Here Comes the Flood Read online

  O’TOOLE: Powerful swimmer. Not sure he has what it takes to keep up with some of the top guys in this field, though. In Lane Eight, we have Chiang Hsu from China.

  DAVIS: He won the World Championships in this event last year. His prelim time wasn’t that fast, so he’s going to have to really turn it on if he wants a shot at a medal.

  O’TOOLE: In Lane Two, one of the Americans, this is Duncan Schmidt in his first Olympics. Twenty-year-old swimmer from Cal Berkeley.

  DAVIS: I like his chances here. He swam the fourth-fastest time in the prelims.

  O’TOOLE: In Lane Seven, Adam McKeown from Australia. I’m genuinely surprised to see him here. His butterfly is a little slow. But he’s one of the best breaststrokers in the world, though, so if he can utilize that to compensate, he might have an outside shot at a medal. I like him better for the breaststroke races, though. Expect him to be a real challenge for Isaac Flood later this week.

  DAVIS: I’d say he’s Flood’s chief competition, actually. Him and Pearson.

  O’TOOLE: Lane Three, we’ve got Francois LeBlanc from France.

  DAVIS: He’s the reigning world champion.

  O’TOOLE: He looked solid in prelims. I’d say he’s the favorite here. In Lane Six, Peter North from South Africa.

  DAVIS: He was the world junior champion two years ago.

  O’TOOLE: Less experience than the other swimmers in this field, but he had a great prelim swim. Lane Five, David Hocking, a phenom swimmer out of Great Britain.

  DAVIS: He was the silver medalist in this event four years ago. He has since hired a new coach and completely changed his training regimen, and it seems to be paying off here in Madrid.

  O’TOOLE: Absolutely. And, finally, in Lane Four, Isaac Flood.

  DAVIS: Listen to that crowd! They love him here.

  O’TOOLE: As they should. He was one of the top qualifiers in the prelims. He looks better now than he did at the Trials even.

  DAVIS: That’s his mother, Rebecca, up there in the audience. And a small cheering section, it looks like!

  O’TOOLE: See the Here comes the Flood signs? Brings you back, doesn’t it?

  DAVIS: No one expected him to be here, after everything he’s been through. But here he is, and I think he’s got a great shot at a medal.

  O’TOOLE: All right. They are up on the blocks. And they’re off!

  DAVIS: Oh, Flood got a great start off the block. He got right off and into the water. That’s what you gotta do if you want a shot against these other sprinters.

  O’TOOLE: But this is really an endurance race.

  DAVIS: True. Flood has always been a brilliant middle-distance swimmer. He’s got a knack for timing and knows how to pace himself.

  O’TOOLE: He looks great now, heading into the second turn. He’s second as we move into the backstroke lap.

  DAVIS: He’s right there with the front of the field as it starts to separate a little. That Flood is keeping up with the leaders at this point is amazing. Butterfly is his weakest stroke. Oh, look at this!

  O’TOOLE: Flood is gaining on LeBlanc!

  DAVIS: And we’re into the breaststroke lap.

  O’TOOLE: And Flood is pulling ahead!

  DAVIS: The challenge is going to be if he can hang on to his lead. If he gets tired and doesn’t keep up this pace during the freestyle lap, he’s done. A number of the swimmers in this field are faster freestylers.

  O’TOOLE: The trick is to get a wide lead over the rest of the field now, on his best stroke, so that no one can catch him. That certainly seems to be his strategy.

  DAVIS: It’s a good lead he’s building. About half a body length now.

  O’TOOLE: I never thought we’d see this. He looks great in the water. The crowd is going bananas.

  DAVIS: He’s almost an entire body length in front of the rest of the field going into the last lap. Right at the world-record pace.

  O’TOOLE: I don’t think he’ll hold on to that wide a lead in the last lap, but it’s going to be an amazing finish.

  DAVIS: And we’re into the last lap. Flood is still ahead by a good amount, but LeBlanc is gaining on him. And here’s Hsu in Lane Eight. He wants that medal too.

  O’TOOLE: McKeown is falling back. He was in third going into that last turn, but he’s fallen off the pace.

