Hold My Breath(73)

I stumble back a step and watch my father’s shoulders sink.

“If he wins, you have no choice,” I say, my eyes slowly sweeping up from the ground between us, my mouth open—stunned.

“I’ll talk to him before that. He won’t, Maddy,” my father says, his eyes flashing just as mine do at his words. He didn’t mean to let all of that come out.

“You can’t take that from him!” I shout.

“We’re in the hole—” My father fires that response, and I scrunch my face in confusion. I wait while he walks around the pool to the opposite end, bending down and picking up the binder he dropped several minutes ago. He flips it open as he walks back to me, holding it flat in both palms. I look from his eyes down to a delinquent bill clipped into the rings, pressing my finger on the paper and sliding it to the other side to see the next bill underneath. Statement after statement—mortgages, second mortgages, threats to cut power, liens, bankruptcy papers.

My bottom lip falls open, and I gasp as my eyes flit to my father’s. His cheeks hang low, dragging his mouth with them, and the sadness in his eyes is the most honest look I think I’ve ever gotten from him.

“I need to coach this team, Maddy. I need to be successful, and I need to bring big sponsors to the table. I do this, our business will rebound just because of the fame. Without it?” He pauses, flipping the book closed in his hand, the pages snapping shut. “This club is closed by winter.”

“How did this happen?” My mind is spinning with everything—with Will, with my parents’ debt, and the idea that a place I identify as home could be ripped away from us.

“Time, less kids swimming,” he shrugs. “It’s always been hard, and I think you know that.”

I nod because yes, I do.

“It just got harder, and then…” My father stretches out his hands, his financial burden held in one and the other empty.

“Daddy, I’m so sorry,” I say. “Has Mom tried anything? Maybe something public, with the city? Like a takeover, partnership…whatever…”

“Why do you think she ran in the first place?” My father’s mouth quirks up on one side and his chin lowers to his chest as he pulls the binder in close.

It’s quiet between us for several seconds while my mind works to process what’s happening. I spin it a dozen ways in my mind, and there isn’t a single way that everyone wins. I keep coming back to Will, though, and how many times he has put everyone else first. The funny thing is, I bet if my father asked him to step away, he would. But Will has sacrificed enough.

“You have to let him compete,” I say, my eyes snapping to his.

His head shakes, but I fight on.

“You have to, Dad. Will deserves this,” I say, breathing out a desperate grunt through my nose.

“His DUI, Maddy…the recreational drug use, and the drinking. He’s like one of those rock stars or child actors that your mom tells me about when she flips through tabloids in the grocery line, and sponsors don’t want to jump on board with big risks,” my dad argues. “I need to bring in the money. The greatest coaching in the world is meaningless compared to dollar signs. Will is a risk I can’t afford—at least not past the trials. His story buys him a shot, but one race…that’s all the risk people are going to want to take.”

“But that’s not Will’s whole story,” I defend.

His mouth closes tight, and he breathes in through his nose, his chest lifting slowly, like he’s building a shield against any argument I can throw his way.

“He’s doing this goddamn interview for you, Dad!” I finally let that out, because my father has to see—he must know this is the last thing Will wants to do. “He’s going to walk through the most horrific moments of his life on camera, because you asked him to, Dad. That…that has to count for something!”

“That makes the Cumberlands happy,” my dad shrugs. His face is growing pale, and I think it’s from shame.

My mouth curves in disgust.

“They want his story on primetime, because the world loves gossip,” I shake my head, walking away from my father.

“Maddy, I love that boy like a son,” he says to my back, a last-ditch effort to cover up his own desperation and greed.

I pause with my hand on the handle for the door, and I speak my words, unable to turn and look at him. For the first time in my entire life, I can’t look at the man I’ve idolized. I’m ashamed of him.

“No you don’t. But I love him, and maybe that will be enough to change your mind,” I say.

I step inside and shut the door behind me, then fight my instinct to rush up the stairs and take Will by the hand and beg him to just run away. We could run away from it all, and our lives would be amazing. But there would always be unfinished business. I’m supposed to win. He’s supposed to race for real.

I just need to find a way to make that happen so it doesn’t ruin life for everyone else.





Chapter Seventeen





Will





The lights are always hot.

That’s the one thing I remember from those interviews after the crash. I remember that, and I recall how fast the questions came. I was the human form of a speed bag, the reporters pummeling just fast enough that I had time to catch my breath and say words at their next intrusive question.