The reporter intimated that they were my distractions. That Akara and Banks were the ones that tilted my focus and caused me to lose. I wish I could shield any hatred directed their way, but I don’t know how.
I don’t want the world to hate them or be disappointed in me because of them.
I have four more chances to win gold. And it’s not their fault if I fail.
It’s only mine.
23
BANKS MORETTI
4 MONTHS BEFORE THE OLYMPICS
MARCH
Three in the morning at the muggy Aquatic Center, and I’m wondering if I should pull the mermaid out of the pool. She’s been in there for hours. Longer than usual. And that was after her total ass kicking during “dry land” training this afternoon.
When Sulli announced that she’d be coming out of retirement and returning to the Olympics, Akara warned me about her strict training regimen. I thought I geared myself up for it—but the reality is different. I nearly doubled over in shock when Sulli told me she was skipping her sister’s sixteenth birthday tonight to train instead.
I overheard their FaceTime call this morning. “It’s the Olympics. I get it, Sulli-Bear,” Winona said. “I’ll have other birthdays.”
Sulli forced a smile and nodded. Maybe she hoped her sister would beg her to miss out on training, but most of her family shower her with support and understanding. It’s almost like they know what she has to do, and they’re trying to make it easier on her.
But hell, I see it affecting her in some way.
I watched her all day. Quieter. More focused than usual as she dove into the pool tonight. Now she’s staying in the water late, and I wonder if it’s to make her sacrifice worth it.
My phone beeps.
Here. Open door. – Akara
The smell of chlorine permeates around me. I grew used to it as a floater on Maximoff’s detail. Back when he taught little kids how to swim at this Aquatic Center.
Sulli would be on the rooftop pool at the penthouse if it were regulation size. But she rents out the Aquatic Center pool most nights.
Akara stands outside in the dark, illuminated by the streetlamps and lingering camera flashes from paparazzi. He carries a bag of takeout. My stomach grumbles seeing him through the glass doors. I unlock them.
“I love you,” I tell him like he was sent from heaven.
He lets out a laugh, his smile rising as he slips inside while I brace the door open. He keeps an eye on the paparazzi. “You don’t even know what it is.”
“Only thing I care about is if it’s edible.”
One foot through the door and he says, “Well, according to Greer, you eat crayons.”
Fuck. He heard that?
His expression is full of pent-up annoyance.
I lock the door behind him. “That was a month ago, Akara. How long have you been stewing on that?”
He takes a tight breath. “For a month. I didn’t get it until I looked it up.” He shoots me a look. “You’re not dumb enough to eat crayons.”
He’s pretty serious about it. Like he wants to make sure Greer didn’t get to me. I’m not sensitive enough to let that insult sink too deep, but I appreciate Akara’s concern.
“I know that. Greer knows that. He was just grabbing at the low hanging fruit.” I steal the takeout bag from his hand. “Are we going to have problems with them?”
Akara stares at the ceiling. Scratch that—glares at the ceiling. “Probably.”
“Which one?”
“All three.”
I groan. “Mother of Christ. Price, Wylie, and Greer. Throw me off a bridge.”
“Don’t say that,” Akara says.
“Lightly push me.”
He gives me a harder look. “I love you, Banks, but I’m not pushing you off anything higher than the ground, even if you beg.”
I laugh a little and pull out a container and pass the bag back. And then an icy chill trickles and snakes down my spine as a stomach-turning, pulse-skipping memory washes over me.
“Banks?” Akara studies me. “Hey, you okay?”
“Yeah.” I try to shake off the eerie discomfort that I unearthed. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“All the color drained out of your face.” Akara thinks back. “Is it something I said?”
“Something I said,” I mumble, hoping my appetite returns. ‘Cause right now, I feel like upchucking in the nearest shitter. Quick glance to Sulli—still swimming—I focus on the container.
Akara racks his brain, confused and concerned. “From literally the first time we’ve met, you’ve been making jokes about drowning and jumping off cliffs and crap, so what’s going on?”
“Gotta cope somehow with the big brother who got himself killed in a quarry,” I say light-heartedly, but the weight of my statement sinks heavily on me and Akara.
Realization rocks him. “It’s about Skylar?”
“Yeah. Isn’t it always?” I hear my bitterness, but I force myself not to shut down. I’m done burying Skylar. Talking about him, even in frustration or anger, has helped me understand these emotions and the casket of pain. It’s been heavy, carrying that around.
Opening it hurts more, in a different way. But I’m starting to not mind the pain.
“I just remembered something I’d forgotten for a long time…I guess something I tried to forget.” The memory still ices over my blood. How do I say this? I pop the lid to…Stromboli, and I nearly smile. God, I love Akara. Two beats later, I finally tell him, “I’m not sure it was an accident.”
“Skylar’s death?”
I nod tensely.
“You think someone killed him?”
“No. I’ve always been afraid he did it…” A rock enters my throat. My vision clouds with emotion. Eyes burning, I lower my gaze. “He did it himself.” I’ve never said that out loud. Never voiced my fear or gave power to the thought.
But here I am.
Eighteen years later.
“Wasn’t it ruled as an accident?” Akara asks softly.
“Everyone thinks he couldn’t see the water level in the dark and didn’t know it was that shallow.”
“But you don’t think that?”
I have no words.
Akara rests a comforting hand on my strained shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. Maybe you’re just looking back in hindsight after protecting Xander and going through his…” He trails off, seeing me shake my head.
“I always thought protecting someone like Xander was my second-shot at doing for him what my family couldn’t do for Sky. What I couldn’t do for my brother.”
Akara frowns. “So you’ve always thought Skylar killed himself that night?”
I want to tell him yeah. I want to tell him why. But my throat is swollen. Choked, I just nod once.
“It’s not your fault, you know? Whatever happened to Skylar—you were twelve, Banks. You were a kid.”
“I know that,” I say tightly and quietly. “But God, was I an idiot.”
“You’re not,” Akara snaps.