hips, chest still heaving, eyes bright with disbelief and joy. Teammates clapped him on the back, Coach Saunders pulled him into a rare hug, and for a moment, he looked untouchable.
Not because he was perfect.
But because he’d done the thing he was most afraid he might fail at.
I didn’t even remember standing up. I was just suddenly moving—down the concrete steps, through the aisle, weaving around spectators who were still buzzing and cheering. Security barely glanced at my credential before waving me through, and then I was on deck, the air warmer here, thicker with sound and energy.
Ledger spotted me immediately. His whole face changed.
He crossed the deck in long strides and stopped just in front of me, breath still uneven, eyes shining.
“You did it.” My voice wobbled despite myself. “You really did it.”
He laughed once, disbelieving, and pulled me into him without thinking. The hug was tight and sudden, his damp skin cool against my cheek, his arms strong around my back.
For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to that.
Then he pulled back, his hands still at my waist, his grin crooked and boyish and so very Ledger. “Guess I get to pack for an international trip.”
“You earned it,” I said. “Every second of it.”
The interview happened fast, like it always did. Cameras appeared out of nowhere, microphones thrust forward, questions fired, rapid and eager.
Ledger answered them with practiced ease—resolute, humble, honest. He talked about preparation, about trusting the work, about staying present in the water.
Then the reporter smiled and turned.
“And you must be the wife,” she said brightly, gesturing me forward.
