Settling the Score (The Summer Games #1)(95)

I crumbled the magazine up and shoved it back in the pocket, disgusted.

“Ma’am, are you still doing okay?”

The flight attendant was back and I needed her to leave me the f*ck alone. I nodded again, and then I turned away and flipped off my overhead light. I felt sick and I wanted to reach for the vomit bag no one ever uses, but it was dark and I couldn’t see it. Instead, I squeezed my neck pillow to my chest and stared out the window, willing the nausea to pass.

By the time we touched down in L.A., there was no denying reality. Freddie and I were separated by 6,299 miles. I’d looked it up. Not to mention my injury, his family, Caroline, a blackmail wedding, and now a baby. A baby. Fuck.

A car took Kinsley, Becca, and I straight from the airport to Central L.A. Orthopedic Group. I slipped on a baseball cap in an effort to hide the dark circles under my eyes, but the receptionist didn’t mention them. She was practically vibrating in her chair, staring up at us with wide eyes.

“Barbara! Did you see!?” she bellowed to the woman working behind her. “We have three gold medalists in the office today!”

By the time I was turning to find a seat, there was a short line of fans formed to the side of us with their iPhones and pens at the ready. I put on my best attempt at a genuine smile and let Kinsley take the lead with them. Luckily, the nurse called me back for imaging right away, before my facade could crack.

“You must be so excited to get back home,” the nurse said as she walked me to the x-ray room.

I glanced over at her.

“What with all that craziness in Rio,” she continued. “I tried to keep up with it, but every day they were reporting something new. Your name was, uh…everywhere during the games.”

My stomach rolled as she ushered me into the dark room. “Yeah, I guess I am glad to be back.”

After my x-rays, they led me into the doctor’s office and promised I wouldn’t have to wait too much longer. I nodded as I settled into the leather chair across from his desk. There was a TV perched in the top right corner of his room, set to mute and showing news about the Olympics Games.

“Freddie Archibald, three-time Olympian and a member of Great Britain’s swim team, just broke his world record in the 200-meter freestyle earlier this afternoon,” the closed captions read. “This race brings him to five gold medals for the 2016 games, and ups his all-time medal count to 21.”

The footage showed Freddie as he walked to the podium, took his start, and dove into the water. I’d been with him less than twelve hours earlier, and the way my body ached as I watched him race made no sense. Maybe it was because I was tired and he hadn’t called or texted me since I’d left. A part of me had hoped there’d be a message waiting for me once I walked off the plane, but there was nothing. Maybe it was because I knew the magic we felt was bound to Rio, and that the odds of me ever seeing Freddie again were slim to none. Or maybe it was the fact that they were highlighting footage of Caroline in the audience, jumping up and down and cheering Freddie on during his race. They flashed a little banner beneath her that read “Caroline Montague, Frederick Archibald’s Fiancée.” I wanted to throw up as they shoved the camera and microphone in her face. It was Sophie Boyle doing the interview and she gushed about how excited she was for Caroline and Freddie. I tried to watch Caroline answering, but my phone vibrated in my purse, magnified by the silence in the room.

I reached down for it in my purse and nearly dropped it when I saw a text from Freddie waiting for me.



Freddie: How did the appointment go?



That’s all. How did the appointment go? Five words that were innocuous and gentle and thoughtful, and yet I hated every syllable. How was I supposed to flip through magazines and turn on the TV and see Caroline splashed across every page and every channel and pretend that it was okay? How was I supposed to handle small talk when what I really wanted to do was pick up my phone, call him, and shout that things like appointments and races and “how was your afternoon” and “what did you eat for dinner” didn’t f*cking matter.

Fuck.

I was crying and I was so sick of crying. With my luck, the doctor was going to do that two knuckled knock on the door soon. I didn’t want to be a blubbering mess while he tried to talk to me about my wrist.

I couldn’t do it. I opened his text and read it over again, feeling more angry than dejected.

There were things Freddie and I needed to talk about, none of which included him asking me about my appointment. I didn’t want to see his name pop up on my phone unless it was him announcing that he had found some resolution for the Caroline dilemma. The little banter, the small talk hurt too much. They were empty words and I told him so. I typed out everything I’d been thinking since I’d left Rio. There’s no way this will work. You’re a million miles away. What if Caroline IS pregnant and what if it IS your baby? Caroline will never let us be happy. The world will never let us be happy. Every magazine and newspaper and TV show is reporting your engagement to her. How could this possibly end well for us? And then I capped it off with a final text.



Andie: For now, I need to focus on my wrist and my career.



It was as solid as a breakup. I’d completely come to terms with the fact that Caroline had won. Unless she got hit by a meteorite, she wasn’t going to let Freddie and I be together. So what was the point of ignoring the inevitable?