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“I…” He stumbled over his words, which was so unlike him. His eyes were glassy. “I want to be better for you, Ciaran. I want to get better for my team.”
“And I’m good with that.” I leaned in and kissed him, our lips touching gently. There was no heat to it. Only love, acceptance, and pride. I booped his nose with a finger. “But also get better for you, Matty. I dare you to.”
“How do I even start?”
His anguished gaze held mine and my God it broke my heart. Here was a man so used to the world being handed to him on a silver platter that when he had to make choices for himself, even a choice so important to the quality of his health, he doubted what he should do.
And how was it that he looked to me for answers when I had my own demons to exorcise? In some ways it felt like I was just a kid who grew up too fast when my dad died and then when Grandpa Tommy passed away.
My biggest dilemma over the years always seemed to be about how to deal with Drew’s attentions and how to pay for college, both of which were now moot points. Yes, I was fifteen when I started helping Mom run the deli, but that didn’t make me qualified for something as big as this.
But I needed to find something, some answer, that would speak to Matty’s worries, his fears, those doubts swirling in his head that sounded like monsters telling him that he wasn’t good enough, smart enough, kind enough, lovable enough.
We all had voices in our heads that were unkind to us.
So when Matty collapsed against me, when my arms wrapped around him, when his breath was a rapid staccato against my chest and when my hand was thick in his hair, stroking his scalp, I said the one thing that might hit home.
“With one lap at a time, Matty. You start with one lap at a time.”
74
MATTHIAS
Ciaran always seemed to know what to say to get through my waterlogged brain.
One lap at a time.
“I can do that,” I murmured against his chest, feeling his arms tight around me, holding me close.
I clung to my boyfriend like I was lost at sea and he was my life raft. I liked thinking about how I had a boyfriend when I’d never had one before.
“I don’t know about Nationals tryouts, though,” I continued. “I mean, if I’m in an out-patient rehab program for drugs and alcohol addiction issues, I’ll probably get suspended from the team. Olympic Trials are a pipe dream at this point, too.”
“You might,” Ciaran said thoughtfully. He didn’t offer platitudes or flimsy excuses like my teammates would have done. He just acknowledged it, and for some reason that made me think I could withstand the disgrace, that I could face my issues head on instead of drowning them out with drugs, alcohol, or meaningless sex like I used to. “Or you might not.”
I pulled away and grimaced. “How insightful of you, Ciaran.”
He thumped my forehead and I called him a brat.
“I know it’s your dream to make it to the Olympics,” Ciaran offered, his tone soft, “but it’s not a one-time thing. Get healthy, let your shoulder heal, and get your mind in the right headspace. So much of what we do in life is mental. One lap at a time, Matty. You can always enter the tryouts during the next cycle.”
Ciaran had a point. Competing at the national level wasn’t a one-and-done type of thing. The old me, prior to meeting Ciaran, would have pushed to compete, get that medal, and party like a rock star with people I wouldn’t remember in the morning.
The new me nodded at his boyfriend, because his boyfriend was smart and kind and also very, very hot. “One lap at a time,” I echoed, a bit more firmly this time.
Ciaran’s phone, which was on the nightstand, started buzzing again.
We shared a knowing look.
“The outside world can no longer be ignored,” Ciaran teased. We knew what the texts and missed calls would be about. He dug my phone out from underneath his pillow and then grabbed his. “Shall we?”
When I unlocked my home screen, I had dozens of texts from Joan and Filipe. My swim team group text was also alight with messages, all saying the same thing: Coach Anderson had been fired.
There was one message from Dante that read, Got wind of the story from Dad. Andy was always a jerk but I didn’t know he was capable of doing that. Hopefully Ciaran is doing OK. Andy texted me, too, to say he was making an extended stay at a buddy’s place in Sydney to “weather the storm.” Asshole. I didn’t reply. Suffice to say, he won’t be a nuisance. Also, Dad said you and Ciaran were dating…surely he was joking???
I fired off a quick reply to Dante. Thanks bro. Means a lot. And no, Dad wasn’t joking. I’ll fill you in later.
“Did you see what Joan sent?” Ciaran asked.