  DAVIS: I can’t believe it! Flood is still in the lead. LeBlanc is right behind him, swimming hard. He’s closing up that lead, but I think it’s going to be Flood as we move into the last twenty-five meters.

  O’TOOLE: It’s the Olympic Games! Anything is possible!

  DAVIS: LeBlanc is coming up on Flood. I don’t think he can catch him, though. And it’s… it’s Flood!

  O’TOOLE: I don’t believe it. Isaac Flood wins gold! LeBlanc gets the silver and Hsu gets the bronze.

  DAVIS: That was amazing. Let’s take another look at the start. Do you see how Flood explodes off the block? He’s off and in the water almost immediately, and he stays underwater until about the ten-meter mark. You’ll see, McKeown has already taken two strokes by then. Flood conserves his energy, but he still looks great in this butterfly lap. He gets his arms over his head but keeps most of his body in the water, and he’s not kicking very hard.

  O’TOOLE: But he won this race in the breaststroke. That’s his bread and butter. He just flies through this lap, opening up a wide lead over everyone else in the field.

  DAVIS: And then he beats everyone to the finish.

  O’TOOLE: Isaac Flood showed us, never count him out.

  ISAAC FLOATED at the end of the pool, still not believing he’d actually pulled it off. His time, 4:05.8, was off the world record, which he remembered was 4:03-something, but that was still faster than he’d swum in practice in months. Somewhere, Adam must have been apoplectic.

  He got out of the pool. He knew it would be bad form to dodge reporter Mindy Somers standing near the locker room entrance, so he let himself be maneuvered into the camera frame as the rest of the swimmers talked to reporters or filtered back to the warm-up area.

  He could not catch his breath—his whole body felt like it was on fire, and his stomach was unsettled. But the burn felt good. He could still do this.

  Mindy Somers was vaguely familiar, but Isaac couldn’t put together if she was a former swimmer or just a sports reporter who’d been kicking around the network’s pool of commentators for a while. But she was definitely American, given the network logo on her bright pink polo shirt and her accent.

  “Congratulations, Isaac. How do you feel?”

  “I feel good,” Isaac said. “I feel really good. That was a great swim.”

  “That was your seventh gold medal and your tenth medal overall. And it looks like you’ll have a shot at even more medals. How do you feel about your odds here?”

  Isaac hated answering these questions, and he still hadn’t caught his breath, so he panted through his canned answers. “I like my odds. I’ve been training hard for over a year.”

  “And I hear you’re doing a leg in the four-by-one-hundred relay.”

  “Yeah, they decided I should be on the team, I guess.”

  “That final is coming up in about an hour. Are you good for it?”

  Isaac shook out his arms. “You know, I really am. I’m gonna go get in the warm-up pool to stay loose, and I should be good.”

  “Then I won’t keep you. Congratulations again.”

  Isaac nodded and walked off.

  When he walked into the warm-up area, the gathered American swimmers and coaches shouted and cheered for him.

  Isaac lost it.

  The tears stung his eyes. He ran a hand over his face to keep his emotions in check, but it was a futile cause, because as soon as he saw Adam’s tear-streaked face, Isaac wept.

  He’d done it. He’d hit rock bottom and then crawled all the way back. Good God, he’d won a gold medal.

  “I’ve never fucking seen you swim that well,” Adam said. “Good start, tight turns, near-perfect form.” The
n Adam threw himself around Isaac, pulling him into a tight hug. “We’re going to do this. We really are. I’m so fucking proud of you.” He pulled away and slapped Isaac on the ass. “Okay, get in the pool. You’re swimming again in an hour.”

  A BUNCH of athletes partied in the lounge on Tim’s floor in the Athlete Village. Jason was there, flirting with a pretty woman, as were most of the American dive and synchronized swimming teams, plus a bunch of people Tim didn’t know. They were arranged in a crescent around the TV in the middle of the room, which showed swimming.

  The words Men’s 400m Individual Medley flashed across the screen, so Tim had made it just in time.

  The screen panned across the audience at the Aquatics Center. A bunch of people in USA T-shirts were holding up signs that said HERE COMES THE FLOOD!

  “I wish I had a slogan,” someone said.

  “It helps to have a punny name,” said the girl Jason was flirting with.

  Jason looked up. “Oh, hey, Tim.”

