property.”
“He’s not a property, Ori,” Tony growled.
“Sorry. Agent-speak. You know I don’t objectify my clients in the least.” She chuckled. “Although that doesn’t mean the public won’t. Now go collect Sol. Quinn’s waiting.”
Tony emerged from his room and knocked on Sol’s door. Sol cracked it open, peering out like he was expecting to get dog-piled by the press in their own suite. “Hey. Quinn’s waiting for us. You ready?”
Sol nodded and stepped out of his room, a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead. “I don’t know about this.”
“Don’t worry.” Tony rested his hands on Sol’s shoulders—that’s a thing that a friend would totally do, right? “I’ll be with you the whole time.”
Sol blinked. “You will? Through the whole interview?”
“Mmmhmmm. Ori pointed out to me that it made sense on several levels.” Tony ticked them off on his fingers. “One, I’m the one who knows Quinn. Two, you’d probably feel better with a little backup.”
“And three, you can never resist a chance to appear on-camera?”
Tony laughed. “Ordinarily, no. But for a change, this isn’t about me. Come on. Let’s go.”
Sol was quiet on the bus ride to the Tokyo Big Sight, where the main press center was located. Quinn and her three-person crew met them at the reception area and led them into a small private studio, its cluster of tall chairs backed by a screen displaying the Olympic rings. Although the studio had seating for a small audience, it was empty except for the two of them and Quinn’s staff. Good. Less stress for Sol.
He gave Sol’s biceps a squeeze. “Don’t worry. You’ve got this.”
“Right.” Sol’s voice broke on the word.
Tony pulled him to a stop just inside the door. “Solly. I’m serious. Just be yourself. You’ve talked to the press before—”
“Yeah, but only about competitions. Only about gymnastics. Never about anything personal.”
“Just treat this like any post-meet interview and you’ll be fine. If you get stuck, just turn to me and say, Wouldn’t you agree, Tony?”
“But what if you don’t agree?”
“With what?”
“With whatever I was saying?” Sol whispered, with a panicked glance at Quinn’s crew setting up for the feed.
“Then I’ll say so. But don’t overthink it.” Tony frowned, trying to figure out the best way to put Sol at ease. He’d appeared on-camera so often—both on his XBL channel and on other content delivery sites—that it was second nature. “I know. Imagine what you, as a newly diagnosed ten-year-old, would have wanted to know when you stepped into the gym for the first time.”
Sol blinked again and nodded. “Right. Got it.”
“Okay then. Ready?”
“No. But I doubt I can be readier.”
Tony led Sol over to Quinn, who shook hands with both of them and invited them to sit opposite her. “I’m so glad you agreed to join me, Sol, Tony.” She waited for them to adjust their mics and then gestured for her assistant to pass them each a bottle of water. “Are you ready to begin?”
Sol took a swig of his water. “Sure.” The word came out garbled. He cleared his throat. “Sure.”
“Any time, Quinn.” Tony smiled at her and winked at Sol.
She faced the camera, and her assistant counted down until the feed went live. “Good afternoon. I’m so pleased to be here in Tokyo. With the opening ceremonies only hours away, the excitement is building as athletes and spectators stream in from all over the globe. But this morning, we witnessed a different kind of drama at the Ariake Gymnastics Centre. With me now is Sol Ashvili, one of the members of Team USA gymnastics, who had a bit of a scare today. Welcome, Sol.”
Tony kept his gaze on Sol, whose throat worked a bit before he smiled at Quinn. “Thank you for having me. I’m a big fan.”
Quinn pressed her hands to her cheeks, pretending coyness. “Oh, it’s a good thing my complexion is dark enough not to show a blush.” Sol chuckled, and his shoulders seemed to relax. Good. He’ll be fine now. Quinn turned back to the camera. “And with Sol is his teammate, Ringside favorite Tony Thomas. Welcome, Tony.”
“Always a pleasure, Quinn.”
“Now.” She settled back in the plush brown chair. “A lot of rumors have been flying around the internet about what happened this morning. Sol, can you give us the real story?”
Sol glanced his way and Tony gave him a tiny nod. You can do this, baby. Then he turned to Quinn. “I developed type 1 diabetes when I was ten years old, several months before I took my first