I zipped the suitcase closed and crossed the room, stopping between her knees. “You okay?”
She tilted her head, studying me like she always did, like she was reading between the lines. “Are you asking as my husband-for-paperwork or as my boyfriend-for-real?”
“Boyfriend-for-real,” I said without hesitation.
Her smile softened. “Then yeah. I’m good. A little overwhelmed. A little proud. Mostly excited.”
“Good,” I said. “Because I need you to be here.”
She reached up, fingers tracing the neckline of my shirt. “I know.”
For a moment, neither of us said anything. She traced absent circles against my side, settling in a way she probably didn’t even realize she was doing. I rested my hands on her knees, solid and real, like I needed the reminder just as much.
Three weeks ago, admitting that out loud would’veterrified me. Needing someone—thismuch—would’ve felt like handing over control. Now, it just felt honest. Necessary. Like acknowledging gravity instead of fighting it.
“I don’t need you to fix anything,” I added quietly. “Or make this easier. Just … don’t disappear on me.”
Her fingers stilled. Then she looked up at me, eyes bright and immovable. “I’m not going anywhere, Ledger.”
Something in me loosened at that. Not relief—trust. The kind that settled deep and stayed.
I leaned down, brushing my forehead against hers. “Okay.”
She smiled. “Okay.”
And then, maybe before either of us was ready, it was time to step back into reality where the World Aquatics Championships waited.
The pool was louder than I expected.
Worlds wasn’t just another meet; it was a spectacle. National flags hanging from the rafters. Cameras everywhere. Athletes from every corner of the globe moving with quiet intensity, each one carrying the weight of years of work on their shoulders.
I’d competed internationally before, but this felt different.
Maybe because this time, when I stepped onto the deck for warm-ups, I wasn’t alone.
Roxie sat in the stands, legs crossed, watching me like she was trying to memorize every moment. I caughther eye as I passed, and she lifted her chin in a silentdon’t screw this upgesture.
I smirked and gave her a lazy salute.
She rolled her eyes.
That was our version of romance.
As I slid into the water, my body settled into familiar rhythms. Pull. Kick. Breathe. The noise faded into background static, muscle memory taking over.
Still, every time I surfaced near her side of the pool, I felt her presence like an anchor.
After warm-ups, I wrapped a towel around my shoulders and headed over to the stands.
“Well?” she asked. “You look adequately warmed.”
“High praise,” I said, dripping water onto the floor.
She leaned in conspiratorially. “Your flip turns were a little aggressive.”
“They’re supposed to be.”
“I’m just saying, you nearly murdered lane four.”
