Here Comes the Flood Read online

  Tim nodded and thought of what Isaac had said about pushing himself to his limits. Tim supposed it wasn’t worth doing if he didn’t put his all into it. “All right. I hope I don’t regret this later.”

  “I think you’ll regret it more if you don’t try for both.”

  Tim nodded. That was probably true. “What time is it?”

  Donnie looked at his watch. “Seven.”

  The evening swim session started in an hour, so the swimmers were likely in the building. Tim was tempted to stick around to watch Isaac again, but he felt worn out from a grueling practice and not getting enough sleep.

  “Come on,” Ginny said. “We’ll go back to the Athlete Village. You look like you could use a nap or five.”

  Tim followed her out of the Aquatics Center. As they walked outside, Ginny looked at her phone. “Uh-oh,” she murmured with a glance toward Tim.

  “What now?”

  “Don’t get mad. It’s probably not true. This gossip site is mostly just made-up shit.”

  Tim’s heart raced. Was it an item about him and Isaac? “What is it?”

  “Uh. There’s a rumor Pat’s in Madrid.”

  Tim’s heart stopped. That could not be true. “Let me see.”

  Ginny reluctantly handed over her phone. “Again, just a rumor.”

  “He knows better than that. It’s over. I was very clear about that. Why would he be in Madrid?”

  Tim was so tired, he could barely focus on the words on the screen, but Ginny had a celebrity gossip website open on her browser. Tim swallowed and made himself focus on the text: Oak Hills star Patterson Wood was spotted in Madrid. Could he be there to see ex Tim Swan dive at the Olympics? Does this mean a reunion is on the horizon?

  “It does not,” said Tim aloud.

  “Maybe he’s got a doppelganger.”

  “He can’t be here, Ginny. He can’t.”

  “He probably isn’t. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shown you this.”

  “No, it’s better to know. Do you think he’d show up at one of the competitions?”

  “No. You’re right, he knows better. It’s probably not even him. How many tall, brown-haired, handsome actors are there in the world? What are the odds your ex would turn up in Madrid? Push it out of your mind, Timmy.”

  While they waited up for the bus, Tim tried to forget he knew there was a small chance Pat was in Madrid. He texted Isaac to wish him luck but explained he needed to sleep.

  Isaac texted back a moment later: I left my spare key under your door.

  Well. At least that would be a place to hide for a bit.

  Chapter 18

  THE 200 IM semifinal was kind of a trial, and Isaac’s arms began to burn sooner than usual, so he swam a conservative race and made the final by the skin of his teeth. Which meant he had a shitty lane assignment, but he was in the final, and that was what mattered.

  Because next he had to anchor—goddamned anchor—the 4 x 200 free relay.

  The anchor job was a particular challenge, because either the anchor was gifted with a lead by his teammates and had to keep it, or he had a deficit to make up and had to push to close it. Isaac had anchored relays with those kinds of deficits and made up the time, but he’d been younger then, and better rested. That the American team was both the defending Olympic champion and the overwhelming favorite here didn’t do much to ease the pressure. And, yes, he’d anchored the 4 x 100 meter relay, but that was a sprint and his part was over in less than a minute. Swimming two hundred meters when everyone depended on you was a different task entirely.

  The team was full of heavyweights, at least. Luke had his gold medal in the 400 free, and Randy had also made a good showing so far. The first leg was a young guy named Nate who had won a silver in the 200 free. Luke thought he’d kill it, and Isaac trusted Luke’s insights.

  They did the prerace song and dance. The relays were popular with the crowd, and there were a lot of Americans here, including a lot of nonaquatics Olympians: half the women’s basketball team, the beach volleyball pair that had already been eliminated, and a few fencers, according to Isaac’s teammates who knew such things. There were American flags all over the Aquatics Center.

  Nate dove into the pool for the first lap before Isaac felt ready, but he forced himself to focus on the race. Randy got them a decent lead, which Luke then compounded, so by the time Isaac got up on the block for the exchange, the US team had about a twenty-meter lead. Isaac could work with that.