  “Like Timothy Swan,” said the girl, grinning at Tim. “There’s gotta be a pun there somewhere. Swan dive?”

  Tim shook his head. It wasn’t the first time someone had tried to pun his name. He settled onto the floor at the feet of a couple of the female divers. One of them, Ginny—America’s best hope for an individual springboard medal—rubbed Tim’s shoulders and said, “Hi, Timmy.”

  “Hi, Ginny.”

  Onscreen, the buzzer sounded and the race got off. Tim spent the next three minutes anxiously watching the screen, leaning to the left or right as if that would help Isaac go faster. He felt sick in the pit of his stomach, fearing that Isaac would lose. But he wanted Isaac to win. Isaac deserved this win. He needed it.

  “So let me get this straight,” one of the athletes Tim didn’t know said. He had an Australian accent. “Isaac Flood quit swimming.”

  “Retired,” said Ginny.

  “Fine, retired,” said the Australian guy. “Then he takes up drinking instead of swimming. Gets himself arrested. Goes to rehab. Then he just comes back and wins a gold medal?”

  “Proves anyone can do it,” Ginny said. “Even you, Colin.”

  The Australian guy balked. “That gold medal has my name on it.”

  “Which event?” Tim asked.

  “I’m diving against you, mate,” Colin said. “Individual platform.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “Okay? That’s all?”

  “Tim is very low-key,” said Ginny.

  “Which events are you doing?” asked Colin.

  “Platform synchro, and then both individual events,” said Tim. “I’m stronger on platform. Just so you know.”

  The whole room went, “Oooh.”

  On screen, Isaac pulled ahead in his race. Tim had his gaze trained on Lane Four, where Isaac, in a blue cap and blue swimsuit, swam for his life.

  “Look at this guy,” said Artie, one of the other American divers. “I mean, Flood is amazing. I heard he won a medal with a hangover at the last Olympics.”

  “I think,” said Ginny, “now that he’s clean, he’s unstoppable.”

  Tim couldn’t really hear the commentary on screen over the chatter in the lounge, but he could hear the enthusiasm. It was like watching a soccer match in Spanish. He half expected someone to shout, “GOOOAL” when Isaac hit the wall.

  Instead, Isaac touched first and the whole room erupted in cheers.

  Tim’s heart pounded. Isaac had won. Isaac had won. He had a gold medal.

  Onscreen, Isaac looked up at the scoreboard and looked baffled for a moment before he lifted up and slapped the water.

  “He’s dreamy,” Ginny said. “Anyone know what his deal is? Single or—?”

  “If Isaac Flood had a girlfriend,” said Ginny’s synchro partner, Kayla, “I think we’d all know about it.”

  Tim kept his mouth shut, not the least because it had just dawned on him that Isaac winning a gold medal meant that they’d be having sex. Tim wanted that palpably. The thought alone made his skin tingle, and his stomach bubbled with anticipation. The screen now somewhat lovingly showed the whole length of Isaac’s body as he got out of the pool, from his swim-cap-tousled hair to his broad shoulders, flat, muscular chest, tight abs, narrow hips, legs that went on forever. God, Isaac’s chest. Tim loved it, couldn’t wait to get his hands on it later. A lot of swimmers looked like that, but there was something about Isaac’s particular combination of the swimmer’s body, the long arms, his great height, and his movie-star face that made him particularly appealing.

  “Good Lord,” said Ginny, echoing Tim’s thoughts.

  Tim wondered, if the press was interested in Isaac enough to determine if he had a girlfriend, what would they do if he had a boyfriend? Could being with Isaac invite more of the press attention Tim wanted no part of?

  Maybe he was getting ahead of himself. Likely this was an Olympic romance. He’d fly back to Colorado and Isaac would fly back to North Carolina, and they’d never see each other again. So why not have as much fun as possible in the meantime? They were relatively safe in the Athlete Village, away from the prying eyes of the media, which wasn’t allowed beyond each country’s designated public space. Hell, even the families of the athletes weren’t allowed in the dorms.

  “He’s going to swim again tonight,” Ginny said.

  “So?” said Colin. Tim detected a little jealousy in his tone. Maybe he was sweet on Ginny.

