open a can, letting the cold liquid slide over his tongue. Cheap beer had been his drug of choice when he’d been controlled by alcohol, something he could buy a lot of with his limited savings but that also didn’t taste strongly enough of anything to be a struggle to get down. But good beer was worth savoring: the bitterness of the hops, the tickle of carbonation, the smooth way it went down. He craved one of those now with his whole body. It would be so satisfying, and also so devastating.
So no, he wouldn’t put himself in a position to be close enough to beer where it would be too easy to simply ask for one. Hell, five medals? The whole bar would probably buy him one. But he would not be partying with his teammates, no matter how much he wanted to.
Also, he really wanted to see Tim. He didn’t want to rely on Tim. When he’d first begun training with Adam again, he’d talked with his doctor about not becoming reliant on any one thing to keep him sober—not Adam, not swimming, and now not Tim. But it wasn’t just that seeing Tim would keep him sober. Seeing Tim made him happy, aroused him, excited him.
Isaac was tired now. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving behind an ache that spread through his body. How great would it be to just lie down with Tim and fall asleep, to be warm and comfortable and safe?
He stuck his head in the lounge on the way to his room, because a lot of people were gathered around the TV.
“Here comes the Flood!” some guy said. “Fourth gold! You’re a goddamn superhero.”
This crowd looked a little rowdy. Isaac waved to them. “Thanks.” He walked into the room and let people manhandle and congratulate him while he confirmed Tim was not there. The TV showed gymnastics—women’s all-around, according to the caption—and it had most of the room riveted to the screen. They were passing around beers too. Isaac’s mouth watered.
It would be so easy. It would take away the pain and fatigue that moved through his body in waves now.
“You know anything about gymnastics, Flood?” asked a blond guy Isaac thought might have been a pole vaulter. He was long and lanky and wore a USA Track & Field shirt.
“No, not really,” Isaac said.
“The Americans have the team with the most depth. So there are two Americans in the all-around final, and they’re currently one and two. This girl Chelsea is unbeatable. Like, thirty points ahead of everyone else. Crazy, right?”
That gymnast, Jake, would know what it must have been like to be a skilled athlete who choked in international competition and be constantly compared to those who raked up the medals. Isaac thought of him as a couple of people in the crowd explained the women’s competition to him.
After all that, Isaac ducked out of the room; he couldn’t be around beer. The smell called to him now. It was hard to pull away—he still wanted to celebrate, to party, to bask in the praise of the other athletes—but it was for the best. The assembled crowd booed when he announced he was leaving. He gave them a little wave, then went down the hall to his room. He opened the door and was delighted to see Tim passed out on his bed.
Isaac changed out of his official American warm-up suit and into a pair of boxer briefs and a T-shirt. He put his medal—the fifth one, God Almighty—into the special lockbox Adam had given him. Then he got into bed beside Tim.
Tim stirred and rolled to look up at Isaac. He smiled. “Hi.”
“Hi. Bad news, babe.”
“What’s that?”
“I won another gold medal, so you’re going to have to put out for me again.”
Tim grinned. “Are you kidding?”
“Nope. We won the relay tonight.”
“So you’re the best swimmer currently racing, basically.”
“I guess.”
Tim put his arms around Isaac’s neck and said, “How’s about, ‘You’re the best swimmer currently in this bed’?”
“Well, that I’ll believe.” Isaac smiled. Then he leaned down and kissed Tim soundly.
He was safe here, away from temptation, and it occurred to him that Tim made him safe too. It wasn’t reliance, it was that something in Tim soothed the part of Isaac that otherwise would have spent tonight beating himself up. His body hurt, a pain easy to dull with alcohol. He still felt in awe of that medal and wanted to celebrate. But more than anything, he wanted to be