  He tried to pull from his joyful mood from earlier, thought about Tim maybe watching from the lounge back at the Athlete Village—if he wasn’t sleeping—and listened to the crowd cheering for him. Well, a Spanish team swam in the final too, so in reality, the majority-Spanish crowd was probably rooting for them, but Isaac pretended the whole world was behind him.

  For the last fifty meters, Isaac pushed past the pain until he had so much adrenaline in his system, he didn’t feel anything anymore. He felt giddy, even, his skin numb and tingly, like he could do anything. He reached out and touched the wall and surfaced to see if he’d held on to the lead.

  He had. The Americans had won the race by four seconds.

  Two hours later, almost as soon as he stepped off the medal podium, Sheri handed him an interview itinerary for the next day. Five medals got you that kind of attention, he supposed. His only race the next day was the IM final, but he couldn’t take the whole day off, because not getting in his morning practice would screw with his conditioning. He saw that the schedule gave him time in the pool as well.

  The relay team wanted to party and talked about it the whole way back to the Athlete Village. They invited Isaac to come with them to America House, but Isaac begged off. “I have to be up early” was his first excuse. It wasn’t a lie; Sheri and the USA Swimming car would be picking him up first thing. But he couldn’t deny the pang in his chest as he thought about all the athletes and family members and assorted other personnel laughing and having fun at the bar. And drinking. Isaac could practically taste that cold beer, could feel the sweaty glass in his hand, feel the bubbles tingling in his mouth. No, it was too much. He couldn’t go to a bar.

  Luke nodded, but Randy nagged him. “Come on, you’re not swimming until late tomorrow. At least have a drink with us.”

  “Well, I’m an alcoholic, so no, I won’t be doing that,” Isaac said. But Lord, it was tempting. Isaac was still buzzing too much with postrace adrenaline to trust himself with these guys. It would be so easy to just reach out and take that beer. And then all of his hard work would have been wasted.

  “Oh, right,” Randy said.

  That effectively shut down the party conversation, so when the bus pulled up to their building, Isaac got out while his teammates went to drink themselves silly. He felt a pang of longing, wanting to hang out with those guys, wanting to celebrate a hard-fought-for victory. He wanted to party, with his whole soul he wanted it, but he knew he couldn’t. Each step into the building, away from the bar where his teammates were about to have a great night, felt like he was pulling cement blocks.

  Isaac could see the beer. He imagined cracking open a can, letting the cold liquid slide over his tongue. Cheap beer had been his drug of choice when he’d been controlled by alcohol, something he could buy a lot of with his limited savings but that also didn’t taste strongly enough of anything to be a struggle to get down. But good beer was worth savoring: the bitterness of the hops, the tickle of carbonation, the smooth way it went down. He craved one of those now with his whole body. It would be so satisfying, and also so devastating.

  So no, he wouldn’t put himself in a position to be close enough to beer where it would be too easy to simply ask for one. Hell, five medals? The whole bar would probably buy him one. But he would not be partying with his teammates, no matter how much he wanted to.

  Also, he really wanted to see Tim. He didn’t want to rely on Tim. When he’d first begun training with Adam again, he’d talked with his doctor about not becoming re
liant on any one thing to keep him sober—not Adam, not swimming, and now not Tim. But it wasn’t just that seeing Tim would keep him sober. Seeing Tim made him happy, aroused him, excited him.

  Isaac was tired now. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving behind an ache that spread through his body. How great would it be to just lie down with Tim and fall asleep, to be warm and comfortable and safe?

  He stuck his head in the lounge on the way to his room, because a lot of people were gathered around the TV.

  “Here comes the Flood!” some guy said. “Fourth gold! You’re a goddamn superhero.”

  This crowd looked a little rowdy. Isaac waved to them. “Thanks.” He walked into the room and let people manhandle and congratulate him while he confirmed Tim was not there. The TV showed gymnastics—women’s all-around, according to the caption—and it had most of the room riveted to the screen. They were passing around beers too. Isaac’s mouth watered.

  It would be so easy. It would take away the pain and fatigue that moved through his body in waves now.

