She sours at my curse again.
“Excuse me.” I walk past the reporter, quickly leaving the impromptu interview. Before I even make two steps, a hand rests on my shoulder. Akara sidles next to me in a quick beat. Banks somehow slips out front.
It’s easier to intake air. Easier to move.
I keep pace with my boyfriends. In total bodyguard mode, they block my view from passersby and more press, but I still catch a few wandering eyes. Pity. Disappointment. Disdain. Those sentiments flash through me on our trek to the rec room for cool downs, and once inside, I instantly veer towards a TV.
Only a few other people are in here. Coaches, I think. My boyfriends flank my sides, and for as much as I want to embrace them—for as much as I want a fucking hug and shoulder to cry on—I need to watch this first.
“Sulli,” Akara says softly.
“I just need to see what went wrong.” My voice is tight, shaky. I watch the replay of my swim and listen to the commentors.
“…no one saw this coming. Heartbreaking for Meadows…it was hers to lose, and she lost it.”
It hurts to breathe.
Tears blur my focus of the TV, of seeing my freestyle overpower everyone but Sienna Jones.
“She was unable to defend her gold, and it’s possible her showing at the last Summer Games can’t be duplicated. Because one thing is for sure, this is not what we expected for Meadows. She has four more events, so we’ll see if she can bring home a gold. Tune in…”
I tune out.
I’m crying, and I turn into Banks’ chest. He brings me closer, cupping my head with comforting, loving affection. He hugs me, and his heartbeat tries to slow mine.
Akara rubs my back in soothing circles as he whispers, “Don’t listen to them, Sul. They’re just trying to create drama for ratings. It’s what they do. Okay? You swam your hardest. I saw it. Banks saw it. Everyone fudging saw it.”
I choke on a breath. It wasn’t enough, Kits.
“You did fuckin’ amazing, mermaid,” Banks tells me. “Silver is amazing.”
I swallow bile. “…it’s not what I came here for.” I lift my head out of his shirt and try to wipe the snot marks.
Banks captures my hands, not letting me waste energy cleaning his shirt. Concern is all over his face. I must look as torn up as I feel. Fuck, I feel like a mess. I rub my splotchy cheek, and I hug Akara.
He hugs me back.
After a couple comforting beats, I pull away, but they stand close, not letting me wallow alone. Good, I think tearfully. I really, really don’t want to be alone right now.
Akara’s brown eyes carry understanding from years ago. Maybe he once feared he’d have to see this. But last Olympics, he never did. Because I didn’t lose back then.
“I’m washed up?” I ask them.
Banks shakes his head like that’s impossible.
Akara gives me a firm look. “You’re way too talented to be washed up at twenty-two.”
I failed though. “It just wasn’t good enough,” I swipe at my eyes.
“It was good enough,” Akara refutes like he’s cementing that statement into his own heart.
“Someone was just better,” I say the words that feel like a thousand knives in my body. Sienna Jones swam better and faster than me.
Maybe there was nothing I could’ve done differently.
Maybe this was just mine to lose.
Mine to win silver.
Hers to win gold.
But what if I never win another gold—what if I keep racing for second or third or no podium placement at all?
I’ll go from one of the greatest swimmers of my generation to one of the greatest failures. And I’m scared I’m going to regret coming here at all. Tarnishing my legacy by becoming a one-hit wonder, a has-been.
Banks and Akara watch me plop dazedly onto the rec couch. A coordinator calls into the room, “Five minutes till medal ceremony.” She’s looking at me.
After every final, they award the medals.
Soon, I’ll be holding silver.
I nod to her, then she disappears.
When my boyfriends sit beside me, I do a sweep of the room. Realizing we’re alone now, I exhale a big breath. Pain still bears on my chest. “I never thought it’d hurt this much.” I lean into both of them. Their arms are around me. Holding me.
I bury my head in my hands.
They’re quiet, until Akara says, “I know you’re hard on yourself. But coming in second shouldn’t kill you this bad, Sul. What’s going on?”
My chin quakes. “I…” I shake my head.
Banks rubs his hand along my thigh. “We need to go ham on the @Love4Sullivan account? Talk about how good you look in silver? ‘Cause I’ll do it now.” He pulls out his phone. “Hell, I’ll post on my main account.”
Akara jokes, “Hashtag Silver Is Cuter Than Gold.”
I snort into a half-hearted laugh. I smile at Kits and Banks. Their humor lifts me a little higher, and I sit up straighter, gathering my resolve. “I wanted gold for our baby.” Hurt pierces me just thinking about how much I failed. “I never wanted her or him to think I failed because I’m pregnant with them. And then the reporter asked if I’ve had any distractions. I can’t be certain this whole pregnancy news wasn’t a distraction.” I wince and hold onto my knees at my chest, like I’m breaking apart. “A week ago, I was swimming a faster time for the 400 IM than what I swam today. And I hate that. I hate how much I choked. Not just for myself but for our kid.”