Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 162567 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162567 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
“Then don’t. Trust me that I’ll tell them.”
“When?”
“Soon.” Do I have to give him an exact timeline?
By the angst in his eyes, he needs one. Why did I think Thatcher would give me advice about when to tell his brother this news? Why did I think I was talking to someone who cares about me?
Hurt pools around me, and it’s hard to swim out.
Thatcher must see the pain cross my face because he adds, “What about by tonight?”
“Tomorrow night.”
He thinks, then nods resolutely. “Okay. By tomorrow night.”
I appreciate him letting up a bit.
He looks me over for a second. “Can you even compete while you’re pregnant?”
“Serena Williams,” I say strongly. “The Australian Open. Kerri Walsh Jennings. The 2012 London Olympics. Kristie Moore, Sarah Brown. They all competed while pregnant,” I tell Thatcher. I didn’t even need to look up these names recently. When I was sixteen and had my eye on gold, I thought maybe one day I’d have a family. I wanted to know if I could still compete if I was pregnant. So many women already proved that it’s possible.
“How far along were they?” Thatcher asks.
“Alysia Montaño,” I say. “The 2014 U.S. track and field championships. She ran the 800 meter while eight-months pregnant.” And I can’t be more than five-weeks.
Thatcher nods a few times. “I don’t doubt your skills for a second, Sulli.”
“I know,” I say. “You just doubt how I’m handling my relationship with your brother.”
He doesn’t say anything to that. He just goes back to the door. “A surprise lunch and a smoothie.” With our lunch orders hanging in the air, he leaves.
Luna blows out a breath. “He’s intense.”
“Yeah,” I agree. I go back to the notebook. “I’m sure everyone’s going to think this baby news will distract me.”
Luna smiles. “It won’t.” She doesn’t phrase it like a question.
“Nope,” I say. “Because when this baby grows up, I don’t want them to ever think that they were the reason I didn’t win gold. So there’s only one solution.” I take a determined breath. “Win.”
8
BANKS MORETTI
“Let’s run it again,” Akara says to Omega.
No one groans or lets out a wave of complaints. All of us, especially me, realizes how important these next two weeks are. I have my head in my notes app.
Donnelly raises a hand. “Which one, boss?”
Akara snaps his finger to his palm. “All of them.”
We’ve been running through about a million-and-one assbackwards, twizzle-fucked scenarios. The stadium pool is open to ticketed guests. The public.
Which means more bodies will be walking and frolicking around. Strangers. Reporters. Fans. Motherfuckers who hate these famous families. Who hate our clients.
Who hate Sulli.
Other athletes have been the only threat in the gated and highly secured Olympic Village. But soon, swim events will be more complicated and more dangerous.
Akara rests his elbows on the conference table. “Starting briefly, we’ll go into the ‘Core 6 are targeted’ scenario.”
Core 6 = the parents.
Donnelly scribbles notes in a small flip-up notepad. Reading glasses perched on his nose. My coffee has gone stale and cold, but I take a large gulp anyway and listen. Cold air blows into the tiny conference room. Chairs filled by Akara, Farrow, Oscar, Donnelly, and Gabe. Turkey wraps and deli sandwiches are spread out on the table for SFO.
The only person missing in action is my brother.
I cast a momentary glance at the door.
I thought about volunteering for Sulli’s lunch-run. Just to see my girlfriend. But I shouldn’t miss a briefing. I can’t fuck up because my head isn’t screwed on right and my priorities are jacked.
“…we’re supposed to jump in wherever necessary,” Oscar recounts the decision.
“Farrow?” Akara asks him to elaborate.
Farrow pops a bubblegum bubble with casualness. Guy has the demeanor of someone with their feet-kicked-on-a-table even without his boots touching the surface. “Security Force Alpha will be focused on the parents, but if they need help, we have to help. Simple as that.”
“Banks?” Akara looks to me.
My brows pinch, a little disgruntled that he called on me after two Yale grads. I’m not a dumb fuck, but I’d rather stay quiet during this class.
He sees.
“Donnelly?” Akara asks, skipping over me.
I’d smile and kick my feet back, but Oscar lets out a choking noise. “What the hell, Kitsuwon? We aren’t going to wait for Banks to answer?”
“He doesn’t have one, guys.”
“You become a mind reader or what?” Donnelly wonders, slipping the pen behind his ear.
“Eh, sounds more like special privileges,” Farrow says.
Gabe scoots forward. “Where can I get those?”
The conference room falls dead at the unsaid answer: you have to be dating Sulli.
Awkward silence. We’re all sitting in it. The Yale boys stare between me and Akara like we’re in bed together.
And we are.
Literally. Figuratively.
Guilt roils up inside me. Akara isn’t exactly losing respect with SFO, but his give-no-fucks attitude is drawing a strange line between us and them.