some of whom had posters and signs. One of the posters read Here comes the Flood! so Isaac supposed they had heard about his imminent arrival. Then it became clear all of the fans were there for him.
“Holy shit,” he said.
“Flood! Isaac! Can you sign?”
He signed some of the things that were thrust at him, including the Here comes the Flood! sign, a couple of old T-shirts, and a few posters that showed his body, and then Sheri herded him inside.
All of the nations broadcasting from Madrid had different studios set up throughout the building, including the American network, up on the sixteenth floor. A PA led Isaac and Sheri into a greenroom, where a sumptuous feast was laid out. It looked especially amazing because he had only had a yogurt for breakfast, and his stomach rumbled now. Earlier it had seemed more important to stay in bed, curled around Tim, than to get up. So he’d had to grab whatever was available from the snack bar in the lobby of his dorm building.
Tim had looked so sleepy and happy that morning. His face was angelic in the early morning light. When Isaac’s alarm had gone off, he’d lifted his head, smiled at Isaac, and then gone back to sleep. His body was soft and warm and fit nicely against Isaac’s, so Isaac had been reluctant to leave. He’d gotten out of the building and met Sheri and her car just in the nick of time.
And, well, maybe it was time to admit that he was falling for Tim.
But that didn’t matter now, because he had to talk about gold medals with the perky blond reporter who anchored the network’s morning show.
Sheri sat with him on a mustard-colored sofa while they waited for his name to be called. She said, “You nervous?”
“A little,” Isaac said. He wasn’t “the race is about to start” nervous, but he was concerned he’d get tongue-tied or say something stupid.
“Just answer the questions. They’ve been briefed that they’re not to ask about your past. This should be a breeze.”
Well, there it was. On the one hand, Isaac didn’t need his dirty laundry aired, but on the other, his alcoholism was a key part of his identity now. It should have been a part of this story, but maybe it was better not to rock the boat. The USOC and the American media wanted to keep a glossy sheen on everything, allowing nothing controversial or scandalous to grace their airwaves. He’d read that officials from the World Anti-Doping Agency had been invited to ensure there was no cheating, which struck Isaac as a lot of theater and not actually an effective way to rid competitive sports of performance-enhancing drugs. But he could play along and give a few platitudes, keep it simple and shallow, and keep the turmoil to himself, even if talking about it might help someone watching on TV. Still, talking about this with anyone made Isaac feel naked, like that cop was pulling him out of his car while he was drunk all over again. God, he hated this whole thing.
He nodded to Sheri.
Another PA escorted him onto the set a few minutes later. A monitor in the corner indicated the network was currently airing commercials, so Isaac had a minute to sit and settle on the overstuffed white leather sofa. A large coffee table loomed in front of him. A coffee cup with the network’s logo on it sat on a coaster. It seemed to hold water, but Isaac would have killed for a hot, black cup of coffee. Maybe they had some in the greenroom that he could make off with.
He shook off his craving and refocused on what he had to do now. The anchor walked over and settled into an armchair perpendicular to the sofa. “You ready?” she said.
“I guess so.”
“These are easy questions. Don’t sweat it. Okay?”
“Let’s do this.”
Green lights indicated the network came back on the air, and the anchor, who seemed to assume Isaac knew who she was since she didn’t introduce herself, said, “Welcome back. I’m here now with American swimmer Isaac Flood, who has overcome a great number of obstacles to win two gold medals at last night’s swimming finals. One was in the 400-meter individual medley, and the second was as anchor on the four-by-one-hundred freestyle relay. Good morning, Isaac.”
“Good morning.”
“You get any sleep last night?”
“Some. I have to race again this afternoon. I celebrated with the boys a little, but then I