“Roxie.”
My breath caught. “Yeah?”
He hesitated. Just for a beat.
“Congratulations,” he said finally.
And then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him with a finality that made my heart sink.
The absence he left behind felt louder than any argument.
I sat there long after the apartment fell quiet again, my excitement from the call dimming as something else took its place.
I wasn’t scared of the marriage ending.
I was scared of what it meant that I wanted him to fight for it.
For me.
And for the first time since this whole thing began, I wasn’t sure which outcome would hurt more.
CHAPTER 20
LEDGER
By the time Trials prep officially ramped up in the beginning of June, my body stopped pretending it had limits, stopped distinguishing between tired and broken.
Every muscle carried a dull, persistent ache that never fully went away. Even sleep didn’t reset it anymore. It just blurred the edges enough for me to get back in the water and do it all over again.
Morning lifts bled into pool sessions. Pool sessions bled into dryland. Dryland turned into film review, nutrition meetings, and media prep. The days stacked so tightly on top of one another that I stopped counting them. I measured time in soreness instead—how deep it went, how long it lingered.
There was no room left for anything else. No room for softness. No margin for mistakes.
That was intentional.
It had to be.
And still, my times were good.
That was the part no one warned you about. That sometimes your best performances came wrapped in the worst kind of pressure. When everything clicked, expectations didn’t just rise. They hardened.
You stopped being allowed to fail.
This was the phase that separated contenders from casualties.
Coach liked to say the work didn’t get harder. You just ran out of places to hide.
I felt fast. Strong. Dangerous in the water in a way that made my pulse buzz even after I climbed out. My turns were cleaner than they’d been in years. My starts snapped sharp and aggressive. I hit the wall one morning and heard a couple of the younger guys whistle under their breath.
That used to feed me.
Lately, it just reminded me how much there was to lose.
Coach caught me as I was toweling off. She tucked her clipboard under her arm, eyes unreadable.
“You’re swimming like a man who knows what’s on the line,” she said.
I gave a half smile. “Isn’t that the point?”
