Page 41 of Fallen Crown

“No.” I turn onto my back and rest my head on the board, and I float, sculling with my hands to keep myself level. “I just think it’s dumb that she gave in first.”

“If no one gives in, nothing ever changes,” Brent says. “She married him. She must love him.”

The thought causes a wildfire of anger to rage across my body. “He doesn’t deserve her. He’s a fucking coward.” The opposite of Tucker in a way that actually matters.

Brent doesn’t say anything for a long time, and I’m fine with that because wallowing is my favorite pastime this week. The one text message I sent to her went unanswered. Took all my self-restraint not to send a flurry of follow-ups. At one point, I checked the flight times to Boston. What the fuck would I have done in Boston? Clearly a moment of mental instability.

“Want to go get a bottle of tequila?” Brent asks.

“No.”

“There is something going on between you and Maren,” Brent says.

“I don’t want to talk about Tucker.” There’s nothing happening between us, or nothing serious anyway. She’s married, and I don’t do commitment. It’s not like I can offer or even want to offer her some sort of alternative. If she was single, sex would be a definite possibility, if not a certainty. I’d be unable to resist finding out whether the energy that hums between us is just as good in other places and situations. Or perhaps all the places and situations. Just the thought sends my imagination into overdrive.

Under different circumstances, my curiosity would have completely fucked up our friendship and adventure race training. Past experience tells me it’s almost impossible to revert to friendship once that line is obliterated. Even though I’m not much for repeats, since that often leads to a gray relationship area, I can’t imagine being a one and done with Tucker. Maybe I should be grateful she’s off-limits.

“I bought Posey a ring,” Brent says. “Took Julia with me.”

I push off the board to tread water and so I can see him better. They’ve been together for years now, and while there’s no doubt they’re committed to each other, I’m a bit surprised he’s bought a ring. “Thought maybe you two weren’t going to do the whole marriage thing.”

“Had to wait until I was sure Posey was ready.” He squints into the sun.

“How do you know she’s ready?”

“She’s brought it up a few times since Nick and Jules got married—‘Someday when we get married’ and things like that. Never happened before, so I figure it’s a good bet.”

“Congratulations, man.” The whole concept still feels foreign to me. How can anyone ever be certain they could spend their entire life with someone else and never get bored? Or fall out of love? Or wish for something else? While my parents have been relatively happy, I’ve seen a lot more of the opposite. Many of my friends who got married young have already given up on their “starter” marriages and are either married again or in new relationships.

None of my friends have been in a marriage as shitty as Tucker’s, and she’s clinging so hard she went to Boston to try to work things out when it’s clear to me he’s not worth her time or energy. At her lowest, he left. That’s one situation where I’d wholeheartedly support walking away.

We return to shore, and Jag meets us on the beach to help with carting everything back to the SUV.

“I appreciate you coming to visit,” I say to Brent.

“Posey thought you could use some bro time,” Brent says. “Besides, any excuse to see her is good enough for me. She didn’t have to ask twice.”

“You’ll be ramping up your training for the last Olympics soon. After that, you’re moving here?”

“That’s the plan,” Brent says. “Coach the local swim team. Try to figure out how to make use of my MBA. Convince Posey that kids are fun.”

“Won’t have to talk her into that one too hard,” I say. “Grace is converting us all.”

“Is she?” Brent leans against the SUV while I open the rear door. “Grace has converted you?”

“My thoughts on kids have nothing to do with Tucker.”

“You knew who I was talking about.”

There’s no point in arguing with him. I’m not looking for a baby mama, and if I was, I certainly wouldn’t start with a married woman.

We part ways, and I tell Jag to take the long way home. After doing it almost every day for the last week, he understands what I mean. But unlike every other day, when we cruise past Tucker’s apartment, there’s a cab idling at the curb on the other side of the street.

“Pull over?” Jag asks.

It’s a busy street, but there’s a lane for short-term parking on this side. My behavior isn’t normal, and even as I recognize it, I confirm that I want him to stop. The cab might not even be her, but when the rear door opens, and a head of dark hair emerges, my heart kicks in my chest. After having spent so much time with her the past few months, going a whole week without talking to her or seeing her has been a slow, unexpected torture.

When her high heel touches the pavement, something inside of me settles, and I realize part of me has been worried she wouldn’t return at all. Coaching the team isn’t the same as being on it, especially when all the members of the team are adults capable of training themselves. Even me, after months of training with her, could likely get by in the homestretch if I had to. After our three-day camp out, I understand how grueling the ten days in Fiji will be.