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67
CIARAN
After getting cleaned up, Matty and I hung out on the guesthouse’s patio as the guys from the swim team started to pull into the driveway.
Joan and Filipe had already arrived but were inside with Franky, who was brewing a large pot of coffee in the kitchen. Joan caught my gaze and winked. She gave me a dramatic thumbs up to indicate everything went well at the embassy, and I let out a large sigh of relief.
Thank God that was resolved.
The doors to the patio were flung open, and I listened as they discussed the best way to feed twenty starving men, each of whom ate anywhere from four to five thousand calories a day during the competitive swim season.
There’d be plenty of pizza and wings, which would be arriving in ten minutes. I thought that would be enough, but apparently not.
In the last hour, Franky had whipped up several additional batches of brownies. The kitchen smelled like a chocolate factory.
If Matty’s team was on the fence on backing his plan, I suspected the brownies would be the deciding factor for the stubborn few holding out.
At the front door, Filipe demanded everyone’s phone when they entered. “Private meeting tonight, boys,” he said over a dozen times. “No phones allowed.”
Matty reached out to clasp my hand.
The sun was low in the horizon. Hazy streaks of orange and pink threaded through the sky, mirrored on the ocean’s choppy waters. Seagulls screeched out warbled complaints while waves crested against the shoreline below.
If it weren’t for the nerves bouncing around in my chest like a ball in a pinball machine, the sight and sounds of the evening would count as a relaxing evening.
Matty, for his part, looked calm. Maybe it came with being a Vaulteneau. Or maybe all the pressure he felt on the daily basis on the swim team, avoiding paparazzi, and maintaining perfect grades to maintain his image gave him a lot of practice at hiding his true feelings from the world.
The team filtered out onto the patio, beers and plates in hand, the normal volume of conversation and good-natured ribbing happening between close friends and teammates.
Matty dropped my hand, and I tried not to feel disappointed. He had a job to do.
Jason, the swim captain, approached Matty.
“Nice shiner,” Jason said with a smirk. “Who’d you piss off this time?”
“Who haven’t I pissed off?” Matty said with an easy smile, which wasn’t the reaction Jason was expecting. “The line keeps growing.”
When Jason turned to me, he did a double take when he spotted the hickeys on my neck. “Looks like Malibu’s treating you well, Ciaran,” Jason said as he looked at Matty with feigned boredom. “But I see you’re still hanging out with this asshole.”
There was still bad blood between the two and I didn’t blame him for giving Matty attitude. The last time they saw each other, Jason and I had ruined Matty’s closet, and Matty had punched Jason in the jaw. I doubt they’d ever be friends.
“Malibu and Matty are both growing on me,” I admitted.
Jason didn’t seem to know how to take that, so he just nodded and sat down next to another teammate, speaking in low tones. They were probably wondering why Matty had called the meeting.
Matty didn’t make them wait long.
When he stood up, everyone on the patio went quiet. By my count, there were twenty-five people out here, if you included me, Franky, and Joan. Everyone else was on the swim team.
“So you’re wondering why I asked you to come tonight,” Matty started. He wore a USC hoodie and track pants, much like everyone else was dressed. Casual, but part of the same club.
“Either you’re quitting the team or plan to fight Coach’s benching,” someone said.
“Neither.” Matty took a deep breath. I knew that this was going to be difficult for him. “Listen, there’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just gonna spit it out. Coach has been blackmailing me since February.”
“Holy shit,” one of the guys blurted. “Did you knock up his daughter or something?”
“Uh, no.” Matty rubbed his shoulder. “Some of you might remember my birthday party earlier this year, the one where I, uh, snorted cocaine off a certain part of the male anatomy.”
