Page 40 of Oliver

We were in Oliver’s home in Southern California. His home sat on the top of the mountain, looking out over the Pacific Ocean. It was beautiful.

Olly had come running the second he saw me, launching into my arms so hard we both tumbled onto the grass. He cried. I cried harder.

Now, he was back at school, and Oliver and I were alone in the house. Just us. No team, no news, no swimming, no pressure. Just the low crackle of a fire and the sound of wind stirring the trees outside.

I stood at the back porch railing, staring out at the landscape. My stitches pulled every time I moved, and the bruises still burned when I breathed too deep—but I was alive.

I heard the screen door creak open behind me.

“You okay?” Oliver’s voice was low, careful.

“I’m… not sure,” I said honestly.

He came up beside me, holding two mugs of coffee. I took one. It was exactly how I liked it—he remembered.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

“I can’t stop thinking about how fast it all changed,” I whispered. “One minute I was homesick and tired. The next, I had a gun in my hand and someone was trying to drag me out of bed.”

He didn’t speak. Just reached out and slid his fingers between mine.

“I don’t think I care about medals anymore,” I admitted.

That got his attention. His head turned slowly.

“I mean it. I spent so much of my life chasing something I thought mattered—records, championships, gold. But none of that was there when I was tied to a bed, wondering if I’d ever see you or Olly again.”

“You don’t owe anyone anything, Emery.”

I nodded slowly. “The committee’s going to be furious if I back out now.”

“Screw the committee.”

I smiled. “Easy for you to say.”

“I’m serious,” he said, stepping in front of me. “You’ve done more than most people ever dream of. If your heart’s not in it anymore, then walk away. Don’t spend another day doing something that doesn’t make you feel alive.”

I looked up at him. His hair was a mess. His shirt was stretched across his broad chest. His face was all angles and quiet strength. And his eyes—those eyes held me steady when everything else had fallen apart.

“What if I don’t know what I want next?” I asked softly.

“Then take your time figuring it out. And if you want… I’ll figure it out with you.”

My heart did that thing—it cracked, then stretched, then filled all over again.

“Do you still want me?” I inquired. “After everything? My life is chaotic. Why would you want to include me in your life?”

He stepped closer, brushing a hand down my cheek. “I wanted you before all this. I loved you before it got dangerous. And now that I know just how strong you are?” His thumb lingered near my lips. “Now Ineedyou.”

I didn’t answer.

I kissed him instead.

Slow. Deep. Certain.

By the time I pulled away, his coffee was cold. Mine was on the floor. And I was leaning into him like the future might actually be okay.

“I’m not going back,” I whispered against his chest.

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