“Well, I can’t say I’d be sorry to see you in a career that was less likely to kill you.”
“Mom,” he protested, because that was an old argument. Sure, climbing was more dangerous than sitting at a desk, but driving was more dangerous than either one. He’d shown her the stats. “I’m still going to climb, you know.”
“I know.” She pulled him into another hug. “You’re always going to climb, and I’m always going to worry. Now, go shower so we can eat. All that cheering made me hungry.”
The next day, when their families were on planes heading back home and most of the excitement around the men’s finals had died down, they watched the women’s finals from the lounge in the Japanese residence, all of the competitors who were still onsite gathering together to cheer for Mika, Chelsea, and the other four women competing. Spencer’s body was warm against Flynn’s, the two of them crammed into an easy chair meant for one. Liv sat near them, an occasional burst of French coming from her direction, while behind them a couple of guys were speaking what sounded like Russian.
Flynn recognized the string of Japanese expletives Shino let loose with when Mika fell only a few moves from the top of the lead wall, but she’d climbed high enough to take gold, and Chelsea’s bronze medal meant the U.S. wasn’t going home empty-handed. Her face glowed as the American flag rose over her head.
“That’s how you looked,” he told Spencer.
“It was yesterday. I haven’t forgotten.” He glanced down at his chest as if his medal was still hanging there. It was actually on a hook in his room, but he’d worn it last night while Flynn went down on him. “I wish we’d both been up there.”
“It was your dream, not mine. Know what mine is?”
Spencer shook his head.
“Come home with me.”
“Chelsea’s going to want to change.”
“Not to my room. Home. Wherever that is—California, Canada. I don’t care. I just want it to be together. Come on, let’s go talk.” He led Spencer down to the pier where they’d fought that first morning. They stood side by side, looking out at the water and the gulls swooping over it instead of at each other. Flynn knew Spencer was waiting for him to say what he’d come to say, but now that the moment was at hand, he was wracked with all the nerves he hadn’t felt yesterday. What if Spencer didn’t want him despite all the work he’d done? What if his best still wasn’t good enough?
Well, he’d never been known to hesitate at the crux before.
“Okay, so you know I got accepted to USC, right? I emailed them the other night and told them I’m coming. I’ve already planned out how I’m going to finish my contracts. Some of them I can just terminate, but I’ll have to work in some climbing trips during school breaks to satisfy the rest. By the time I start my sophomore year, I should be completely free. Here, look.” He showed Spencer the Google Docs sheet he’d put together detailing his remaining obligations to each of his sponsors.
“You made a fucking spreadsheet,” Spencer murmured as he scrolled through it. “It’s got colors.”
“I know. I liked that part. Plus, I’ve been looking into what it would take to transfer to the University of British Columbia.”
“Why the University of British Columbia?”
“Because you live in Vancouver, dumbass. Not because it’s so warm and sunny there, that’s for sure. Anyway, it looks like I have to put in a year at USC first, but I thought maybe you could live with me in LA for that first year.”
“I’d have to get a visa.”
“Right. I looked that up too. You definitely qualify as having a specialty occupation, and I’m sure one of your corporate sponsors would help with the paperwork. Look, we don’t have to decide everything right now.” He understood that Spencer was still high on his victory. “Just say we’ll work it out together.”
“We’ll work it out together.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He hadn’t expected Spencer to capitulate so easily. He had more evidence. “Once Olympic fever has died down, I’ll schedule a press conference and officially announce that Flyin’ Flynn is hanging up his harness.”
“Whoa, there. Don’t get rid of Flyin’ Flynn.”
“You hate Flyin’ Flynn.”
“I definitely don’t. All this planning you’ve done is great, but don’t turn into me, not when I’m working on making myself more like you.”
“But I don’t want you to change either. I mean, I want you to be happy, and I think you’d be happier if you stepped away from competitions—”
“Agreed. And you’ll be happier as an amateur than as a professional. But I expect you to bring that Flyin’ Flynn energy to everything you do. Especially to our sex life.”
“Then you better execute on me as precisely as you do on the wall.”
“Deal.” Spencer held out his hand and Flynn shook it with a laugh.
“Deal.” A handshake wasn’t good enough to seal this particular deal, so he pulled Spencer into his arms and added a kiss of pure promise. “I love you.”
“Wait. Say that again.”
“That I love you? I do.”
“That’s what I thought you said. It’s just—I didn’t know if I could believe it.”
“Believe it, Spencer. Believe all of it. You’re at the Olympics, you won silver, and I love you.”
There was more kissing then, probably more than was a good idea in public. Now might be a good time for that single room Spencer had lucked into.
“By the way,” Spencer said as they walked hand in hand toward privacy. “I love you too.”
Spencer loved him and they had a future together. Which meant they were both going home winners
Epilogue Spencer
Somewhere in the world, a climber stood in too-tight shoes with his heart in his throat and a knot in his stomach, waiting for his chance to compete for Olympic gold in the 2024 Summer Olympics. But it wasn’t Spencer.
Spencer was two thirds up a sheer wall of rock in Yosemite helping his boyfriend unfurl a portaledge so they could spend the night strapped to a swaying contraption of metal and canvas five thousand feet off the ground. He was exhausted, thirsty, hungry, filthy, and about to have the most romantic night of his life.
“Think we need the fly?” Flynn asked, waving the sheet of nylon that could be draped over the top to shield them from rain.
Spencer considered the cloudless expanse of deep blue sky overhead and the thousands of feet between them and any other living soul. Then he considered the way spectators tended to gather in the meadow below with cameras and telescopic lenses and said, “Maybe later.”
They were going to want some privacy later, but for now they sat on the portaledge with their backs against the looming wall of rock so they could look out over the green and brown valley below them. Flynn rummaged through a sack clipped to one of the dozens of tie-in points they’d created to keep themselves safe and emerged with a can of tuna. He popped the top and handed it over with a plastic fork.