Settling the Score (The Summer Games #1)(69)
I stared back down at the paper, wrinkly and smeared with tears. “She sent the story.”
“I saw it.”
Of course she’d seen it. Everyone had f*cking seen it. Every person I’d gone to high school with, every girl on my college soccer team, my parents, grandparents, enemies, friends. Every single person was waking up across the world and reading the #1 headline on every major news outlet: me.
Kinsley dropped to the floor and wrapped me up in her arms. “I’m so sorry, Andie.”
My tears mixed into her hair as she held me there, keeping her arms wrapped tightly around me.
“What happens now, Kinsley?”
“I honestly don’t know, but there was a media shitshow after everyone found out I was seeing Liam while he was my coach, and here’s what I wish someone had told me then: you’re an adult, and you haven’t done anything wrong—even though they want you to think you have. There’s a little bit of blood in the water, and they think they’re sharks, but they’re actually vultures, Andie, and if you don’t give them anything, they’re powerless. Hold your head up high.”
Easier said than done.
As I got ready for the game—well, got ready to sit on the bench and watch the game—I fielded phone calls from my mom, my dad, my manager, Coach Decker, and a dozen or so unknown numbers that kept hounding me. I ignored everyone I could and spoke briefly with everyone I couldn’t. My nerves were shot and my emotions were raw. I finally stopped crying long enough to dab concealer under my eyes and brush on a bit of mascara, but I knew it’d be gone well before the end of the day. Kinsley and Becca had everything waiting for me by the door when I was ready to leave. We walked in silence to the elevators and then stepped inside when the heavy doors slid open. There were already people inside and when I took a spot near the doors, all conversation came to a screeching halt.
“Are you Andie Foster?” one guy asked.
I kept my eyes on the doors and stayed silent.
“Hey baby, where’s that mask?”
“That’s enough,” Kinsley snapped, turning around and leveling him with a sharp stare. I could feel the tears starting again, but I took a shaky breath and willed them away. Stupid Elevator Guy was only the start of it. As we made our way through the lobby, I heard the whispers and chatter.
“She doesn’t look like a slut,” one girl said to her friend before they both broke out into laughter.
I ignored them and pushed through the glass doors, anxious to step into our team’s bus. Kinsley and Becca led the way and I took the first full breath of the morning once the door closed behind me. Coach Decker was sitting up front with Liam. She offered me a short nod.
“Chin up, Foster. Let today be about soccer and nothing else.”
I nodded, trying to absorb her words, but it didn’t help. As I walked down the aisle of our bus, I felt the stares from my teammates. Most of the people who should have been there for me the most were just as curious, wide-eyed, and annoyed with me as anyone else. They might’ve stood behind me before the injury, but now I was no more than a distraction to them. I moved to take a spot beside Michelle near the back, but she reached for her gym bag and tossed it on the seat just before I moved to sit.
“Sorry, need the space,” she said, slipping her earbuds in and turning to face the window.
I walked on and took the last seat at the back of the bus, and that’s where the tears continued to fall. In a matter of hours, life had spun me on my head, and though I tried to hang on for dear life, I knew there was no point. This was only the beginning.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Freddie
THEY KEPT THE swimmers tucked away in the locker room until it was time to announce our teams one by one for the semifinal relay race. I was ready, warmed up, and focused, but my heart pounded a heavy rhythm as the announcer called our names and beckoned us into the stadium. I followed Thom out of the locker room, and even though my music blared in my ears, the fans screamed loud enough that I could feel the vibrations hum in my chest.
An Olympic official led us toward the swim platforms and we slipped off our jackets and warm-up pants. Reluctantly, I pulled the headphones off my ears and was met with deafening cheers. One of the team managers came around to gather our clothes and as I handed him my jacket, he pointed up. I followed his finger and found myself blown up on the jumbotron in the center of the stadium—wide eyes hidden beneath goggles and a tense frown. In less than thirty seconds, I’d take my position on the podium for my first race and they wanted me to wave or smile, but I gave them nothing. Other swimmers could flash them chummy smiles; I needed to focus.
Thom nudged my shoulder and gave me a nod. I adjusted my swim cap and goggles until they were secure. I stepped up to the podium and inhaled the sharp smell of chlorine. Swimming had been a part of my life for as long as I could remember, and the smell of the chemical brought the race into razor-sharp focus.
The warning whistle blew and I stepped onto the podium to take my starting stance. I cracked my knuckles and inhaled another deep breath. I bent forward and swung my arms back and forth, loosening the muscles.
“Take your mark,” the announcer shouted.
I bent lower and gripped the edge of the podium. The water was all I could see through my goggles; the small waves beckoned me closer. I could hear the shouts from the stadium in the distance. I could hear the deep breaths from the swimmers positioned on either side of me, but there was nothing louder than the buzzer as it DINGED to the start the race. I pushed off the podium, propelled myself into the water, and let my body do what it did best.