  “You know anything about gymnastics, Flood?” asked a blond guy Isaac thought might have been a pole vaulter. He was long and lanky and wore a USA Track & Field shirt.

  “No, not really,” Isaac said.

  “The Americans have the team with the most depth. So there are two Americans in the all-around final, and they’re currently one and two. This girl Chelsea is unbeatable. Like, thirty points ahead of everyone else. Crazy, right?”

  That gymnast, Jake, would know what it must have been like to be a skilled athlete who choked in international competition and be constantly compared to those who raked up the medals. Isaac thought of him as a couple of people in the crowd explained the women’s competition to him.

  After all that, Isaac ducked out of the room; he couldn’t be around beer. The smell called to him now. It was hard to pull away—he still wanted to celebrate, to party, to bask in the praise of the other athletes—but it was for the best. The assembled crowd booed when he announced he was leaving. He gave them a little wave, then went down the hall to his room. He opened the door and was delighted to see Tim passed out on his bed.

  Isaac changed out of his official American warm-up suit and into a pair of boxer briefs and a T-shirt. He put his medal—the fifth one, God Almighty—into the special lockbox Adam had given him. Then he got into bed beside Tim.

  Tim stirred and rolled to look up at Isaac. He smiled. “Hi.”

  “Hi. Bad news, babe.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I won another gold medal, so you’re going to have to put out for me again.”

  Tim grinned. “Are you kidding?”

  “Nope. We won the relay tonight.”

  “So you’re the best swimmer currently racing, basically.”

  “I guess.”

  Tim put his arms around Isaac’s neck and said, “How’s about, ‘You’re the best swimmer currently in this bed’?”

  “Well, that I’ll believe.” Isaac smiled. Then he leaned down and kissed Tim soundly.

  He was safe here, away from temptation, and it occurred to him that Tim made him safe too. It wasn’t reliance, it was that something in Tim soothed the part of Isaac that otherwise would have spent tonight beating himself up. His body hurt, a pain easy to dull with alcohol. He still felt in awe of that medal and wanted to celebrate. But more than anything, he wanted to be with Tim. He trusted Tim. He could be honest with Tim.

  Another vestige of rehab was the suggestion that, when Isaac felt like he was in trouble, he needed to let someone know. He hated asking for help, he didn’t want to talk about it, and he worried Tim would judge him, but for the sake of his own safety, Isaac knew he had to speak up. He took a deep breath, inhaling Tim’s scent, and said, “I really want to drink right now.”

  Tim frowned. “Are you okay?”

  “A little sore. Anxious about all the interviews I have tomorrow. I’m okay, but everyone wanted to celebrate winning the relay tonight, and I….” Isaac looked away, struggling to say what he knew he had to. “I’m telling you I’m tempted, not that I will do anything about it. I’m getting better at knowing when a situation will be too much for me, so I came here instead of partying with my teammates. But in the interest of full disclosure, I’m jonesing for a drink more than usual right now. I just wanted you to know.”

  Tim nodded slowly. “Thank you for trusting me with that.” He threaded his fingers through Isaac’s hair and pulled him into a kiss. “You still want to drink?”

  “Yes. Always. Now that I’m here, away from athletes with beer, the urge is waning. But I gotta say, I really need the rest. USA Swimming set me up on a ton of interviews tomorrow, and I need to race in the IM final.”

  “All right.” Tim stroked Isaac’s hair. “So rest. That’s important.”

  “Thank you, Tim.” The words felt like a weak way to express the gratitude Isaac felt. Tim hadn’t judged, he hadn’t offered advice, he’d just looked at Isaac in that serious but kind way, and that was precisely what Isaac had needed. He could still practically taste cold beer on his tongue, but now that he was here with Tim, the need wasn’t as strong. He’d be okay. He’d done the right thing. He’d stayed on the wagon. He realized quite suddenly that ever since he’d gotten off the bus, his anxiety had spiked and his heart had been pounding, but now his body’s operations began to fall back to normal speed. He breathed slowly, calming down, thankful that Tim was here when Isaac needed him.

  “You’re lucky I’m more tired than horny,” said Tim.

