BACK AT the Aquatics Center, Isaac climbed out of the warm-up pool. He felt good. A fair amount of excitement and adrenaline flowed through his system from his win earlier. Adam walked over and said, “Think you can swim a hundred meters in forty-eight seconds or less?”
“In my sleep.”
“Good, you’re swimming anchor.”
Isaac nodded. The other guys were ready to go, standing in their coats at the American Lounge corner. Isaac located his caps and goggles, and then Adam helped him into his coat. He walked into the little holding room where the athletes had to wait until the announcer summoned each team. Isaac slipped his headphones over his ears and reached into his coat pocket for his phone, starting the white noise app. He took a deep breath and tried to calm down, to focus. It was one thing to swim his own race, but he had three other guys depending on him now.
Luckily, they all knew better than to talk to him once the headphones were on.
Adam slapped each of them on the back, and then an official gave them the signal to walk out. Luke grabbed Isaac’s hand, so Isaac grabbed Randy’s, and all four of them raised their hands together as they walked through the pool entrance. They were a team, the gesture was supposed to say.
They were expected to win.
Isaac tuned out the crowd noise and everything else except for the pool in front of him. The Americans were in Lane Six, which wasn’t the best lane assignment, but the prelim team had qualified third overall, and this was the placement they were stuck with.
Adam had assigned Conor to the first lap, so he got ready, got up on the block, and went when the buzzer sounded. Isaac still had about two minutes to collect himself, so he kept his headphones on and took a few cleansing breaths. He shrugged out of his coat as Conor returned and exchanged with Luke. Randy walked over to the block. Isaac watched Randy as he finished stripping and pulled his second cap on. Isaac did the prerace dance as Luke and Randy exchanged. He had no notion of where the team swam in the race relative to the other teams, although now Luke and Conor were standing at the edge cheering Randy on. Isaac stepped up on the block. Isaac saw from that vantage point that Randy had a healthy lead, a good body length and a half ahead of the next nearest swimmer, although Isaac couldn’t really tell who was where in the outside lanes.
Still, this should be no sweat. It was Isaac’s race to lose.
Isaac told himself he could only swim his own race. He got into position as Randy approached; then he jumped into the water when Randy touched the wall.
And he swam.
He pretended it was practice, that Adam and his damned stopwatch stood at the edge of the pool and not his teammates, that he raced against the clock and not seven other swimmers. He got to the turn and didn’t look. When he turned his head to breathe, he just breathed and didn’t try to see what was happening in the neighboring lanes. The not-looking approach had worked for him in the medley.
He came home, threw out his hand on the last stroke, and hit the wall.
When he surfaced, his teammates were whooping and hopping up and down. Luke reached down and grabbed his hand in a manly handshake. Isaac looked around in a daze. The scoreboard showed that they’d won by almost four seconds, and that Isaac had swum that lap in forty-eight flat.
You’re welcome, Adam.
Isaac was fucking tired now, though. His body ached. His limbs were jelly. His first attempt to get out of the pool ended with his arms giving out and him slipping back into the water. His teammates had to essentially lift him out of the pool.
They all got themselves collected before Mindy Somers in her pink polo snagged them. Her assistant arranged all four guys in the camera frame and gave them strict orders not to move.
“Hi, guys!” Mindy said perkily, glancing back at the camera. “Congratulations. How does it feel?”
She shoved her microphone at Isaac, so he said, “Great!” even though it took everything in him not to collapse.
Thankfully, she moved on to Luke. “This is your third Olympics, Luke. You missed the gold medal four years ago by hundredths of a second. How does it feel to be back on top?”
“Good, great!” said Luke, still panting.
“Randy, this is your first Olympics. Now you’ve got a gold medal. And on a team with legends like Luke Rogers and, of course, Isaac Flood.”
“I watched,” he panted, “the Olympics,” pant, pant, “when I was a kid.” Poor Randy really tried to draw in a breath, but he was also giddy enough to make that impossible. “I mean, I saw,” pant, pant, “Isaac’s first gold medal, you know? I was so inspired.” Wheeze, pant. “And now to be here with him?” Pant, pant. “Incredible!”
