It doesn’t.
I won’t be as good of a mom as Jane. Definitely not as good as my mom. You don’t have to be Janie to be a good mom, Banks told me.
I try to breathe in those words.
I fucking do.
But maybe it’s the fact that I know the world will be comparing me and Jane, just like the world compared my mom and her sisters—and that scares the fuck out of me. Or maybe it’s knowing if I fail as a mom, that failure will be a reflection of our triad. Or maybe it’s my competitive side that’s biting my insecurities.
I pride myself on outperforming my competitors, and this just feels like a competition that I’m destined to lose.
“Hey,” Akara says, turning more to face me. His arm slides along the headrest of my seat. “Remember what your dad said about us becoming public? Just living your life is going to be a spectacle. So if you run away from every risk, you’re not going to be able to live at all.”
My pulse slows to a steadier rhythm. “But you can’t promise it’s completely, totally fucking safe?”
“It’s safe enough.” Akara is assured.
Banks lowers his gaze.
“Banks?” I question. “You think it’s safe enough?”
“It’s Akara’s call.”
“As a dad though—as parents, this is your kid too.”
He raises his brown eyes to mine. And I want to dive deep, deep into the comfort of them. “It’ll never be as safe as any of us wish it could be, Sulli. But Akara is right. It is safe enough. And one day, we get to tell the little champ about their champion mother. And how they were with her every fifty-meters gained.” He grips my gaze strongly. “What’s the story gonna be? Retreat or push forward?”
The story of our lives.
What makes life worth living?
There is no life if we’re all dead.
Being cautious or being fearless—things we have to decide as more than just a triad. We’re going to be parents.
I glance at my tattoo. “Onward.” Fuck caution right now. I can be more careful further along into my pregnancy.
The shuttle lurches to a stop.
Once we climb out to the dry heat, my boyfriends lead me towards the stadium. Sun beats down, and a tiny gust of wind cools my skin. Our steps are brisk. We’ve learned to rarely stroll. Or else too many paparazzi could catch us.
Coming up on the plaza outside the stadium, some attendees snap pictures inside the giant Olympic rings. A fountain spurts pillars of water, and kids squeal, hopping through the spray.
We have to walk around the fountain.
So far, so fucking good.
No one has really recognized me yet.
I’m about to dip my baseball cap more, but I suddenly freeze halfway around the fountain. My eyes grow, and I catch Akara and Banks’ elbows.
“Stop.”
They already see what I see.
Banks curses under his breath.
The Rochesters are here.
At the end of the mist, Will, Wesley, and Winnifred congregate around a park bench. Wesley smokes a vape, and Will chats with his brother.
They haven’t spotted us.
“Let’s take the rear,” Akara suggests.
“No,” I say, surprising myself. “I should talk to Will.”
Banks and Akara both whip their heads back to me. Their confusion mounting. Akara touches his earpiece, trying to keep eye contact but he can’t. He’s watching our surroundings with Banks. “Why now? I thought you let it go, Sul.”
“I still regret not speaking up last time, and I have to tell him how I feel. I may not get another chance, Kits.”
Missed opportunities are the fucking worst. I’m going back to Philly soon, and the likelihood I’ll run into Will again is slim. Especially since I’m prepared to hide out in the penthouse for most of my pregnancy.
I remember how we’ve all been told to not engage with the Rochesters. Bodyguards, most especially. And I don’t want to get them in trouble at work. “Can’t you guys just tell Wylie and Greer it was my idea? That I fucking demanded it?”
“No way in hell,” Banks says. “We’re not throwing you under the bus, mermaid.”
“Kits?”
He’s considering.
I cross my arms, then notice how Will laughs to his brother. They’re unaware I’m watching, but if I go over there, I’m doing what Charlie—the most confrontational family member—didn’t even get to do at the hotel bar.
Speak face-to-face with a Rochester.
Nerves spike my pulse.
“You’re scared?” Banks asks, seeing my breath catch.
“Maybe I am,” I admit. “But I’d rather confront him, nerves and all, than know that I never used my voice.”
Banks is all-in. “I’ll have your six.”
“We’ll have your six,” Akara amends.
Banks cracks a smile.
Correction, they’re all-in.
I’m smiling with them.
“I’m right behind you,” Banks says.
“I’ll be in front.” Akara already starts to lead.
“Boob and ass coverage is back,” I joke, and even if I can’t see, I can feel their smiles widening. With extra confidence at my toes and heels, I walk forward.
My heart pounds in my ears as we close-in on the Rochesters. As soon as they see us approach, they quiet like we’re the incoming storm.
The raging fire inside me has sputtered into hot embers. Able to be lit, but I’m not wielding a bat. I’m not coming in swinging.
Six months have passed, and the biggest swim final of my life is tonight. I’m just here to talk now.
Quickly, they realize my bodyguards are not a fortified wall barring me from them. They’re letting me pass, and the Rochesters tense like I might deck Will.
Lucky for them, I still want to be a lover, not a fighter.
I don’t want to use my fists.
“Will,” I say fast, before he can utter a fucking thing. “Can we talk?”
Wesley pipes in first, “We have nothing to say to you.” He blows out a puff of smoke from his vaping pen. “Sulli the Slut.”
Akara is the one who takes a threatening step forward. Banks grabs his arm. They’re here as bodyguards, but I’m sure they’d rather punch Wesley’s lights out as my boyfriends.
My eyes are on Will.
My ex.
He winces a little, and his face reddens in…embarrassment?
Wesley doesn’t notice. He’s fixated on Akara and Banks. “One assault charge will tip this legal battle in our favor, so if you want to hit me, do it.” He opens his arms wide.
Will walks forward. “We can talk.” He drills a disapproving look into his brother. Wesley drops his arms and rolls his eyes. Winnifred ignores them both as she scrolls on her phone.
“This way,” Will says.
Akara follows closest to Will, and Banks still tails me. We leave Wesley and Winnifred behind at the park bench, and soon, Will brings me to an abandoned snow cone cart near the stadium’s fire exit.
No one is really loitering.
It’s pretty private, and I think about how Will was always good at that. Finding private places, knowing I hated being so public with my life.
Hate might be the wrong sentiment.
I didn’t hate it as much as I was scared.