“Because I put myself here willingly,” I argued. “Will all be forgiven and forgotten if I step down and don’t show up in half an hour?”
She didn’t know I was wired under my sweater.
That she was being recorded.
“Yes,” she said grimly. “But you need to tell them now.”
“Okay,” I whispered.
“Okay.” She lowered her bow again, removing the blindfold and discarding it on the ground. Her eyes, dead and flat, scanned me.
“Just so you know…” Her throaty voice wrapped around my neck. “Hunter was everything the media said he was, and more. I had a lot of fun stealing your boyfriend. I wish we could continue this. I’d have loved to torture you for a lifetime.”
I stepped away, knowing now how deep and delusional her lie was. “I know.”
I turned around to find Junsu in the shadows, under the roofed seats, scowling. I brushed past him, not stopping when he whispered my name.
He used to shout it before. Now, he was scared.
He knew.
Junsu was at my heels. Now that I’d decided not to compete, he pretended to be invested. Devastated, even. He spoke, but none of the things he said registered. I unlocked my car, stuffing my bag into the passenger seat.
Junsu grabbed my shoulder and spun me so I faced him, his expression etched with fury.
“What was that?” he demanded.
“I’m guessing that’s a rhetorical question.” I brushed off his touch.
That was it. I’d lost. My Olympic dream officially went down the drain. Hell, I’d flushed it myself. Somewhere in the back of my head, panic had begun to set in. I knew it was the last time I’d set foot in this club. After everything that happened—everything that was about to happen—I couldn’t come back and practice here. Not professionally, and not as a hobby. I imagined I’d find a new place, or maybe go to the woods or to the farmhouse my parents had outside of Boston. I would still practice, but not professionally.
It was time to find out who I was.
What I was good at, what I stood for.
It was time to get out of my shell and live. And it’s frightening.
“You didn’t even try. You quit.” He motioned his arm toward the club.
“So?” I shrugged. “My career. My dream. My prerogative.”
“My reputation,” he countered, shoving a finger to his chest. “You could lose by few points. Now I look incompetent.”
“Ah.” I smiled. “Cat’s out of the bag now. So you did want me to lose, just not by much.”
Junsu’s face fell. “What? No! I…”
I leaned forward, brushing my lip over his nose purposefully. I felt goosebumps rise on his skin. We’d never been this close physically. “I know what you did, Junsu. You and Lana. I know about your deal. Lana came clean to Hunter when she tried to seduce him in your office. You did this to yourself. Now I have a witness, and a three-page letter I left with each of the four judges on the committee. They’re going to find them shortly, if they haven’t already. An identical letter was sent to the United States’ Olympic and Paralympic Committees. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m on my way to the police station. Hunter Fitzpatrick, AKA the boy, already gave them his official statement, as per my request.”
I bowed, the way he’d taught me when he started training me, mocking the sign of respect he’d insisted we give each other.
“No!” Junsu barked desperately, tugging at my hand.
I lunged into the driver’s seat, locking the doors automatically before he got to me. He pounded his palms over the window, his voice muffled by the glass between us.
“She had money! I needed to pay for my son’s college.”
I started the car, feeling tears stinging my eyes. I didn’t dare let them loose.
“Sailor! You ruin my career if you do that! My family! My reputation!”
I backed out of the parking lot, blazing down the street I’d driven every day. It held memories, a piece of my heart, and a broken dream I now left behind.
I knew I wouldn’t be able to set foot on it afterwards.
By nighttime, the details about Junsu and Lana were plastered all over the news. I got calls asking if I wanted to retake a match with someone else, considering Lana was not going anywhere near the Olympics anytime soon after what she’d done. I declined. The Olympic spot went to a thirty-three-year-old mother of four from rural Indiana by default. Her stats were crazy.
Mom, Dad, and Sam gathered in the living room around me while we watched her interview. Their hands were on my back, shoulders, and arms.
I was safe with my family. I was home.
It occurred to me, as I stepped into my father’s office for the first time in four days, that I was about to get my ass fucked so hard, I’d be able to easily slide an entire watermelon into it by the time he was done with me.
Four days.
Zero sleep.
Zero work time.
Two unwritten college assignments.
Plenty of half-leads regarding Syllie’s wrongdoings.
Victory was within reach. I could brush it with my fingertips, and I was rabid for it. Maybe the bloodthirsty Fitzpatrick lineage did run through me. Because I’d never felt particularly competitive until I moved here.
The visit to the refinery was scheduled for tomorrow, and guess who’d finally decided to show signs of life and reappear at the office?
Ding, ding, motherfucking ding. Yours truly.
“You’re alive,” my father pointed out rather unhappily, still reading something on his iPad at his desk, his eyebrows somewhere on his upper forehead.
Cillian sprawled in front of him in his designated seat, texting.
“Don’t sound so disappointed.” I stepped inside, planting my ass on the seat next to Cillian.
I turned to my brother. “Leave.”
His molten eyes shot up from his phone. He had the challenging, taunting gaze of a man who was waiting to be invited to war.
“Are you high?” he inquired politely.
“Sober as a miserable, bloated celebrity post-rehab. I need to talk to Da. Alone.”
They exchanged a look that spoke dozens of sentences. Finally, Gerald nodded. My brother stood, but not before flashing me a warning look that said after Da plowed into my ass, he intended to shove explosives into it.
The door closed, and I turned to my father.
“I have some great leads about what Sylvester is up to,” I started, but he cut me off with a wave of a hand, sending the iPad crashing against his desk.
“You go MIA for four days after your agreement with the Brennan girl goes bust, and you think I care about your conspiracy theories?”
“I think you care about this company,” I enunciated through gritted teeth. “And I have information.”
“Stop being a professional timewaster,” Da countered. “And get to the heart of it. You are here because you messed up and didn’t have the guts to face the music. You broke the rules. You weren’t celibate.”
“No,” I admitted. “I wasn’t, but I didn’t sleep with that other chick, Lana. And that thing with Sailor…” I paused, feeling my nostrils flare. “It wasn’t just fucking.”