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“And you think I don’t feel the same about racing?” Dillon snapped, defensive.
Seren’s composure remained infuriatingly intact. “I wouldn’t know, because you won’t talk to me. You won’t tell me how you’re feeling. The best I can do is try to read behind the words you aren’t saying. And maybe I’m wrong, but I think, as hard as these last couple of months have been, part of you has embraced the outcome. You’ve had a remarkable career. There’s no shame in hanging up your boots. Thirteen years. Three Olympics. Countless world championships. You have nothing left to prove—”
“Sam won the Ballon d’Or. Competed in three World Cups. Was twice voted FIFA’s Best. Do you think for a single second she wouldn’t give everything in her power to lace up her boots again? To feel the lights of Wembley on her back?”
“You’re not Sam—”
“And you’re notme! So stop thinking you can psychoanalyze everything!” The brace felt too tight on Dillon’s leg, the sling pinning her elbow to her chest too confining. She wanted to get out of the hotel. To disappear beneath the blanketed canopy of trees. To run from questions she didn’t know how to answer.
How could she put it into words? The fear of trying versus the fear of doing nothing?
“Alistair called,” she said after the silence in the room had grown too stifling. “British Triathlon’sholding the third quota open. They’ve given me until Leeds to qualify.”
The fine lines around Seren’s mouth deepened. “You don’t have to do this for Team GB. You don’t owe the BOA a thing.”
Dillon’s laugh was dry. “Do you know what kind of investment they’ve made in me? The time? The money?”
“And yet, the moment you were no longer useful to them, they tossed you aside. Don’t fool yourself into thinking they care about you or your career, Dillon. The only reason they’re holding that spot is because they know, if there’s a possibility you can run, you’re still their best chance at a medal.”
“Exactly. Thegoldmedal. I’m their best shot to do what no British woman has ever done. You think Georgina’s going to bring it home?”
“I don’t care—don’t you get that?” Seren’s equilibrium was finally cracking. It brought an odd sense of satisfaction to see her imperturbable sister angry. To see the whites on her knuckles as she slammed her fist into the duvet. “I don’t care about medals. Or breaking records. I don’t care about what hasn’t been donebefore! The only thing I care about isyou! I want the best foryou!”
Dillon lay back and stared at the ceiling. The best for her? She didn’t even know what that was anymore.
But it didn’t matter. It was too late to change her mind. Too many people were counting on her. Too much was invested.
“I’m going to do this. And I’m going to run. It’s what I do.” She closed her eyes. “And I need you to support me.”
She felt Seren move closer, pressing her cheek against her chest. “I have supported you—and will continue to support you—with every fiber of my being, Dillon Sinclair. You’re my little sister. It’s whatIdo.”
Dillon had to pass the back of her free hand across her eyes, swallowing away an unwelcome lump in her throat. On another day she would have given Seren grief about her shower-damp hair soaking through her shirt. She would have brushed her off, telling her to save her affection for Épée, who had no choice but to endure it. But today she welcomed the weight of her sister’s comfort. She’d loved these last few days spent together, just the two of them. The slow, ambling afternoons exploring the city. The drowsy late nights watching American talk shows. The morning tea from the street vendor who didn’t know the difference between matcha and Earl Grey. The friendship, the closeness between them. How it had once been when they were children.
But the respite would soon be over. Seren put her life on hold to travel with Dillon to New York, but when they got home, she’d be off to Italy to compete in Verona. And Dillon would be stuck home with her mam, waiting to see if fate had any compassion. Then would come Christmas. Kam. Holidays spent together.
And after? WouldSinclair Squaredstill be a thing, or would only one of them see Los Angeles?
It was the unknown that felt the heaviest.
She opened her eyes to find Seren watching her.
“Promise me one thing, Dill?”
She hiked a noncommittal shoulder, feeling the ache in her clavicle.
“If it gets to be too much, you’ll walk away?”
“Seren—”
“I mean it, Dillon. If it’s not working, if things aren’t going as planned, promise me you’ll let it go?”
How easily that was said from someone sitting at the top of her sport, with the Olympic Games steady in her crosshairs. All Seren had to do was pull the trigger.
But Dillon didn’t want to fight. Instead, she eased herself upright and scooted to sit against the headboard. “Fine. But I hate to break it to you, one way or another, I’ll be in Los Angeles.” She nudged her sister with her toe. “Because even if I’m not racing, you’re going to need a groom. And it goes against the Equality Act not to hire someone just because they’re a cripple.”
Seren finally smiled. “What about not hiring someone because they suck at grooming?”
Dillon shrugged. “I’m your sister. You don’t get to say no.”
