a peace since he’d come out of rehab, but things were still unsteady some days.
“She’s here, you know.”
“She is?”
“Yup. She wasn’t feeling well this morning, so she stayed at the hotel. She said she ate something weird on the plane, I think. But she’ll be here to watch you tomorrow.”
Isaac nodded and watched as the next heat started in the pool. Softly, he said, “I haven’t really forgiven myself.”
“I know. You’ll get there.” She sighed. “I blamed myself for a long time. Or my genes, at least. Your grandpa was a nasty drunk.”
Isaac had heard the stories. Grandpa had stayed sober when his grandkids were around, and Isaac had been oblivious until the man had died when Isaac was fourteen. After the third or fourth person at the wake had called Grandpa “a real son of a gun,” Isaac had asked his mother about that, and the floodgates had opened. Perhaps his death had made it okay to talk about him.
He shook his head. “It’s no one’s fault but my own. Maybe alcoholism is a disease, but I did some shitty things. That I was drunk at the time is a weak excuse.”
“You’re sober now, and that’s what matters. We didn’t lose you.”
“I still want to drink.”
“But you won’t. I have faith in you.”
“I appreciate that, Mom, but—”
“Focus on the Olympics. Focus on swimming. Then focus on the next thing. You’ll earn your next chip, no problem.”
Isaac sighed. He put his arm around his mother and leaned his head against hers for a moment. She stiffened a little—even with her own son, she was awkward when it came to being touched—but let out a sigh. The truth was that he’d focused on her a lot in rehab, though he hadn’t wanted to say as much. But Isaac’s father had never really been a part of his life, and his mother had worked extra jobs to make ends meet and bring up two kids who had caused her a lot of grief over the years, Isaac more than Abby. But after everything she’d done for him, Isaac had wanted to get better so he wouldn’t throw everything she’d done for him away. “I love you, Mom.”
“I know, my big boy. I love you too. Now go get some rest so you can win some medals. I’ve seen you do it a bunch of times, but it really never gets old.”
Isaac laughed. “Okay, Mom. I’m on it.”
Chapter 7
Day 2
TIM STOOD in the lounge, watching the TV that broadcast the American network’s coverage of the Games. And sure enough, he was making headlines.
“The other odd story of today,” said a pretty blond reporter, “is that diver Timothy Swan apparently bailed on a practice after the press showed up yesterday.”
“Turn that shit off,” Isaac said, walking into the lounge.
Tim had missed Isaac the night before. After having dinner with his parents, who had flown to Madrid earlier in the day, Tim had holed up in his room a good chunk of the day but emerged to watch Isaac swim on TV before he retreated to his room again. Isaac had swum the fastest in his semifinal heat, but he’d come in second overall. Not that it mattered, since it was the final he needed to win to get the medal. But regardless, Isaac had likely still been at the pool long after Tim had gone to bed.
But man, Tim was glad to see Isaac now.
On the TV, a woman said, “He became visibly upset. We don’t really know why. He had a bad practice, that was clear. The Chinese team may have intimidated him. Some say he panicked because of pressure from his coach—”
Isaac turned off the TV.
“That’s some bullshit.” Tim’s pulse picked up. He was angry more than panicky now, but his breath caught in a similar way.
“What happened yesterday?” Isaac asked.
“A reporter showed up at practice. She started asking questions about Pat, and I freaked.”
“Ah.”
Tim loved that he didn’t have to explain. He turned to face Isaac. Isaac glanced behind him, then reached forward, putting his hands on Tim’s waist. Tim bowed his head and pressed it against Isaac’s chest. Being shadowed by Isaac’s big body comforted Tim, but touching him had a calming effect too. Tim’s breathing returned to normal.
Tim took a deep breath, sniffed, and stepped away. “Do you worry about getting caught? With me, I mean. It doesn’t seem like you do, but I’ll admit, I’m a little worried. There aren’t any reporters in these dorms, but all it