Page 61 of Going Overboard

The silence that follows is almost suffocating, like we’re in a vacuum all of a sudden.

I mean, come on, what does he want me to say? Does he think Celine Dion’s ‘It’s All Coming Back to Me Now’ is going to start playing and I’m going to throw myself at him? Because I’d sooner chuck him overboard, ‘My Heart Will Go On’ style, like there’s only enough room on this balcony for one of us to survive.

Because that’s how I feel, right? I don’t want him back…

It’s hard not to compare him to Brody, to his good points anyway, but that’s dumb, because Brody and I are not a real couple, and even if we were, it’s starting to look like Nikki might be trying to get him back too.

Are they allowed to do that? To make a mistake, to blow everything up, have their cake and eat it and then get their old life back? Only if we let them, I guess.

‘Just… think about it,’ he says, clearing his throat. ‘Please. Just promise me you’ll think about it, because we can get it back, we can get the dream back on track. Seeing you here, with Brody, it’s given me a clarity I didn’t have before.’

I chew my lip, unsure how to reply to that.

‘I think I need to go to bed,’ I say. ‘Get some sleep. I can’t think straight with this seasickness.’

‘Right, okay, good thinking,’ he replies. ‘Sleep on it, see how you feel tomorrow.’

As I head back inside, I notice that Nikki and Brody are still chatting, his hand still in hers. As I walk through the door, he quickly snatches it back – whatever that means.

‘I’m going to bed,’ I say, my voice steady, cold even, as I head for the bedroom.

I don’t give either of them the chance to reply, and it’s my turn in the bed tonight so my plan is to get in it as quickly as possible and go straight to sleep – or pretend to be at least, because I don’t think I want to speak to anyone else tonight.

I’ve got a lot of thinking to do.

25

Another morning. Another ungodly early start in the gym.

Although, if I’m being honest with you, I don’t hate it, not like I used to. It’s amazing how quickly your body adapts to a new routine – mine genuinely believes I’m an early riser now.

Granted, I might feel differently about it if I were actually working out, but coming here to spectate is actually kind of fun.

Brody is currently on one of the treadmills, running like he’s being chased by something terrifying. He’s all hot and sweaty but I’d be worried if he wasn’t, the way he’s pounding the conveyor belt below him – if that’s what you even call it.

In contrast, I’m lying on a yoga mat, with a couple of the pillows propped underneath my head. Unsurprisingly, I didn’t sleep all that well, which is a real shame because it feels like a waste of a night in the bed.

You know I’m not usually one to shower Brody with praise but, credit where it’s due, he does work really bloody hard in the gym. It’s exhausting to watch. Even I need a shower afterwards – I don’t mean that as dodgy as it sounds, I promise.

He starts to slow down, transitioning to a walk, then stopping altogether.

He wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his forearm as he walks over to me.

‘Come on then,’ he says, plonking himself down on the mat next to me. ‘What’s on your mind?’

‘Nothing,’ I say, shrugging my shoulders as much as I can when I’m flat on my back.

‘Except I know you better than you think,’ he says. ‘Part of my job is to get in the head of my opponent.’

‘I’m your opponent, eh?’ I ask with a smile.

‘Or my teammates,’ he adds. ‘You learn to read people. I can see your brain going at 100 miles an hour – you overtook me on the treadmill.’

I laugh.

‘Come on, what’s up?’ he says. ‘You can talk to me.’

Should I tell him? Should I ask him?

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