I surfaced at the turn, lungs burning just enough to remind me I was alive.
I finished my last event with my lungs on fire and my pulse roaring in my ears, and when I looked up at the scoreboard, my time glowed back at me like proof.
Not just that I could still do this. But that I was good.
Talon slapped my shoulder hard enough to sting. “There he is.”
Ridge grinned. “I guess you just needed a wife.”
I shot him a look. “Don’t start.” But I was smiling. I couldn’t help it.
Confidence slid back into my bones where it belonged, settling deep and rooted. I’d nailed my turns, pushed my glide just a second longer than usual, felt the power coil and release exactly when I’d needed it to.
Showing off?
Maybe.
But maybe this was what I’d needed all along. To prove to myself that the window hadn’t closed, that I still belonged in the conversation. Worlds had always been the goal, the line I’d been swimming toward since I was a kid counting tiles at the bottom of the pool. The last few weeks had made that dream feel fragile, like it could slip through my fingers if I loosened my grip even a little.
Today reminded me it was still there. Still possible. Still mine to chase.
And when I climbed out and caught Roxie clapping, her smile wide and proud like she was a doting wife, I couldn’t help playing the part too, throwing her a wink that earned an eye roll I knew far too well.
After cooldown, towel slung low on my hips, hair still dripping, I made my way toward the stands. That was part of the deal too, letting people see Roxie and me together. No hiding. No ambiguity.
As I climbed the steps, I saw her laughing.
With some guy leaning too close, elbows braced on the railing like he belonged there.
Something ugly twisted in my gut.
The guy said something, and Roxie tilted her head, lips curving into that sharp, amused smile I knew way too well.
My steps slowed, irritation flaring sharp and fast before I could make sense of it.
She was allowed to talk to other people.
Heck, she was allowed to flirt if she wanted.
So why did it feel like someone had hooked a finger under my ribs and yanked?
I told myself it was instinct. Territorial reflex. Leftover adrenaline from racing. The same part of me that guarded my lane without thinking, that reacted before logic ever caught up.
I didn’t let myself consider the other explanation. The one that suggested this wasn’t about optics or performance at all.
The guy leaned even closer, and whatever fragile reasoning I had evaporated.
I didn’t think. Didn’t plan. Just stepped in beside her and rested my forearm on the railing, close enough that my presence was unmistakable.
“Hey,” I said pleasantly. Then, to him, “You mind giving my wife some space?”
The words echoed.
My wife.
Roxie went still. The guy blinked, eyes flicking between us before he cleared his throat and stepped back.
“I didn’t realize,” he muttered, already retreating.He said something about a great race and disappeared down the steps.