Mindy turned to Conor. “When Isaac Flood won his first gold medal, you were four years old.”
“Aw, don’t tell me that,” Isaac said.
Conor laughed breathily. “Yeah. Crazy, right?”
“Well, I have to kick it back to Nick and Dan in the booth. Thanks, guys! Congrats again!”
Isaac and his teammates stumbled back to the warm-up pool. Isaac hopped in to swim a cool-down, but he just floated there for a few long minutes as Luke swam a lap and came back.
“Are you dying now?” Luke asked.
“Pretty much.”
“That was an incredible thing you just did, by the way. I don’t think I could swim two final races in the same night.”
“I’m pretty sure my muscles are melting.”
“Come on, Flood. Do your laps, cool down your body, and try to keep upright when they put the big medals around your neck.”
Isaac groaned.
“You know what else this means, don’t you? Two gold medals in the same night?”
Isaac did know. Prior to his arrival in Madrid, he’d been toxic. Going into the previous Olympics, there had been glossy media profiles, interviews on all the network shows, commercials, piles of endorsement deals. His face had been in nearly every Olympics promo spot the network had done.
This year? Bupkes.
Oh, he got the gear guaranteed to anyone who made Team USA, and he wasn’t alone among his teammates in not having endorsement deals or sponsorships.
But he thought about that as he swam a slow lap in the warm-up pool, willing the burn in his body to fade. Phelps had still gotten endorsements for his last Olympics, and he’d had a DUI on his record too. But Isaac wasn’t Michael Phelps. He wasn’t as cute or charming. He wasn’t a leader like Phelps had been. Wasn’t really a team player. He’d cultivated a reputation for partying hard. The Bad Boy of Swimming, they’d called him, though he hardly thought he qualified as a bad boy. Aside from the DUI, he’d never gotten in trouble with the law. He didn’t have tattoos, save for the Olympics rings on his ass, something he’d done after his second Olympics, while drunk. At least no one could see that, since it was under his swimsuit. The media generally had treated Phelps well, like someone who made a mistake, but once it surfaced that Isaac had been a full-on alcoholic, it was over. Rather than partying, he’d wasted his peak years trying to drown himself in a bottle of vodka. He’d also somewhat famously taken home a one-night stand who had stolen one of his medals, although he’d gotten it back when she’d stupidly put it up on an online auction site. So maybe some of the bad press was deserved, although his mother often tried to tell him he’d gotten a bad break.
But he’d just changed everything with less than a minute in a pool.
When he climbed out of the pool, Adam and one of the other coaches were waiting for him.
“How do you feel?” Adam asked.
“Like I’m dying.” And Lord, he wanted a drink.
“Here’s the deal. Medal ceremonies are in about fifteen minutes, so that’s how long you have to pull yourself together. Wear the warm-up suit with the red sleeves.”
“I have a warm-up suit with red sleeves?”
“It’s in your locker.”
“Okay.”
“We’ve gotten six media requests, but I imagine you’re wiped out now, so I’ve put them all off until tomorrow. But your first is the morning show at nine o’clock. You have to be there at least a half hour before that.”
“Oy. That’s….” He glanced up at the clock. “Ten hours from now. And I still have to do a medal ceremony?”
“Well, you have to stand on the podium to get your medals.”
Isaac sighed. “All right.”
“And be back here tomorrow at noon to do the 400 free prelims.”
“Of course.”
“Sheri will put together an itinerary for you.” Sheri was the assistant to USA Swimming. She generally handled logistics for the whole team.
“All right.”
Adam stared at Isaac for a moment; then he pulled Isaac into a hug. He slapped Isaac’s back a bunch of times. “You did good, kid.”
“Thanks.”
On the walk back to the locker room, he thought of Tim. Most likely he wouldn’t ever be able to cross the threshold of this locker room again without thinking of Tim. And he wanted Tim here. He wanted Tim in his arms. He wanted someone to share this with. The sentiment didn’t quite cancel out his desire for a drink, but it was still strong. On the other hand, he’d won not just one gold medal, but two, and he intended to make good on their agreement. As soon as his limbs started working like they were supposed to again.
