The tears stung his eyes. He ran a hand over his face to keep his emotions in check, but it was a futile cause, because as soon as he saw Adam’s tear-streaked face, Isaac wept.
He’d done it. He’d hit rock bottom and then crawled all the way back. Good God, he’d won a gold medal.
“I’ve never fucking seen you swim that well,” Adam said. “Good start, tight turns, near-perfect form.” Then Adam threw himself around Isaac, pulling him into a tight hug. “We’re going to do this. We really are. I’m so fucking proud of you.” He pulled away and slapped Isaac on the ass. “Okay, get in the pool. You’re swimming again in an hour.”
A BUNCH of athletes partied in the lounge on Tim’s floor in the Athlete Village. Jason was there, flirting with a pretty woman, as were most of the American dive and synchronized swimming teams, plus a bunch of people Tim didn’t know. They were arranged in a crescent around the TV in the middle of the room, which showed swimming.
The words Men’s 400m Individual Medley flashed across the screen, so Tim had made it just in time.
The screen panned across the audience at the Aquatics Center. A bunch of people in USA T-shirts were holding up signs that said HERE COMES THE FLOOD!
“I wish I had a slogan,” someone said.
“It helps to have a punny name,” said the girl Jason was flirting with.
Jason looked up. “Oh, hey, Tim.”
“Like Timothy Swan,” said the girl, grinning at Tim. “There’s gotta be a pun there somewhere. Swan dive?”
Tim shook his head. It wasn’t the first time someone had tried to pun his name. He settled onto the floor at the feet of a couple of the female divers. One of them, Ginny—America’s best hope for an individual springboard medal—rubbed Tim’s shoulders and said, “Hi, Timmy.”
“Hi, Ginny.”
Onscreen, the buzzer sounded and the race got off. Tim spent the next three minutes anxiously watching the screen, leaning to the left or right as if that would help Isaac go faster. He felt sick in the pit of his stomach, fearing that Isaac would lose. But he wanted Isaac to win. Isaac deserved this win. He needed it.
“So let me get this straight,” one of the athletes Tim didn’t know said. He had an Australian accent. “Isaac Flood quit swimming.”
“Retired,” said Ginny.
“Fine, retired,” said the Australian guy. “Then he takes up drinking instead of swimming. Gets himself arrested. Goes to rehab. Then he just comes back and wins a gold medal?”
“Proves anyone can do it,” Ginny said. “Even you, Colin.”
The Australian guy balked. “That gold medal has my name on it.”
“Which event?” Tim asked.
“I’m diving against you, mate,” Colin said. “Individual platform.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“Okay? That’s all?”
“Tim is very low-key,” said Ginny.
“Which events are you doing?” asked Colin.
“Platform synchro, and then both individual events,” said Tim. “I’m stronger on platform. Just so you know.”
The whole room went, “Oooh.”
On screen, Isaac pulled ahead in his race. Tim had his gaze trained on Lane Four, where Isaac, in a blue cap and blue swimsuit, swam for his life.
“Look at this guy,” said Artie, one of the other American divers. “I mean, Flood is amazing. I heard he won a medal with a hangover at the last Olympics.”
“I think,” said Ginny, “now that he’s clean, he’s unstoppable.”
Tim couldn’t really hear the commentary on screen over the chatter in the lounge, but he could hear the enthusiasm. It was like watching a soccer match in Spanish. He half expected someone to shout, “GOOOAL” when Isaac hit the wall.
Instead, Isaac touched first and the whole room erupted in cheers.
Tim’s heart pounded. Isaac had won. Isaac had won. He had a gold medal.
Onscreen, Isaac looked up at the scoreboard and looked baffled for a moment before he lifted up and slapped the water.
“He’s dreamy,” Ginny said. “Anyone know what his deal is? Single or—?”
“If Isaac Flood had a girlfriend,” said Ginny’s synchro partner, Kayla, “I think we’d all know about it.”
Tim kept his mouth shut, not the least because it had just dawned on him that Isaac winning a gold medal meant that they’d be having sex. Tim wanted that palpably. The thought alone made his skin tingle, and his stomach bubbled with anticipation. The screen now somewhat lovingly showed the whole length of Isaac’s body as he got out of the pool, from his swim-cap-tousled hair to his broad shoulders, flat, muscular chest, tight abs, narrow hips, legs that went on forever. God, Isaac’s chest. Tim loved