And you wonder why they do.
You push them away.
You try to convince them what you’ve convinced yourself.
But they know you now.
And they’re good and selfless and loving.
And they love you.
Let them love you, Nine.
I exhale and nod to Banks. “Then don’t suffer without me either. If that crap hurts, stop reading. We shut it off. You go kiss Sulli.”
“You both can kiss me,” Sulli emphasizes like she’s waving a white flag between us.
I smile at her. So cute.
She’s been more freaked about trying to maintain “equality” between us than I’ve been. If Banks or I feel like we need more time with Sulli, we’ll communicate with each other and seize it. And if he needs to kiss her to ignore trolls, then I want him to kiss her.
I won’t need exactly what he needs.
But let’s make this clear, I’m never rejecting a kiss from my girlfriend. Gladly, I’ll take a hundred.
Banks and I exchange a look, grinning, and we both swoop down to Sulli and kiss her cheeks at the same time.
She bites the corner of her lip, smiling. “You guys are too much.” She shoves us away, but also hangs onto us.
“Hey, let’s take a pic before we leave.”
“For security?” Sulli wonders, taking out her phone.
“No. Your parents, aunts, and uncles are on the social media diversion. We don’t need to add to it tonight.” The Core Six are posting on Instagram about staying in L.A. for another week and doing a road trip up the coast to Malibu. In reality, the private jet leaves late, late tonight after Closing Ceremony. Everyone is returning to Philly.
We’re hoping for an easy entrance into our hometown.
Less paparazzi.
Less chaos.
Fingers crossed for no tornadic disasters. I can’t predict what’ll be the hardest part of my job: security tonight at Closing Ceremony or trying to get home.
Sulli passes the phone to Banks. His long arms the best for selfies, and we crouch down closer to her cheeks.
On one side, Banks kisses her cheek, and on the other, I stick my tongue in her ear. Sulli is mid-laugh when Banks snaps the photo.
“We can’t post that,” Sulli laughs, trying to steal the phone from Banks. “God, I look so stupid.”
“You look smoking,” he refutes. “Whose Instagram do we post on?”
She blushes a little, still deciding whether she wants it online. “You sure I look okay?”
I take the phone and inspect Sulli. “Dang, Sulli.”
“What?” She grins.
“I think you have a booger.”
Her smile is punctured, and I laugh. She slugs my arm hard. I wince—yeah, deserved that. And she snaps, “I look really fucking beautiful, Kits.”
“You do,” I agree. “Right behind me.”
Sulli snorts.
My smile falters once she focuses on the phone and the photo. Why’d I do that? Why’d I tease her like that? She likes our kind of flirting.
It’s what we do.
But it’s not romantic. It’s not panty-melting.
Pulse skidding like I’m running my heart over with a Mac Truck, I rest my hand on her shoulder, my thumb grazing the softness of her neck.
Her green eyes flit to me, a smile in them.
I breathe, feeling like maybe I didn’t totally fuck up.
“Let’s post on Akara’s Instagram,” Sulli suggests. “He has less followers than Banks.” The two of them were a confirmed couple before we confirmed our triad publicly, and Banks’ followers shot through the roof. I still haven’t caught up yet.
Banks smiles. “Right on.”
None of us mention after tonight.
Pregnancy.
Babies.
Paparazzi.
Death threats.
Paternity tests.
So much is teetering at an unrest, but we won’t let anything ruin this moment for Sulli. She deserves to celebrate.
The stadium erupts in cheers as fireworks blast off overhead.
The blaze in the sky lightens the darkened arena. On the stadium floor, I check on Sulli every other second.
She’s a little stiff but not flinching at the noises. She’s been breathing in the elation. The celebration.
Banks and I smile in the brief seconds we take to see Sulli soak in the moment. Five medals hang around her neck.
Two silvers.
Three golds.
After she won the 400m freestyle, she smashed another record the next day in the women’s relay. With her medals from four years ago, she has seven golds. Nine Olympic medals in all.
Sullivan Meadows is now one of the most decorated female swimmers of all time. Only a handful of swimmers outranking her medal count. It’s hard to feel anything but pride for her. Of what she accomplished here.
I walk a few steps behind Sulli.
Pausing as she stops to snap selfies with swimmers from Japan.
Closing Ceremony has a different vibe than opening. Competition is over. Nerves are gone for athletes. Even those who only tasted defeat are high-fiving and celebrating.
Countries meld together and casually enter the arena. No one lines up behind the flagbearers. The symbol of unity feels palpable in the air. Like Sulli, athletes snap photos with other athletes from different countries.
For as much as Sulli has stopped for pics, other athletes have stopped her ten times more. Nearly every foot, swimmers from around the world ask for a selfie. It takes a concerted effort to keep my eyes focused on her surrounding, watching threats.
Really, I’d just like to watch my girlfriend.
Each footstep, a dull pain throbs my abdomen where my wound heals. A reminder of what could have been. A reminder of the danger we face every day. It keeps me sharper. I adjust my earpiece, and Banks glances over his shoulder, leading out front.
Sulli tears away from Swiss swimmers, drawing closer between us, and fixes her tangled medals.
“You’re letting the silver sit on top of the gold?” I raise my voice over the loud celebratory music. “I thought you’d bury those under a pillow.”
“No, these are being displayed front and fucking center in my bedroom.”
“So you can do better next time? Motivation.” I fling a piece of hair in her face.
She laughs, lightly leaning into me. And even on-duty, I wrap my arm around Sulli. Banks glances down briefly, listening to the conversation as Sulli says, “The silvers mean just as fucking much to me because they’re reminders to be humble and to be happy for others.”
Banks smiles down at her.
My lips rise more too. “I’m so effing proud of you, string—”
“Meadows!” Dean hollers, cutting me off. But as he approaches, Kingly slings an arm over his shoulder, and suddenly spins Dean towards him.
Into a kiss.
Dean is grinning before they deepen the kiss in an arena full of people. He holds Kingly’s jaw, and Kingly grips the back of his neck. Their faces are projected on the Jumbotron. So the audience sees.
The world sees.
We see.
All the U.S. athletes turn and cheer. Including Sulli, and yeah, even us. I’m clapping for Kingly’s romance.
Who would have thought?
Me.
Celebrating Kingly.
I’m even smiling. I guess I’ve learned something from the Olympics too. Be happy for others. Just no one better expect me to clap for the Rochesters. That’s never happening.