He found his locker, next to Luke’s, and got it open. A warm-up suit with red sleeves did indeed hang from the bar in the middle.
“Good Lord,” Isaac said.
Luke slapped his back. “Welcome to the rest of your life, Flood.”
TIM WAS dozing when his phone beeping startled him awake. He glanced at it.
Text from Isaac: Twice.
A moment later Isaac sent a photo, a shirtless selfie with two gold medals hanging from his neck.
“Oh my God,” Tim said aloud.
He’d seen the individual medley, but then he’d gone back to his room to lie down for a little while, tired and irritated by the other guys crowding around the TV in the lounge. He’d completely forgotten that Isaac was scheduled to swim in the relay.
Do you plan to celebrate tonight? Tim texted.
A long delay passed before Isaac texted back. The guys from the relay team are. I should for team unity. Then I gotta rest because I have more races tomorrow.
Tim found that disappointing, but then, he’d also been hoping Isaac would want to spend the night with Tim to celebrate.
Miss you, Tim texted. Then he regretted it, because of all the needy, clingy things to say….
But Isaac texted back a smile emoji. Then he said, Come to my room tonight. 308. I’ll text you when I get there.
Tim grinned at his phone. Wouldn’t miss it for anything.
Tim hauled himself out of bed and into the shower, wondering idly where Jason had gotten to. Probably hooking up with whoever had caught his fancy this evening. Their first event was the next day, but Tim had already decided spending the night with Isaac was more important than sleep, so he’d be a hypocrite if he called out Jason for doing the same. He’d track Jason down in the morning.
About twenty minutes after Tim got out of the shower, he got the text from Isaac summoning him to room 308. It was one floor down from Tim’s room; the American delegation took an entire building in the college-dorms-on-steroids complex that made up the Athlete Village. The whole building was an explosion of stars and stripes, the bland white walls of the hallways festooned with flags and posters, and more flags hanging over the balconies attached to each of the suites.
Tim took the stairs, which meant he passed two track runners who seemed to be running drills up and down the steps for fun.
He got to Isaac’s room and knocked. Isaac opened the door and practically yanked him in. Then Tim found himself crushed against the closed door and kissed within an inch of his life.
When Isaac finally eased off, Tim said, “Why, hello.”
Isaac smiled. “Hi.”
“Um, congratulations?”
“Thank you.”
“Two medals, huh? So you’re an overachiever.”
“Two gold medals. You said I only had to win one gold medal.”
“So I did. But you’re probably tired.”
Tim had meant it sarcastically, but Isaac nodded. “I can barely move.”
“Oh,” said Tim.
“Believe me. If I thought I could muster enough energy to fuck you senseless, I’d be doing it right now. But I have to be up again in….” Isaac looked at his phone. “Six hours, Jesus.”
“Practice?”
“Morning television.”
Tim laughed. “Really?”
“Everyone wants to interview me. ‘Swimming’s bad boy wins two gold medals.’ That’s an actual headline.”
“You’re a bad boy?”
Isaac shrugged. His face sobered, and he added, “I really wanted to see you tonight, though. Is that strange?”
“No. Not at all. I watched your first race. I wish I’d been there at the Aquatics Center to celebrate with you.”
Isaac smiled. “I wish you’d been there too.”
“Good thing we’re here together now.”
“Yeah. I’m very glad you came down here. But is it okay if we just sleep?”
Tim could the exhaustion in Isaac’s eyes. And it was only Day 2. “Yeah, we can sleep.”
“You’ll recall that the agreement was not that we’d have sex immediately, but that winning a gold medal allowed me to dictate when and where. So, basically, not tonight, but as soon as my arms stop feeling like spaghetti noodles, it’s on.”
Tim smiled and put his hands on Isaac’s shoulders. “Reasonable.”
Isaac grinned. “Glad you think so.”