was really up in his business, but he kept his headphones on until the last possible moment, ignoring everything that was not this race. There were a couple of swimmers in the field that Adam had thought he should look out for, but Isaac didn’t know them, and he didn’t much care.
Four lengths of the pool. That’s all he needed to do.
He swam. He enjoyed it. He was in his element with the breaststroke. He turned on the gas a little for the last lap and enjoyed the burn in his muscles. It started to hurt the last twenty-five meters, but Isaac didn’t care.
This was what he’d been put on the planet to do.
He hit the wall and didn’t even look at the scoreboard for a moment. He breathed. He saw the reactions of the guys on either side of him, slapping the water and celebrating. Then he turned around.
Second place. 3:45.2. Not the best, but good enough to get into the final.
This time he zoned out and ended up getting stopped by the reporter on his way back to the warm-up pool.
“Hi, Mindy Somers, TBC Sports. You have a minute?”
Isaac sighed and nodded.
“Isaac, you’ve been looking really strong in your preliminary swims. You’re one of the favorites to win your race tonight. You just swam the third-fastest time in the breaststroke semis. How do you feel?”
“I’m pretty good,” he said, panting still.
“What’s it like, being back in the Olympics again?”
Isaac breathed for a second, buying him time to decide if he should blow her off or give her a good sound bite. He settled on saying, “I’m happy to have another chance.”
“You’ve been through so much the last few years. You came out of nowhere at the Trials to qualify for a number of races here in Madrid. What was that like?”
“Well, I’ve been training for a year and a half with this goal in mind.”
“Do you expect to win a medal?”
God, he wanted her to go away. But he smiled and said, “I’d love to, but really, I’m just happy to be here.”
Mindy Somers tossed it back to the guys in the booth, so Isaac ducked away.
After his cool-down, Isaac decided to head back to his room for a nap, but as he was changing, Tim and Jason came into the locker room.
“Oh, hey,” said Tim. “How’d your heat go?”
“Good. Qualified for the final. What are you doing here?”
“Women’s final is starting, so we had to clear out of the pool.”
“I’m headed back to the Athlete Village. Want to go with me?” Isaac asked.
Jason seemed to take the hint. “I’m gonna try to talk the swim coaches into letting me swim a couple of laps in the warm-up pool.” He hooked his thumb back toward the pool and cleared out.
Isaac knew he probably shouldn’t get too used to having Tim by his side, since he’d be flying back to Raleigh and Tim back to Colorado when this was all over, but he also wanted to make the most of it now. His rehab mantra had been to take each day as it came. Tim brought Isaac more happiness than he could have expected, so he would savor it each day that he had it.
A short shuttle bus parked just outside the athlete’s entrance to the Aquatics Center did loops between the venues and the Athlete Village. Isaac nodded at the driver, who leaned against the bus, fiddling with his phone.
“Ride?” the driver said.
“Yes,” said Isaac.
They boarded the bus. The trip back to the village was quick. When they got off the bus, Isaac and Tim ran into a group Isaac thought might have been the American basketball team, goofing around on the giant Olympic rings near the entrance to the village.
“Hey, here comes the Flood!” one of them shouted. He hopped off the ring he’d been standing on.
Soon Isaac and Tim found themselves surrounded by a bunch of basketball players—he recognized one of them as a player for the Charlotte Hornets because they’d done some event together in Charleston a few years ago. Before the DUI.
“We’re off tonight,” one of the guys said, “so we were gonna come see you win your tenth medal, Flood.”
“Oh, you don’t have to.”
“No, seriously, we are all about Team USA,” said another basketball player.
Isaac laughed. “Well, sure. You’re expected to run away with your gold medal.”
“We have some competition,” one of the guys said.
“Yeah, hell, that Serbian team is full of NBA players,” said another. “And the Spanish have the home-court advantage.”