Kane
No one could touchmy good mood as I sauntered into the aquatic center the next morning. Trials were going well, I had my second to last race today, and things were progressing well with Darcy. Just the memory of waking up with her mouth wrapped around me was enough to make my dick twitch. No time for that now, I needed to focus. Beelining for the change rooms, I dumped my duffel on a bench and fielded a welcome high-five from Mateo. Xavier smiled in my direction, and I had to admit, maybe the fucker wasn’t as bad as I had thought. He was still a prissy golden child whose shit didn’t stink according to everyone, but I had to admit, he’d been solid since I turned up for trials. No sign of the rivalry we shared when we were teens. I raised a hand in greeting and flinched at the sound of an explosion two lockers down. Elijah Sager, American born Brit who had returned to the land of the free with an accent to rival the Queen stood facing his locker, covered in flour. He coughed lightly a couple of times before turning, his eyes coming to rest instantly on the most likely culprit. “Mateo, you fucking git. What is wrong with you?” Mateo shook with suppressed mirth, his oddly green eyes swimming with tears. Before anything could start, Xavier stood with a sigh. “All right. All in favor of running the douche jar again this year?” Several people in the room yelled a hearty “Aye” while Mateo cursed and pulled his wallet out of his bag. “May as well take this now. I’ll be broke before the first week is out.”
Xavier shook his head, eyes bewildered. “It amazes me how self-aware you can be, while maintaining such a poor standard of self.”
Mateo tutted, not at all offended. “It amazes me how you can sound like you have a bigger stick up your ass than the Queen over here.”
I dropped my head to hide a smirk. I was really getting to like these guys, insane as most of them were. Mateo actually reminded me a lot of Cody, god help us if the two ever became friends because shit would get crazy really quickly. I hoped they made it through trials and stayed on the team. Some of the other hopefuls watched them with looks that varied from hero worship to horror.
While Elijah headed toward the showers, cursing Mateo the whole way, I refocused on preparations for my swim. All my heats had gone well, but I was almost more nervous for this heat. The fifty-meter breaststroke was something I had nominated for last minute. The kind of stroke Coach made me do for muscle building and flexibility, rather than for the competition itself, but I liked it almost as much as freestyle. The frog-legged streamline off the wall made me feel the closest to what I imagined it would be like to fly.
Pulling on my swim cap, my goggles hanging from an elbow, I made my way out to the pool area, ready to go. I hadn’t heard from Darcy today, but our plan had been to catch up after my swim for a celebratory lunch. Her blonde head was missing from her usual section of the bleachers, but maybe she had sat somewhere else? Or maybe she had gotten caught up at work. I had become so used to having her around, it was easy to forget she had her own life. Shit, I really was a selfish bastard. This was exactly what she had been talking about when she said it was all about me.
Time to focus. I pulled my goggles over my eyes, shaking arms and legs to loosen muscles that were tight with nerves.Second last time, I reminded myself as I stepped up onto the starting block and waited. The starter gun fired and I was off. Stroke, stroke, stroke. Before I had a chance to even find a rhythm, my hands hit the wall at the opposite end of the pool. Done. My time was more than decent, but I had been beaten in the last stretch by a fraction of a second. Second place was okay, I guessed. Coach would be smug, but I was still happy with my swim. I pulled myself out of the water and slapped the winner on the back. He was a younger guy I’d met in passing the week before, but I couldn’t remember his name. He kinda looked like he needed a permission slip to be here, though. In the front row of the bleachers, an older couple waved and screamed, jumping up and down as though the kid had just won gold. Called it.
Circling the pool, I made it most of the way back to the change rooms before I caught sight of Coach standing off to the side, glowering hard.
“Who pissed in your weeties? I thought you didn’t want me focusing on breaststroke anyway,” I said, clapping him on the shoulder on the way past, knowing he would follow me anyway.
“Your fucking girlfriend. The one you’ve been playing breast-stroke with when you’re supposed to be prioritizing nationals. She’s fucked you. Properly fucked you this time.”
He shoved a newspaper under my nose, and the mocking smile I had ready to tease him about his old-fashioned habit faded as I got a load of the gist of the article.
Nationals hopeful, Kane Bryson, yada yada yada, womanizing reputation. Fake relationship.
I read the article through twice, the blood draining from my face as it hit home that this story was an expose on an athlete that was so bad at keeping it in his pants he manipulated a reporter into pretending to be his one and only before she too fell for his seduction.
Despite my deepest hopes, when I checked the byline on the story, the name was still the same, and it felt like someone had taken a knife and carved the letters out of my heart. Darcy Rowsthorn. She had crucified me in print. I didn’t understand why, but it suddenly made a whole lot more sense that she hadn’t shown up today.
She had her story, and it was well written, even if it was slanderous and defamatory.
“I should have seen this coming,” Coach muttered, pacing in tight circles in front of me.
“Why?” I asked. “Why would she have done this?”
Coach froze, and the stillness was almost more eerie than the incessant movement of the moment before.
“Revenge,” he said with finality.
“Revenge for what? I never did anything to her. I don’t get it.”
Coach took a breath. Took another one. Then did something I would never have expected. He backed away from me until there was a good five paces between us.
“Darcy was pregnant when she left Fankirth High five years ago.”
Darcy
Furious was an understatement.As I stomped into Mr. Fagan’s office, I was shaking with a rage I could barely contain. Slamming the door behind me, I took small satisfaction in the way the door rattled in its frame, as though I could snap it with my temper. “Congratulations on your first byline, Rowsthorn. I assume you’re here to thank me for the opportunity, right?” Mr. Fagan drawled, biting down on an unlit cigar like a fat cat who would celebrate a job well done with a smoke if not for the building’s fire regulations.
“How fucking dare you put my name on that piece of trash. That was not the story I submitted.” My throat tightened, my eyes watering as I mentally screamed at myself not to cry.
“That piece was slanderous, untrue, and a defamation case waiting to happen.”
“That piece has taken off. We’ve sold a record number of papers and two news outlets have contacted me this morning wanting to pick up the story. You did well, kid. Enjoy. Go buy yourself something pretty to celebrate your first paycheck.”
I gaped at him, his words not computing in my head. Had he spoken English? Or maybe he just broke my brain.
“Do you… do you have a conscience at all? You could have ruined his career and all you care about is selling papers?”