  Isaac chuckled and settled back into the bed. He snaked his arm around Tim and pulled him close. It didn’t take long to drift off to sleep.

  Chapter 19

  Day 7

  TIM SAW Isaac off to his car to the broadcast center before joining his diving teammates for breakfast. Jason and Kayla flirted like wild, which was new, but Tim thought it all in good fun. Jason came with Tim to the gym afterward, where Donnie made Tim perform what felt like five thousand aerial somersaults while jumping on a trampoline. Tim was sore now, especially his abs, and coated in a gallon of sweat. Jason looked similarly drenched when they wrapped up their workout.

  “I could use a shower and a cold drink,” Tim said. “I’d kill for a lemonade.”

  “Oh yeah,” said Jason, wiping his face with a towel. “You know where they have good lemonade? America House. The bartender makes it fresh-squeezed.”

  “Too much sugar.”

  Jason rolled his eyes. “I think they have unsweetened iced tea too.”

  “I guess that’d get the job done.”

  After quick showers, they walked together over to America House. Since only Olympians were allowed in the dorm buildings, it was the main place athletes went to meet with their families. Ginny was there having lunch with her parents; Tim and Jason waved to her as they walked to the bar.

  Cold iced tea in hand—and a few jealous looks at Jason’s lemonade—Tim found a booth near one of the TVs. It showed the American network’s broadcast, which happened to be airing an interview with one Isaac Flood.

  Everyone else in the room seemed to be watching the interview, so Tim could hear Isaac talk.

  “I worked really hard for this,” Isaac was saying. “You can’t just wake up one morning and decide to go to another Olympics. I’ve been training for a year and a half. I radically changed my diet, and I’m in the best shape of my life.”

  “Do you think some athletes are naturally gifted?” asked Nikki Kenmore, the Wake Up, America! cohost. “I mean, you had so much raw talent when you were younger.”

  Isaac laughed. “That’s true to a point. My mother basically tossed me in a pool when I was an infant, and I’ve been swimming ever since. After that, it’s kind of a chicken and egg thing. Genetics might have given me my height and my long limbs, but the rest of it’s all training.”

  Nikki grinned as if she didn’t believe him. Isaac did have an incredible body that seemed designed specifically to move him qui
ckly through water, but Tim understood exactly what he meant.

  Nikki said, “So what’s next?”

  “Well, I’ve got at least one more race. Two if I do the IM relay on Saturday.”

  Nikki laughed. “And what about after that?”

  Isaac shrugged. “Guess I’ll go back to Raleigh.”

  “More swimming?”

  “Yeah, maybe. I’m not a hundred percent on that yet, but I think I’ve got a few more world championship races in me.”

  “Do you have another Olympics in you?”

  Isaac smiled but then shrugged. “We’ll see. Four years is a long time in the life of an athlete.”

  The interview wrapped up soon after that. Tim sipped his iced tea and watched as the show went to commercial, letting himself dwell on the idea that Isaac would go back to Raleigh when the Games ended. Or sooner. Just that morning Tim had heard some of the swimmers talking in the locker room about getting flights home on Monday.

  The very idea of losing Isaac so soon left Tim bereft. They’d only just found each other; it seemed cruel for Isaac to leave so soon. He knew intellectually that when the Games ended, they’d go back to their own home cities, but even contemplating that made Tim feel hollow. They had so much more to learn about each other, to explore together. There had to be more of a future for them than the end of the Olympics. Right?

  Isaac intended to stick around past the end of swimming, Tim thought, but they hadn’t talked about it. He thought he remembered Isaac saying his flight home wasn’t until after the Closing Ceremony, but he couldn’t swear to that.

  Tim’s phone chimed. He looked down and saw a new text from Isaac.

  Miss u. TBC is making me do entertainment show interview.

  That sounded like Isaac’s nightmare. The American network, TBC, owned a half-dozen channels and had a lot of hours to fill. And that included their evening block of tabloid-esque shows that covered celebrity news. Tim had seen the Hollywood Tonight reporters talking to people after the incident during practice, so he knew they were still hanging around Madrid. But the idea of Isaac going on the show seemed so strange.