  “So, as swimmers age, it takes their bodies longer to break down the lactic acid in their system. So it’s actually kind of dangerous for swimmers over thirty to sprint so close together.”

  “Isaac is twenty-nine,” said Kayla. “He went to UNC with my sister.”

  “I’m so jealous of your sister,” said Ginny. “Flood was really cute as a kid. But he’s dead sexy now.”

  Colin was glaring daggers at the screen.

  Tim laughed softly.

  “Come on, Timmy, you have to agree,” Ginny said.

  “That Isaac Flood is dead sexy?” said Tim, deciding to play along. “I agree 100 percent. And now he has a gold medal, which makes him even sexier.”

  “Do you have a gold medal, Colin?” asked Ginny.

  Colin looked like he wanted to kill someone. Probably Isaac. “No,” he grumbled.

  “I have one,” said Tim, enjoying himself. “Technically, Isaac has seven of them now.”

  “Flood is a wanker,” Colin said.

  Chapter 9

  BACK AT the Aquatics Center, Isaac climbed out of the warm-up pool. He felt good. A fair amount of excitement and adrenaline flowed through his system from his win earlier. Adam walked over and said, “Think you can swim a hundred meters in forty-eight seconds or less?”

  “In my sleep.”

  “Good, you’re swimming anchor.”

  Isaac nodded. The other guys were ready to go, standing in their coats at the American Lounge corner. Isaac located his caps and goggles, and then Adam helped him into his coat. He walked into the little holding room where the athletes had to wait until the announcer summoned each team. Isaac slipped his headphones over his ears and reached into his coat pocket for his phone, starting the white noise app. He took a deep breath and tried to calm down, to focus. It was one thing to swim his own race, but he had three other guys depending on him now.

  Luckily, they all knew better than to talk to him once the headphones were on.

  Adam slapped each of them on the back, and then an official gave them the signal to walk out. Luke grabbed Isaac’s hand, so Isaac grabbed Randy’s, and all four of them raised their hands together as they walked through the pool entrance. They were a team, the gesture was supposed to say.

  They were expected to win.

  Isaac tuned out the crowd noise and everything else except for the pool in front of him. The Americans were in Lane Six, which wasn’t the best lane assignment, but the prelim team had qualified third overall, and this was the placement they were stuck with.

  Adam had assigned Conor t
o the first lap, so he got ready, got up on the block, and went when the buzzer sounded. Isaac still had about two minutes to collect himself, so he kept his headphones on and took a few cleansing breaths. He shrugged out of his coat as Conor returned and exchanged with Luke. Randy walked over to the block. Isaac watched Randy as he finished stripping and pulled his second cap on. Isaac did the prerace dance as Luke and Randy exchanged. He had no notion of where the team swam in the race relative to the other teams, although now Luke and Conor were standing at the edge cheering Randy on. Isaac stepped up on the block. Isaac saw from that vantage point that Randy had a healthy lead, a good body length and a half ahead of the next nearest swimmer, although Isaac couldn’t really tell who was where in the outside lanes.

  Still, this should be no sweat. It was Isaac’s race to lose.

  Isaac told himself he could only swim his own race. He got into position as Randy approached; then he jumped into the water when Randy touched the wall.

  And he swam.

  He pretended it was practice, that Adam and his damned stopwatch stood at the edge of the pool and not his teammates, that he raced against the clock and not seven other swimmers. He got to the turn and didn’t look. When he turned his head to breathe, he just breathed and didn’t try to see what was happening in the neighboring lanes. The not-looking approach had worked for him in the medley.

  He came home, threw out his hand on the last stroke, and hit the wall.

  When he surfaced, his teammates were whooping and hopping up and down. Luke reached down and grabbed his hand in a manly handshake. Isaac looked around in a daze. The scoreboard showed that they’d won by almost four seconds, and that Isaac had swum that lap in forty-eight flat.

  You’re welcome, Adam.

  Isaac was fucking tired now, though. His body ached. His limbs were jelly. His first attempt to get out of the pool ended with his arms giving out and him slipping back into the water. His teammates had to essentially lift him out of the pool.

  They all got themselves collected before Mindy Somers in her pink polo snagged them. Her assistant arranged all four guys in the camera frame and gave them strict orders not to move.